ON THE ISRAEL-GAZA BORDER – Every ground-shaking explosion grips your heart. Standing on the Israeli-Gaza border, I can only watch the black plumes of smoke rising from Gaza city, hoping that no Palestinian civilian was killed in that particular attack.

A missile launched from northern Gaza heads toward an Israeli town on Tuesday.

Or hoping as a Qassam rocket whistles over my head from the opposite direction that Israeli civilians heard the siren and took cover.

Conflict is ugly. Innocent people get killed, and children on their way home from school never make it home. This is by no means the first time this has happened in Israel, in Gaza or in the West Bank.

As a rocket lands too close for comfort, we automatically duck. A local Israeli resident standing near me reacts slower, having experienced this for seven years. When I ask him how one deals with the constant threat of rockets, he tells me, you never get used to it, you just learn to live with it.

I'm still on the Israeli side of the Gaza border. The Israeli government refuses to open the border to allow journalists into Gaza to document the devastation. We are constantly moved from different locations along the border, the Israeli military saying they are trying to protect us from Qassam rockets or needing a closed military zone. They moved us 400 meters back, still about 10 miles within rocket range.

Getting close enough to the border to be able to at least film Israeli airstrikes on the horizon is difficult, getting across the border to film the missiles landing impossible.

The world's international media are relying heavily on local cameramen who live in Gaza and who are risking their lives on a daily basis so the world can see what is happening.

While many Palestinian civilians stay in their homes and militant leaders go underground, they have to jump in the car once they hear another explosion and hope they don't get themselves into the wrong place at the wrong time.

Whether you agree or not with what each side is doing or who broke the truce, the one constant in this region is of a conflict that's easy to inflame, far harder to calm.

Click here for my report on watching attacks from both directions.

JERUSALEM - Think things through: Gaza is burning, and I'm in Beirut.

There's nothing better than being frantically under control. Nothing better than looking at the phone as it rings and reading, "CNN Mothership." 99 times out of 100 it's a conversation about that day's piece, or future pieces - in this case, it's my favorite call. Either Earl or Bruce is calling to say, "Get moving now Perry."

Besides wanting to jump out of your skin and directly into the story - you have to stop and think. Remember your training from all those years past, of security advisers with various accents telling you "plan, plan, plan."

Fine.

I suppose you can take a reporter out of Iraq, but you'll never get the Iraq out of the reporter.

So, first, where are you headed? In this case, we'll need things like a flak jacket, bandages, tourniquet, bug spray and warm clothing. Then the equipment. Cameras, computer – basically all the various cool toys that enable us to get pictures and information out to the world. The apartment quickly starts to look like a tornado aftermath zone.

Then there's the passport question. Any stamp from Israel in your passport will immediately prevent you from going to countries like Syria and Iraq. No good if you're covering the region for an international news organization. So, you better have two, or convince the Israeli authorities to give you an entry stamp on a separate piece of paper (something they are quite good about and willing to do).

If you have two passports: you best hand the right one to the right authorities at the borders. Otherwise, you'll find yourself in a very long conversation with very strange questions. Lots of fun in that scenario – trust me.

The distance from Beirut to Jerusalem is a simple 145 miles. Beirut is directly to the north, but is separated by a border that is locked down as tight as any border in the world. Hezbollah controls the southern part of Lebanon - and Israel has armed forces right up against its northern border: the two view each other as constant, and considerable threats.

They should – after a summer war in 2006 that changed the region forever. At the very least, Lebanon was changed - and is still changing today.

So getting from Beirut to Jerusalem is the equivalent of a crash course in Middle Eastern politics. It's a lot like the TV show, "The Amazing Race" ... only with lots of guns and periods of incredible boredom.

There are two travel options: neither of them appealing. First, you can drive, across Lebanon, through Syria into Jordan ... and then across the bridge into Israel. It's one giant desert. By desert, I mean: there is NOTHING out there. If you're lucky - that may only take you 15 to 16 hours depending on how long you sit at border crossings, explaining to various intelligence officers where you're going and why in the world you would want to go there. But 24 hours ago that option closed down - the border between Jordan and Israel was shut.

In some ways it's a relief because I've done that drive 3 times in the past 2 years - and it's about as much fun as a trip to the dentist. So, with the border shut: it's option number 2.

Fly. Of course, there are no direct flights from Beirut to Jerusalem – so, you fly to Amman, Jordan. From Amman you sit and wait for the flight to Tel Aviv - it's about a 7-hour layover.

