At night I could not sleep. My body was shaking all over and no matter what I do to try to calm down, I could not stop trembling. I know now that Baba was very worried about me, but then I was so lost in fear, paralyzing grip that everything and everyone looked away even when they are standing in the same room as I. I was in a jar with a thick, distorting glass in around me. Each time the bomb exploded, something in my head would go "pop" and all the people and things in our flats around me disappeared. Then I would be a 'wake up' again, watch baba and mama's face to look for signs of relief in their eyes, but it does not exist, so the fear that keeps holding me. I remember almost nothing about what I do to make the time pass during the days.
Salwa, my sister, kept crying and crying. Mama would take her in his arms and hugged her, but mama was afraid, and tears rolling down her cheeks. Baba could not make mama stop crying and he was upset because he said that he made bad for us. Mama would try to stop crying with her face buried in Salwa hair and closed his eyes - like she is trying to find a place to hide. I could not go near Mama when she was crying, I'm afraid if I get too close, the number of our fears will cause the bomb to explode right over our house.
My brother, Ali, try to be like him but I know he was really afraid of how he watched baba for cues. One morning, I saw him cry when I woke up. Baba took him to the bathroom. They talked for a long time but I could not hear what they were saying. Ali looked away from us when they finally come out. Later that morning, Mama took the sheets off the bed Ali and I saw, by the light from the window, the circle of pale yellow pee in the middle of white cloth. I pretended not to see, but it makes me ashamed to Ali, who is 12 and wants to be like him. I never said anything about it even much later, when we were teased and tormented each other in play, or even when I'm really mad at him for acting like one of the men and ignore me when my aunt and uncle and cousins came and things were OK again.
All the windows were broken in our flat on the fourth day of the attack, and it was so cold that my fingers do not move as fast as it should. I was supposed to write my homework to keep my mind busy, but I can not get my hands to work or my head to think. We had two or three of our socks because there is still a small glass fragments we can not look at the floor, even though we clean every day for something to do.
On that day, at least we can see the flat and there will be fewer explosions than when it is dark, but we could not go outside and do not want to. The lights most of the time and we mostly ate cold food. Only baba will go outside during daylight hours. He continued working day after day. He said it was his duty because he had to let people outside of Gaza know what happened to us. I do not know how he could do this, but Baba never lie to me. I wonder if he could tell someone to make a bombing halt. He had to tell them that there are lots and lots of people here, trapped, without adequate food and right in the path of the bomb. If he can tell quite a lot of people outside of Gaza, maybe they can make the aircraft stopped flying and bombing every night.
I want to ask baba who he is talking, but I'm scared. He looked tired and I knew he was hungry. He would bring food to the house every time he came back, but mostly he gave it to us. He will be calm and silent, and come sit next to me in my bed. When Baba was in the house with us, I could get out of my little jar and, for a few seconds, I imagine we back when everything was "normal". I could smell the familiar from our kitchen and think about cooking mama when we come home from school. We will drop our school bags at the door and took off our boots. Baba will be home soon and we will eat and talk about our days and reading or studying for our exams. On days when the tanks and jeeps came to Gaza we will not go outside but we could watch the kids' on the TV if the generator was working and baba and mama thought that would help us forget about the soldiers and whether they would come all way into our environment with their weapons.
It was a night a lot before I could talk to Baba about the day he ran across town to get me out of school, first day of the murder. I had just left school when a large explosion was heard. It was only a few yards from where I and my classmates outside has begun to spread to different directions to return our separate ways. The police station is right across the street and that's where the biggest explosion occurred. I remember the smoke and flames and screaming men and firemen. We were very scared and did not know what to do because the teacher yelled at us to do different things. Some of them shouted at us to come back inside, but the children of the afternoon shift has arrived, and some of them turned and began to run away, back to their homes even before they get into.
Outside, people were running and screaming in all different directions. I froze on the spot and I do not know if I have to move from that place if I do not see baba ran up to me and call me names. It is far from our flat. I knew then that he got into a taxi as soon as he heard the explosion and told the driver to go as fast as he could. The driver wanted to help but he would not drive so close to the police station, so Baba should run the rest of the way. When I saw it, I forgot everything, except the big arm hug me and say my name and "you're OK." She kept saying, "You'll be fine, now. I'm here with" I do not cry .. I just ran with him until we could get another taxi to take us home. That night in my body started shaking and would not stop. I slept but did not sleep, I spoke but did not speak. The sky over Gaza gray and cold. Salwa at home already with mama, and Ali has run his own home because the school is so close to us. We are together as night fell on Gaza, and the earth shook and angry raging around us during the next three weeks.
On the fifth night, Baba came and sat beside me. He kept taking my hand and tried to still shaking. That's when I told him of the arms and legs that had blown over the police station near my school, from pieces of meat I see the ground covered in blood on the ground around me. My throat got so tight that I could not tell you any more until he hugged me and said it was awful, what I saw, and that it is OK to cry. I want to forget all this now, but I can not. Every time I hear explosions now I froze for a moment, practically forgot to breathe. I re-live them, turn off the first minutes each time, and then blow the rest on top of me like a cool breeze from the sea. I remember shaking Salwa, a voice crying when the bombs were so close they shook our building. "Mama, are they going to kill us, too?"
