finally a name to things

It was May 9, 1948, in the Tiberius region in the Gaza Strip, where I and my family of 5 live. The war has started. There have been many large-scale military engagements between Arab troops and the Israel Defence Forces near the borders. I could hear all the firing of the artillery shells, rumbling of those heavy tanks, and roaring of the jet planes overhead in the distance. Worse, I feel a growing trepidation in my heart that the horror of war was inching closer every day, and it would be inevitable before the blood and screaming invade my village. Then came the reinforcements on both sides. The sounds and cries of battle increased and drew nearer. Soon, there were talks amongst the villagers to evacuate the area before things get too intensive. But it was too late. On May 15, 1948, the Arab troops began a full-force invasion, and the IDF responded. We were caught square in the middle. Everyone was in a state of paranoia and lived in fear every day, afraid that troops would come in the dead of the night and kill us all.
In the day, we were afraid to leave the house, or even go out in the open, for fear of being sniped. There was incessant sniping by the Israelis, who killed anyone who looked minutely like a terrorist. And it was very demoralizing; I have lost two good friends to these infamous out-of-the-blue headshots that took away your life in an instant. Morale in the village was very low, and the village elders were already preparing for imminent evacuation. Finally, on May 17, 1948, the bombs arrived with an almighty bang. Chaos erupted. I grabbed my two kids while my wife accompanied my elderly grandmother, and we rushed to a waiting truck. Israeli jet fighters flew by overhead, and dropped multiple bombs and missiles that obliterated our village. Our village had suddenly seemed so fragile. We took half our lives to build it up, and it was destroyed by a person pressing a “Fire” button. But we had no time to think of that during that spur of the moment. We were only concerned about getting out safely. Thank God, we managed to squeeze aboard, and our truck started rumbling off into the distance, leaving behind the shattered and smoldering remains of our village that was once my, our homeland.
The ride on the open-top truck was very bumpy, but we managed to catch a nap over night. In the morning, we reached a small town on our way to the border. As we passed by the small town, we saw many stores and houses on fire, barren landscapes and smoldering remains of broken-down vehicles by the roadside. We also saw people looting from those dilapidated and vacant stores which were not on fire. There was a strong lingering stench of burning flesh and smoke too in the hazy air. As we moved on, we witnessed more and more remnants of the despair and disrepair caused by the war, such as vehicle skeletons, dead bodies on the side of the road, bomb craters, devastated homes and crumbling infrastructure.
Four days later, after many stops for food and water, we reached the border. There was an extremely humongous crowd of people (I later realized it was 25,000 people) attempting to cross the border into Lebanon after rumors that Arab air forces were going to bomb Jewish areas around Mt. Carmel, and no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire. Soon, news reports came in that Haifa was captured. Tens of thousands of Arab men, women and children fled toward the eastern outskirts of the city in cars, trucks, carts, and afoot in a desperate attempt to reach Arab territory until the Jews captured Rushmiya Bridge toward Samaria and Northern Palestine and cut us off. Thousands rushed every available craft, even rowboats, along the waterfront, to escape by sea. Amazingly, I and my family made it through, in a truck driven by a family friend living in Lebanon. By night, more than 50,000 Arabs had crossed the border.
I had lost all contact with my friends and my colleagues. I had lost my home. And now I was on the run with my family, heading nowhere into unknown lands. We reached the highway late in the evening. There were still lots of chaos and pandemonium around, with embers flickering everywhere from the remains of burning objects, and also people running around haphazardly. I was dozing off on the back of the truck when it happened. No one even had the chance to yell ‘BRACE!’, before the truck’s front wheel hit the landmine.
The truck’s front cab totally blew apart in a shower of sparks and flames, and the back assembly was sent spiraling off the beaten track. I just felt a crushing G-force pressure all around me, and just held on to the chassis for dear life while the assembly tumbled end over end. I shut my eyes, and saw my life flash before my eyes…and hoped. Finally, after an agonizingly long time, the truck came to a stop, around 30m behind the mine. I slowly opened my eyes.
I was still alive.
With fear, horror and adrenaline coursing through me, I surveyed my surreal surroundings through swollen eyes. Blood was splattered all over the road and truck. I vaguely recognised my wife amongst the carnage, and crawled slowly towards her. Only when I reached her did I realize that life was conspicuously absent from her. I turned around, still shell-shocked. The unmoving bodies of my kids and grandmother lay in awkward positions all over the accident site.
Holding my wife’s body in my hands, I let out an agonizing scream of despair. No one was within earshot of us…the entire highway was empty. I sat down despondently on the side of the ruined highway, and cried.
In the morning, with no outside help and no way to contact any emergency service, I was left with no choice, and had to leave my family before the weather became unbearable and the elements began to take a toll on me. After about 2 hours of trekking, I stumbled upon an abandoned petrol kiosk. Dying of thirst and starvation, I moved about blindly in the kiosk, searching for food and water. The radio was still playing, albeit at a low volume. I had retained hope, in hope that the Arab armies would liberate my homeland, allowing me to return to my home and rebuild. Hope that was very much needed in my current weary and demoralized state. Over the radio, I heard the news. Days and weeks had passed, sufficient to accomplish the sacred mission, but the Arab armies did not save the country. They did nothing but let slip from their hands Acre, Sarafand, Lydda, Ramleh, Nazareth, most of the south and the rest of the north. The breath came out of me in a huff.
I had lost everything. My family, kin, home and now my country. With such overwhelming odds and the unreal truth that everything was gone, I could not take it anymore.
I crawled out onto the scorching sun-baked land, and waited for God to send me to a better place.