As painful as it is: you get a feel for where things are, what the situation is - and how the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. It's because between the flights, the airports and the border crossings ... are cab drivers. They fill in the gaps despite the massive amounts of information coming across your Blackberry - which is great, because the minute you hit the ground, you're off and staring into a camera.

As a story is still breaking, you can often learn more about the situation in the region from them. More important than that, you get far greater information: a genuine "feel" of the situation. In Lebanon I heard that everything was Israel's fault. They started it, the driver said - and things are going to spin totally out of control. In Jordan I heard that it was Egypt's fault. They're the ones that silently gave the nod to Israel to start its campaign in Gaza.

In Israel, in the past 24 hours I've heard two versions: one, everything is fine – this is something "we (Israelis) need to take care of," Hamas is to blame. And the old Middle East adage ... it's mostly "everyone's fault."

So, from Beirut to Jerusalem I can safely say that the region is like a pot of pasta simmering on your stove: you watch it simmer and as the water and foam rises, you can turn down the heat. But have you done it in time?

Or is it going to boil over anyway - and make a complete mess of your kitchen?

BAGHDAD, Iraq - In Iraq, Santa Claus doesn't always wear red.

An Iraqi schoolgirl tries on her new backpack.

Major Eric Egland, founder of the nonprofit organization troopsneedyou.com, is dressed in camouflage, complete with body armor and helmet.

The U.S. Air Force Reserves officer is heading to a poor Baghdad neighborhood to deliver holiday gifts to children at an elementary school.

As he and his fellow soldiers load up several armored Humvees with boxes, Egland tells me: "We're going to deliver some school supplies that were picked out - not by bureaucrats, not by government, not by adults - but by kids themselves in northern California."

Egland's group is based on his personal theory that helping Iraqis also helps U.S. troops because, "when you give the locals the resources that they ask for and you improve their lives, they trust you and they will stand up for security and the new government."

We park the Humvees at the local military district headquarters and set out on foot for the school, about an eight-minute walk away.

As we approach, the headmaster emerges and warmly greets Egland. Inside, in the cold but sunny courtyard, young boys are playing a furious game of musical chairs, racing in a circle, brought to a stop by a piercing whistle blown by their teacher.

There are few girls. They stand quietly to the side, near the female teachers. As the soldiers carry in the boxes, then cut them open, the children stand in two rows, waiting for their gifts.

But it's not the usual holiday gift of toys. It's school supplies: colorful backpacks, pens, colored pencils and paper - along with some bright green caps and T-shirts.

The schoolmaster is thrilled. This is what the students really need, he says.

"Honestly, I don't think the families of these children can provide their children these kinds of school supplies," he adds, "and of course it makes us happy when we see the students happy."

As each student comes forward to get his or her gift, they say "thank you" - some in Arabic, some in English. Everyone seems to know the favorite English expression, "OK! " which they yell out happily and give a thumbs up.

When the gifts are distributed, the soldiers wave goodbye to the children, and we pile into the Humvees. We drive slowly through streets filled with traffic.

This is an old neighborhood, filled with an astounding number of small businesses, especially car-repair shops. Most of them appear to be doing a brisk business replacing smashed windshields.

I notice several children helping out in the shops, one of them serving tea to a street vendor, another sweeping a shop floor. It's midday and they are not in school. And I realize how lucky the children at the elementary school really are. Watch Jill Dougherty with the camoflage Santa

LOS ANGELES, California – I am not one who is inclined to cry. I never have been.

CNN's Arwa Damon and Youssif goof off in Los Angeles.

When I first met Youssif it was hard to look at his heavily scarred face and his sad dark eyes peering out from underneath the thick scar tissue.

The scope of the horror of what had happened to him was impossible for my mind to absorb. What kind of a world do we live in where someone can douse a four-year-old in gasoline and set him on fire?

Since that first day he has taught me so much. Now six, he offers a story in the survival of the human spirit.

At first, Youssif wouldn't talk to me. Girls have cooties. To be honest, I was jealous of the male members of our crew.

He finally did speak to me a few days after we arrived in Los Angeles. We were at the beach - a first for the family. Youssif ran shrieking toward the water as fast as his little legs would take him. We laughed so much that day!

It was my first glimpse of the boy that he once was. He ordered me to bring him water from the ocean for the sand castle we were trying to build. I'm not one who is inclined to take orders, but I was so happy he was talking to me that I obeyed. I've been obeying him ever since.

