As
my strange, fortuitous, incredible and tiresome day come to an end. I bent
throbbing temples on my desk trying to
recall what I have heard from Marzouk ,
my paternal Syrian cousin, who came two days ago from Syria .
I want to narrate upfront what my grandparents
told me: " After the Nakba the
whole family scattered and the connection
between us was a false miracle. Somebody swore that he saw Said -the elder
brother of my granddad- in Jordan
at the year 1960 and he accompanied him to his small shop at Aqaba ." Between
1947 – 1948 a lot of people escaped from
their own villages due to the massacres and ethnic cleansing to no way . Whereas
some young, revolutionary and fearless men refused to leave and decided to
fight . Said was one of them. He stayed at our field and decided to ask some
fighters from the near cities like al
Majdal and Ashkelon to defend Ashdod and he went
along with some fighters to smuggle fire guns from Egypt. We heard – my parents – that
there was a strong, remarkable, and heroic resistance. Notwithstanding there was a genocidal war against the
indigenous. From that time we didn't know anything about Said ,some people who
transferred later to Gaza
said " He martyred while others said he got arrested, but that man swore
that he is alive!" ". At 1994, my father's uncle, Ziad came to Gaza with the Palestinian
authority and he gave surety the place of Said. Said wasn't in Jordan
but in Syria.
From that time we quit thinking about Said. It was like a dilemma that is
difficult to come over ."
As a child, I was fascinated about Said. He
was like a secret or maze which I hope to go through . A year after a year I was interested in
collecting such stories . I heard varied similar things. One of it was a story of a woman who was lost
during the Nakba and her parents thought that she was one of the women who
were slaughtered at the mid of the day in Hlekat, a small village next to Ashdod.
Umm
Saleh narrated her story while she was sinking
in nonstop tears. " I was so tired and there was a lot of people
who flew from the neighboring areas . Hlekat was flooded with refugees and
injured people . Neither there was food,
nor water. Nothing sufficient! At that
night, when the planes were bombing from the sky and the soldiers surrounding
the village, they separated us and started to intimidate and kill the women while their husbands and sons were
under torture . At the end we left the village. Roads were endless, fear was
fierce and hope was rare. I was only eleven years old. I searched for my parents
but unsuccessfully then I gave up and stayed with a different family for a whole year . I met my brother
incidentally at khan -Younis who was shocked and scared. After that I went with
him to Beach camp where I cried beneath
my parents feet."
More
than once or maybe tens of times I tried to nominate and allocate the entire
names of my family but at the end a splitting headache penetrated my head
declaring that everything I've done was in vain. Said was an engraved name in
my memory that I can't erase .
He
is alive, isn't he.?
No, no.
He is died…
Maybe
he is somewhere else .
Three
hours ago I met him, he resembles my uncle Mohammed who martyred during the
first intifada. He has deep eyes, with an eagle-like nose and weak body. It seems
that he didn't sleep for an entire year. He has a lot to say but he didn't
utter even a word, after a while his eyes were like a sky full of rain but he
didn't cry. He sipped his plain coffee while puffing the smoke of the cigarettes
out .
So,
you miss your country, How was Syria
? " my grandfather murmured "
" I
miss Syria
and I love my country" the man said
Are
you married? " my questioning granddad said"
"
Yes, I am married with two sons and three daughters" the man said
trembling
"
Where are they? " granddad commented.
"
I dunno?" the man with closed eyes.
I
was sitting next to the door trying to hear what is going on and who is that
man .
The
voice was unclear and that man was so weak and hesitant. Suddenly the electricity
went off , then it was my only chance to enter the room to offer a candle . Finally
I did it . Now I can see and hear . All of my senses were sharpened .
"She
is Intimaa my elder granddaughter and he is Marzouk my nephew he is the son of
Said " my granddad said while looking into Marzouk's face .
I
was out of words. I couldn't say anything nor say hello . I was foolish . It
was a shock . I went far away to that song which called passport.
I
saw Marcil Khalifa singing:
They did not
recognize me in the shadows
That suck away my color in this Passport
And to them my wound was an exhibit
For a tourist Who loves to collect photographs
They did not recognize me,
Ah... Don't leave
The palm of my hand without the sun
Because the trees recognize me
Don't leave me pale like the moon!
Somebody
opened the door and my father immediately came. He kissed Marzouk and hugged him tightly. I went to make the tea as quick as I can. Marzouk
said that he flew from Syria
and he no nothing about his family . He explained the situation there and how
he lost his family. My granddad interrupted him by asking how he ended up here and how many brothers and sisters does he has .
"
My father died before fifteen years . I have only one sister who live in Saudi Arabia. We
are not allowed to come to Gaza
and we don't have Id's . It was difficult to reach you or to find a single information
about the rest of the family . Actually my father had nothing to inherit us
just our names and nationality, I know only that my name is Marzouk Said Ahmad
from Ashdod. The current situation in Syria pushed me
to come here by the tunnels just to see if their anybody alive from my family.
At Rafah I asked about the family name.
And I met some of them but they know nothing about Said. I asked for all the
refugees from the same family but in vain. After all I asked about the citizens
from the family and I finally arranged to meet you my uncle"Marzouk said.
My
grandfather took a cigarette and sighed: " Yes my son, It's another story,
at the beginning my father refused to sign our papers as refugees. He considered
it as a matter of time and we will
return soon. At the same time he believed that it's a shame. I mean to leave
your son and your land. To ESCAPE . He regretted that and he wished to died there
in Ashdod as
Said , but even Said died in the exile "
Marzouk
was so tired so he went in a deep sleep next to my granddad . He said that tomorrow
he will go back to Syria
.
I couldn't sleep. There is only one question inside my mind..Why??