Mahmoud Darwish
24/05/1948
Somewhere near the Gaza-Lebanon Border

A refugee's poem

Whoever might be reading this, this is a poem written by a good friend of mine. He wrote this some time ago and then recited it to me many times. He died not long after that. I still remember the poem vividly. I post this in his memory.

Raining

I raise my head to the sky
I see the dark clouds up high
A storm will arrive soon
A shroud on tonight’s bright moon
The sky will split asunder
The opening scenes are lightning and thunder
Rain will fall
Rain will pour
But rain isn’t the only thing that falls from above
Death too comes from above

Death comes from the sky
Death takes the form of missiles
Grey metal eggs which drop from the sky
They explode upon hitting the ground
He that gets hit dies
We that get lucky survive
And the place has become
Pandemonium on earth

I have a large family
All of them I loved dearly
The missiles have killed all of them
Save me who is left as damned
With a left arm burnt to crisp
And a heart shattered beyond belief
I am broken completely
Physically and mentally
Life is of no meaning
Melancholic is now my morphine

Those life and death situations make me think
Of whom the lucky ones truly are
Is it those who have lost their lives
Yet enjoy eternal rest
Or those who survive
Only to continue living under the specter of death and suffering
Will this pain ever end?
Is there respite?

I raise my head to the sky
I see a clear and bright sky
The storm is over
And dawn has broken
Rain has stopped falling
I await the day when the bombs
Will never fall from the sky again

Anonymous

how much longer will this last?

It was blinding. As I adjusted to the brightness, I surveyed the surroundings around us. There were not many children around; I realised we were in the city area, where the buildings were those comparable to our home, and it was just a typical busy afternoon.

Refugee. That was a new word I learnt when we reached Gaza. My dad introduced us as refugees and went around seeking help, looking for a place to settle down. I did not know what 'refugee' meant. Did it mean we were rich and powerful people? I suppose so. After all, we had quite a reputation in Jerusalem.

We soon found a place, a temporary sanctuary in this foreign circumstances. I was feeling sticky, and my shirt had a huge brown patch, the result of my carelessness while in the tunnel.

"Dad, can I have a bath? I smell SO bad!"

My father ignored me, and I saw that he was busy giving instructions to the servants.

".... guard the doors at night, be vigilant at ALL times."

I knew there was a war in Jerusalem, but surely it wouldn't affect us in the south-west Gaza, would it? I did not much about it. I was dead beat from the long trek to Gaza, so much so that the moment I found a bed, I lay down and slowly drifted off to sleep.

I was all groggy when I woke up. I began to explore what was left in the house. Something caught my eye. A letter was on the ground near my bed. I picked it up.. I pulled out two pieces of paper. I found a poem and a letter. What could be in those?

the journey begins

it took a while for me to adjust to the brightness of the tunnel. the musty smell inside irritated my nose, and I began to sneeze. "Shhhhh! Do you want to be discovered?" one of the servants, Sharon, hissed at me. Not used to this treatment from servants, I was about to tell him off, until I remembered: we were escaping, from God knows what.