This family has been through so much, and they still are. His parents are struggling not only with the horror of what their son went through but also the trauma of watching him struggle through the multiple surgeries. But day by day they say their son is coming back.

I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like. To see your son trying to put out the flames on his face with his little hands. To think that all hope is lost. To land in a foreign country and know that you can't go back home because you've accepted help from an American NGO and you're associated with an American TV network.

I speak with Youssif's parents on a regular basis. It had been a year since I was able to make it back to Los Angeles and spend time with them in person. And I have to admit, I was nervous.

Even a year ago, when I made several trips, it took Youssif a while to warm up to me again. I also have to admit that I don't spend much time with kids. So I had no idea how he would react to me.

When I walked into the apartment he was hiding under the table with his kid sister grinning devilishly. I barely fit but wriggled my way underneath. He laughed. I breathed a sigh of relief: We were golden.

I look at him now talking a mile a minute about anything and everything in a mix of Arabic and English, and I can't believe he's the same boy I met in Baghdad. I would really do anything for this kid. I made paper airplanes for the first time in over two decades.

"Are you working on my story?" Youssif asks me, looking over my shoulder as I type this.

"Yup," I say.

He's looking over my shoulder again, pointing to the numerous times his name comes up. I love that we're "hanging out" now. We're even sharing popcorn. He's shrieking with laughter at something silly I am doing.

"Here, you can take this too," he said in giving me his toothpaste, as I packed my bags.

I am so childishly flattered. I am also the proud owner of a gingerbread snowman he made in class, a little pink flower, two paper airplanes we made together, a stuffed rabbit, and a cold soda because he noticed I was done drinking the one I already had.

And a used eraser.

"I want to grow up so I can be a doctor," he says. "Is being 10 a man?"

I laugh. He's being serious.

"I want to help other burnt Iraqi kids. I want to be like Dr. Peter," he says referring to his surgeon, Dr. Peter Grossman with the Grossman Burn Center.

Youssif's even sitting in my lap now.

"Are you leaving today?" he asks.

I nod.

"Oooooh," he exclaims, his usual expression of surprise, as his eyes widened.

He keeps running over asking me how much time I have left.

It's breaking my damn heart to leave. And I thought I was the "tough Baghdad correspondent."

But watching Youssif standing on stage singing "Jinglebell Rock" with the other first-graders, I felt tears sting my eyes. It's not the first time the little guy has caused such a rare reaction in me.

Click here to watch Arwa Damon's report on her reunion with Youssif.

CNN – The conviction and sentencing of Colonel Theoniste Bagasora is a milestone as it marks the first time those responsible for the Rwandan genocide have been brought to Justice. Bagasora was accused of masterminding the 100-day terror spree that left 800,000 to 1 million Rwandans dead in 1994. Bagasora was Cabinet Director at the Ministry of Defense. He took over the political and military leadership after the plane carrying Rwanda’s president was shot down in April 1994, which set off the genocide.

Today, the judge at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda in Arusha, Tanzania, read the chilling charges and the verdict: guilty of genocide, crimes against humanity and war crimes. Sentence: life in prison.

Two other military officers were found guilty of the same charges and also sentenced to life in prison. One was acquitted.  

In 1994, men women and children across the country were hacked, clubbed or shot to death, including Rwanda’s prime minister, and 10 Belgian U.N. peacekeepers. The head of the U.N. Force, former Canadian general Romeo Dallaire called Bagasora the “kingpin” and said he had threatened his life with a handgun. Dallaire had been warned by his informants that extremist Hutus, like Bagasora, were planning the genocide and he tried repeatedly to warn his bosses at the U.N., but the world looked away and did nothing to stop the killings.

The wheels of justice have been slow to turn. It has taken six years to reach today’s verdict. At one time tens of thousands of Rwandans were swept up and thrown in jail but there was no way that country could process all the accused.

A system of community courts called ga-cha-chas have brought thousands of perpetrators face to face with their victims’ families to describe their crimes and beg forgiveness. National reconciliation is Rwanda’s official policy. Perhaps that is a step closer today, as the International Court finally brings to justice those at the top of the chain of command.

SEOUL, South Korea - Looking at the now world-famous video of the Iraqi TV reporter hurling his shoes at U.S. President George W. Bush, I have a weird feeling of déjà vu.

