Posts Tagged ‘Gaza’

Here, in #Gaza


In Gaza, I sit behind my screen, devastated. “I don’t want to report on twitter, anymore” I think to myself. Then I take my words back and try to keep myself busy with it.

For the last seven days, I’ve been following the news, translating them and posting them on twitter after they are “confirmed”. One martyr here, another there. A child here, a child there. A woman here and a woman there. One, two three injuries coming into Alshifa hospital. I’ve been eliminating my feelings for seven days. I’ve been watching my language, spelling, punctuation and feelings. Today, I broke down. For a moment, I didn’t care where the last explosion was. If what exploded has exploded, what is my tweet going to do about it, I thought again. My Mom said the name of the place being targeted in surprise. Why are you surprised, I thought again. They’ve been bombing children for the past seven days. Why on earth are you surprised they’re targeting a commercial building.

In Gaza, children, if their lives were spared, wait in hospitals, bandaged and scared, for their dead mothers to rush towards them. Others lie alone, along with their siblings, or beside their father, faces deeply cut, hearts still as rubble, their eyes sleepy as in the night before when they couldn’t sleep, some with twinkling eyes. Still, they breathe no more.

In Gaza, a mother runs to hospital praying and hoping that the unidentified torn child isn’t hers. She knows it’s him. He was playing football a second ago. His jacket is also torn there beside their house. She is definite. She only collapses when she is confronted with the fact.

In Gaza, a man, blouse drained in blood, cracks when a doctor tells him that his son is already dead. He doesn’t know in which corner he should hide his face. A wall interrupts his strides. And, he crumbles there.

A boy, in Gaza, hasn’t spoken to anyone since the news of his friend’s death. He walks in his friend’s funeral with endless looks inspecting the nothingness before him.

In Gaza, four generations live. The youngest is buried.

After seven days, all you can do is blink.

Here, we stand.


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From Beneath

I didn’t even know if my eyes were open.

After a big mess everything seemed so calm I could sense the dust covering my face, the only part I could feel. I could feel my breath hitting one of the bricks of my room’s floor. Air found its way through everything surrounding my body. Silence was all I could hear. My arms trapped somewhere under the wooden edges of my bed, my toes, my legs, my hair, they all were jailed and penalized not to move.

I was afraid. I waited and waited trying to recall all the joyful events in my life, as my mother once advised me to do so when I’m afraid, though they were few: My elder brother’s big wedding, my grandmother coming from Hajj and bringing me a doll singing, the last Eid when I got my biggest Edeyya ever, my mother bringing us home a new baby after me _I wonder if that was a happy event for me, but I could certainly see the joy my parents had looking at that little thing. My breath firmly came back to my face touching it as to comfort me and tell me that everything will be ok. A minute later I started crying, though. And only then I realized that my eyes were closed, for I could feel my wet eyelashes. It did not matter; opening them and closing them were thoroughly the same. I cried so much that my tears mixed with the dust on my face felt like mud at the edges of my face. I must have been bleeding, since a killing pain started growing in my chest with the growing of my weeping. I tried to move in order to stop the pain. Only one muscle, I found out that something very sharp, extremely strong, calmly was standing through my skin. I stopped crying. I waited. I bled.

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