I was burning with curiosity, as much as I hated having to walk long distances in near-suffocating conditions in the tunnel. Once, I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. But alas, it was just one of the servants who was stationed to serve as a marker. On a moment of impulse, I suddenly blurted it all out.

"Who are we escaping from? We are the Palestinians! It doesn't make sense for us to leave everything behind in Jerusalem. Are we going to stay in this accursed tunnel for the rest of our lives?"

"The Israelis are attacking Jerusalem. We had to leave. Your family were one of their targets."

I turned sharply to see who was speaking. It was the shortest serving servant in our household, Farez. What could be expected of him? His input was of no significance to me.

"Don't sprout nonsense! Jerusalem is our rightful home! According to my tutor, Prophet Muhammad had landed here in Jerusalem, how can anyone dispute that?"

I looked at Farez triumphantly, as if daring him to come up with a rebuttal.

"Whoever has been teaching you? How can you look at this war from just one perspective?"

Suddenly, I realised that I had been deceived and misled by my tutor at home.. This was war between the Israelis and the Palestinians. We were being forced out of Jerusalum by the damn Jews!

"We're headed to the Gaza," Sharon said. I nodded meekly. I had not expected this. What beckoned now, at the Gaza?

the first warning

The first I knew of it was when I was rudely awakened from slumber. Mother stared caringly, fearfully into my face, with the light of the candle she held glowing and lighting up the tears on her face with a myraid of colours.

"Child, we must flee".

It was ridiculous. It wasn't school-time yet, I hadn't hit the snooze button thrice over, my homework still lay undone (that lazy maid!), and yet, mother attempted to drag me out of my blissful sanctuary. I pulled my consciousness out of slumber long enough to give her the vampire-fang face.

But it was unusual. A flurry of activity dominated our mansion, and the servants were running everywhere and collecting everything. It seemed as if we were moving house. Or as if the house was going to move away. After all, I'd resided in this area, this land, for the entirety of my life; the notion of moving away on a permanent basis was utterly alien to me.

Mother succeeded, finally, as I mused to myself (with my vampiric expression still tuned onto her), and we were both sent sprawling to the ground. My head connected with the parquet flooring, and I felt refreshed. And that's when I looked out the window.

Policemen were at the gate of our mansion, and banging it down by the looks of it. The dogs howled themselves reckless. Two servants busted into my room and lifted my entire person, and I was so shocked I could hardly understand the information my senses transmitted to my brain. Of course, high class members with the necessary intellect could make sense of any situation, and I became aware of a few facts:

1. We were leaving our residence, our jewelry, our treasures, our family history. This was a fact I was cognizant of as we entered the secret tunnel which led directly out of the city.
2. It was a planned escape. I saw my double enter my room, with a semi-fatalistic expression splashed upon his too-slim face. Seeing your doppelganger makes you feel weird.
3. We might not be coming back. Items of greatest importance were being taken... ... not inclusive of dearest Bear Bear.

Naturally, this all came as a gargantuan shock to my very high self, and if not for my carefully cultured upbringing, I might have been compelled to react violently. As it was, I kept my cool, and informed those bearing my person that they had to be gentler and were to provide sustenance within the hour.

Whence might we be bound?

-Hassir Barafat, palestinian elite youth

a pragmatic note on surreality

Dear world, this is the anguished author.

I am, as of now, escaping the deadly Israeli forces who are even now converging upon my position. As I make my hasty flight across the shared border between Israel the unholy land and Gaza the holy one, I plead my case to the international community.

I depict my most horrible situation: half-starved with no remaining assets or money, rations running out rapidly, no shelter and no comfort, I live by the gun with fellow escaping Palestinians. We have been on the run for days now, ever since we got tipped off by our subordinates' henchmen that the Israeli government intended to capture and detain us, try us and have us executed unfairly in order to seize our assets and quench our political power flow. We, as active political proponents of Palestinian land in Israel, are now persecuted.

As we flee, bullets zinging past our heads, with no food and necessity nor assets left, penniless in the world, we are typing English on our Vaio laptops on our blog using the Wireless@Gaza service, provided by a convenient friendly overhead Tel Aviv satellite.

I still remember...