A lawmaker who backed President Roh Moo-hyun throws a ballot box after the South Korean National Assembly voted to impeach him.

In March 2004, the South Korean parliament barreled through impeachment proceedings against then President Roh Moo-hyun.

 The speaker, surrounded by supporting assemblymen as well as bodyguards, pushed their way to the podium and made the proclamation that the country's first impeachment proceedings had begun.

Watching the frenzy and chaos on live TV, I vividly remember seeing opposing parliamentarians using whatever they had at their disposal to express their outrage.

And thus, the appearance of the dress shoe. Or should I say the dress shoes.

I have to admit their aim was not as good at the hurl in Baghdad. But shoes galore were thrown in the speaker's direction, shoes followed by paper, and even the heavy name plaques on the assembly seats.

Deadly weapons, I have to say.

But despite the shoe throwing, the impeachment proceedings were initiated. And later the shoes were replaced by tens of thousands of South Koreans in candlelight protests.

Ultimately the impeachment proceedings were killed. But the parliamentary legacy continues. 

A remodeled National Assembly now has bolted-down name plaques. But assemblymen still wear shoes.  

Maybe something any U.S. president should remember when he visits the South Korean National Assembly.

MUSINA, South Africa – Driving up to the Zimbabwe border, on the N1 highway, is a lesson in Trailer Packing 101. Vehicles of all shapes, sizes and roadworthiness are slowly pulling rickety trailers laden with goods.

Traffic lines up at the South African border town of Musina with Zimbabwe.

 At this time of the year, the exodus up north is a hair-raising journey during which you dodge some of the most outrageous examples of cars, buses and trucks I have ever seen on a road. Most look as if they are being held together with bits of tape and string.

But despite their flimsy, collapsing appearance these modes of transport will help to sustain many Zimbabweans this Christmas.

Loaded on the roofs and stuffed into the trailers are boxes of groceries, bags of clothes and even beds and door frames.

I asked one driver at the border post, whose car had a two-meter high bundle of goods perched precariously on the trailer, if there was a kitchen sink in his load as well. He laughed good naturedly and brushed off my question - leaving me to wonder if there was indeed a sturdy kitchen sink bound for Harare in his kit?

Mostly though, the basics are being transported in bulk across the border – one family had about 100 eggs in the back of their van. Another had so many bags of potatoes, it gave a new meaning to the phrase "carbo-loading." Others stock up on huge vats of cooking oil, kilograms of sugar and heavy bags of meilie meal or maize.

Food shortages and hyperinflation have left many Zimbabweans hungry and poor - which is why this highway of makeshift grocery trucks resembles a highway of hope for many.

For all the flat wheels, bent chassis and squealing brakepads, the steady bustle of traffic northwards means that for the next few weeks, at least, Zimbabweans who have relatives or friends in South Africa can savor the luxuries of basic commodities lovingly driven home for the holidays.

He was a mate of London's inimitable, blond mop haired mayor, Boris Johnson, he knew British opposition leader David Cameron at Oxford and now he's suddenly become prime minister of Thailand.

Abhisit Vejjajiva is Thailand's youngest leader for decades.

Abhisit Vejjajiva has had the classic English education: Eton, politics, philosophy and economics at Oxford and an economics masters for good measure. He's suave, urbane and sophisticated... and I have a feeling he may not cling onto the top job for long.

He only managed to get to there after he courted his former political enemies. They mysteriously switched sides and the fresh faced 44-year-old Abhisit suddenly was catapulted on to the world stage, without ever having won an election.

His coalition is precarious and fragile. His political bedfellows are men who until a few days ago were his political nemeses - loyal to the ousted billionaire Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra.

But the big challenge for Abhisit is connecting to the average Thai voter. In a country where the majority are still impoverished rice farmers, this presents a big challenge for the smooth-talking Mr.Abhisit.

His privileged background and lack of "real world" experience will leave many in Thailand wondering whether he really can empathize with their daily difficulties.

Abhisit has copied many of Thaksin's populist policies, aimed at winning over the rural poor. Cheap health-care and micro credit will be popular, just as they were under Thaksin, but I wonder whether he quite has the "x-factor" to really wow the masses.

Abhisit needs to act quickly, shoring up Thailand's faltering economy, re-building its international image and healing the deep political scars that mark the fault-lines running across this nation.

He needs to do this quickly because many think the clock is already ticking for his coalition to fall apart. I sat down with Abhisit for an exclusive interview just after he won the vote to become prime minister and he refused to give a time frame for fresh elections.

