I had been looking for a new pharmacy, but I finally found one in the Valley, an industrial park near the city of Amman.

It was a small, nondescript building in a nondescribed area.

Inside, I was greeted by a woman named Sabine, who introduced herself as the head of the pharmacist’s department.

Sabine told me that I would need to pay a fee of 10 Jordanian dinars ($3.50) for my prescription, and would be responsible for paying for her own pharmacy for two years.

She then gave me an envelope containing a voucher for a free sample.

Inside the envelope, she wrote a few words about the Valley pharmacy.

“This is the pharmacy for the Valley of Bethlehem,” she wrote.

The voucher I received was marked “no voucher,” meaning that it was not for my own pharmacy.

I was stunned.

The Valley Pharmacist’s Department is a small pharmacy located in the heart of Ammans commercial district, near the Amman Mall.

Inside I saw a young woman and a young man walking in to pick up my prescription.

A young man in his 20s approached me, and he asked me if I was the owner of the Valley Drugstore.

I answered, “Yes, I am.”

He asked if I knew about the Palestinian Authority (PA) and the Valley’s relationship with it.

I said yes.

He asked me what I was going to do about it.

“I’m going to buy the vouchers for the pharmacies in the valley,” I replied.

“Okay, and then you will get the vouchers and give them to me.”

He handed me the voucher for the pharmacy, which had a sign outside, with the words “The Valley DrugStore.”

He then walked away, leaving me with the impression that I was not the owner.

Sabin, the head pharmacist, explained that I had to pay 50 Jordanian dinar ($2.50), and she would get me a voucher that would be given to me if it was needed in the future.

Sabines salary was around $50,000 a year.

Sabinian explained that she would then send the vouchers to the PA government, which would then distribute them among the pharmacies in the area.

Sabi also explained that, in case of emergency, she would not be able to distribute the vouchers, and I should not bother asking.

Sabina then told me I was supposed to fill out an application form, and give the voucher to the head pharmacy.

Sabini had told me the Valley was the largest pharmacy in the West Bank, and that it would be the place I would have to go to for prescriptions.

“When I heard you would be working in the medical field, I thought you would not go to any other pharmacy, and therefore, this is the best pharmacy,” I said.

Sabian agreed.

I did not want to pay for her pharmacy.

She asked me to get the voucher and give it to her, and after that, I would go to the Valley.

She did not seem to care that I did, in fact, want to go.

“So, we will have a voucher,” she told me, adding that she did not know what to expect when she got there.

The young man who came with me said, “Oh, this will be great!”

He told me he was from the village of Beit Hamit, and was the head man of the village.

“There are a lot of pharmacies in Beit Haya,” he said.

“We are used to getting prescriptions from everywhere.”

We were walking down a dusty street in Amman when I noticed a large sign that read, “Beit Hamital Pharmacy.”

I had never heard of the town.

I called Sabine.

Sabino replied, “I am sorry, I do not know.

You should check out the valley.”

The young guy who accompanied me said he was working at a small drugstore in Beiteh, about 100 meters from the Valley in the Bethlehem area.

He told Sabine that he was a Palestinian man who worked in the village pharmacy, that he did not have a permit to work there, and had no idea what the valley was.

I told Sabi that I do have a visa to work in Ammans city center, but that the village would not let me come in to fill my prescriptions.

I could not get the clinic to pay the 10 Jordanian Dinars I paid for my drug prescription.

I finally called the Bethlehem Police.

The police officer who answered the phone said, Sabine did not work in the hospital and that she had no permits to work anywhere.

“Where is the permit to go?”

I asked.

“It is not for you,” he replied.

He then asked me for my ID card.

I informed him that I lived in Bethlehem and had a business visa, and asked him to give