The problem is he has no mandate from the people at the moment and has only risen to the top, after horse trading and deal making in parliament. Sooner or later he must face that test and go to the nation... and without some quick footwork to prove his mettle I fear he will fail.

Watch Dan Rivers' interview with Abhisit Vejjajiva on Talk Asia

ATHENS, Greece - Two weekends have passed since the killing of 15-year-old Alexandro Grigoropoulos. Now many Greeks simply want life to return to normal.

Demonstrators Monday outside Athens police headquarters.

The mayor of Athens has vowed to restore the giant Christmas tree in Syntagma Square that was burned down by rioters a week ago, promising to carry on with the city's holiday celebrations.

Looking more like a war-zone than a popular holiday destination, Athens has been losing a lot of business since the start of the youth-police clashes on December 6.

Shops are smashed and looted. Tourists have fled and stopped coming.

The luxury hotel in the city center where our crew stayed had a gorgeous view of the Acropolis but few guests, allowing us to pay rock-bottom rates for the best rooms overlooking the parliament, where some of the most violent confrontations took place.

Shaking his head at the protesters shouting outside the hotel entrance at 6 a.m., a middle-age concierge said: "These people are relentless. They don't want us to work here because it's a big expensive hotel. They come here a few times a month blocking all the entrances so we cannot come or leave work."

Clashes between youths and police are nothing new in the Hellenic Republic, and every riot seems to follow the same formula: protest, riot, and soon enough issues forgotten and people move on.

As students schedule more protests in the coming days and the police plead for more tear gas, I wonder how many Greeks still believe that rioting is the answer?

It's already costing the government billions of euros in damage and certainly does nothing to boost the country's economy.

For individuals, how painful it must be to see their beloved homeland stripped of its dignity and beauty by the angry mob?

Our driver Manos apologized when he dropped us off at the airport.

"You'll need to come back and see Athens properly," he pleaded, obviously feeling personally responsible for the chaos we'd witnessed. This is not how things usually are here. Next time will be different. Really."

Really, I do want to revisit this mesmerizing country, and hopefully the next time will be without a bulletproof jacket.

BEIJING, China – Yesterday was just not a good day to be a journalist in China.  Producers at the CNN International weather show wanted to do stories on how transportation is affected by bad weather. They asked the Beijing bureau to find this out: what is China doing to ensure safe and unimpeded train travel?

After all, China had a bad experience last spring, when heavy, protracted snowstorms paralyzed the rail system in south China and stranded millions of anxious travelers. We thought it would be good to highlight China's efforts to learn from that experience. The Chinese must be quite eager to tell this story, we thought.

Not really. By phone and fax, our intrepid news assistant Yang Yuli, placed a request to the Ministry of Railways (MOR) for an interview and news shoot. Ideally, she said politely, we wished to do that the following week. It's a good opportunity for China to share its experience and knowledge, she said as she appealed to MOR's office of international affairs.

The ministry is very, very busy lately, she was cautioned, but they would consider our request.

Five days later, Yuli phoned to follow up. MOR is simply too busy and the lead time is just too short. Could they give us a definite "yes" or "no"? We were told to keep waiting.

Meantime, same day, another story idea came up. How about doing a story on Wu Yulu, a farmer in suburban Beijing who is said to have built robots in his spare time? Wu did not finish high school but he has reportedly built 26 robots from scrap metal and bearings. Among them, a human-shaped automaton that pulls a rickshaw for six hours on a single electric charge.

Wu may not get a Nobel Prize nomination for his efforts, but I thought his story was so colorful it merited a closer look.  In some ways, I thought, his story showed Chinese ingenuity and resourcefulness.

Beijing bureau producer Judy Kwon tracked down Wu's home phone. His wife answered. Wu is too busy, she said, and Judy should talk to her, instead. Judy explained why we wished to interview Wu and what kind of story we wished to do, but Wu's wife interrupted to ask if there would be any "laogong fee" (service fee). No, Judy explained, as a company policy we do not pay nor accept payment for interviews or stories. No deal then, Wu's wife said curtly. Four members of the family rely on Wu so they need financial support. Judy kept pushing, saying we don't pay, but this could be a good opportunity for Wu to get international exposure. Does that mean no payment, no interview?

Long pause ...

This time, we got a quick and firm answer.

No-go on Wu Yulu.  No-go on the train story.