I think everyone is asking questions later. Are we next? If they kill us, too?
We have moved on since then, to another part of town, to a new home and a place with no memories of nightmare. It helps us forget, though the explosion still makes me freeze with fear. I know this is not over even though I tried to focus on school and friends. Every day I hope the explosion will start again.
- Jennifer Loewenstein is an associate faculty of Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison; LEAP project administrator (http://www.leapsummerprogram.org); freelance journalist, and founder Carol Chomsky Memorial Fund (www.chomskyfund.org). She contributed this article to PalestineChronicle.com. Contact him at: amadea311@earthlink.net. source
Salwa, my sister, kept crying and crying. Mama would take her in his arms and hugged her, but mama was afraid, and tears rolling down her cheeks. Baba could not make mama stop crying and he was upset because he said that he made bad for us. Mama would try to stop crying with her face buried in Salwa hair and closed his eyes - like she is trying to find a place to hide. I could not go near Mama when she was crying, I'm afraid if I get too close, the number of our fears will cause the bomb to explode right over our house.
My brother, Ali, try to be like him but I know he was really afraid of how he watched baba for cues. One morning, I saw him cry when I woke up. Baba took him to the bathroom. They talked for a long time but I could not hear what they were saying. Ali looked away from us when they finally come out. Later that morning, Mama took the sheets off the bed Ali and I saw, by the light from the window, the circle of pale yellow pee in the middle of white cloth. I pretended not to see, but it makes me ashamed to Ali, who is 12 and wants to be like him. I never said anything about it even much later, when we were teased and tormented each other in play, or even when I'm really mad at him for acting like one of the men and ignore me when my aunt and uncle and cousins came and things were OK again.
All the windows were broken in our flat on the fourth day of the attack, and it was so cold that my fingers do not move as fast as it should. I was supposed to write my homework to keep my mind busy, but I can not get my hands to work or my head to think. We had two or three of our socks because there is still a small glass fragments we can not look at the floor, even though we clean every day for something to do.
On that day, at least we can see the flat and there will be fewer explosions than when it is dark, but we could not go outside and do not want to. The lights most of the time and we mostly ate cold food. Only baba will go outside during daylight hours. He continued working day after day. He said it was his duty because he had to let people outside of Gaza know what happened to us. I do not know how he could do this, but Baba never lie to me. I wonder if he could tell someone to make a bombing halt. He had to tell them that there are lots and lots of people here, trapped, without adequate food and right in the path of the bomb. If he can tell quite a lot of people outside of Gaza, maybe they can make the aircraft stopped flying and bombing every night.
I want to ask baba who he is talking, but I'm scared. He looked tired and I knew he was hungry. He would bring food to the house every time he came back, but mostly he gave it to us. He will be calm and silent, and come sit next to me in my bed. When Baba was in the house with us, I could get out of my little jar and, for a few seconds, I imagine we back when everything was "normal". I could smell the familiar from our kitchen and think about cooking mama when we come home from school. We will drop our school bags at the door and took off our boots. Baba will be home soon and we will eat and talk about our days and reading or studying for our exams. On days when the tanks and jeeps came to Gaza we will not go outside but we could watch the kids' on the TV if the generator was working and baba and mama thought that would help us forget about the soldiers and whether they would come all way into our environment with their weapons.
It was a night a lot before I could talk to Baba about the day he ran across town to get me out of school, first day of the murder. I had just left school when a large explosion was heard. It was only a few yards from where I and my classmates outside has begun to spread to different directions to return our separate ways. The police station is right across the street and that's where the biggest explosion occurred. I remember the smoke and flames and screaming men and firemen. We were very scared and did not know what to do because the teacher yelled at us to do different things. Some of them shouted at us to come back inside, but the children of the afternoon shift has arrived, and some of them turned and began to run away, back to their homes even before they get into.
Outside, people were running and screaming in all different directions. I froze on the spot and I do not know if I have to move from that place if I do not see baba ran up to me and call me names. It is far from our flat. I knew then that he got into a taxi as soon as he heard the explosion and told the driver to go as fast as he could. The driver wanted to help but he would not drive so close to the police station, so Baba should run the rest of the way. When I saw it, I forgot everything, except the big arm hug me and say my name and "you're OK." She kept saying, "You'll be fine, now. I'm here with" I do not cry .. I just ran with him until we could get another taxi to take us home. That night in my body started shaking and would not stop. I slept but did not sleep, I spoke but did not speak. The sky over Gaza gray and cold. Salwa at home already with mama, and Ali has run his own home because the school is so close to us. We are together as night fell on Gaza, and the earth shook and angry raging around us during the next three weeks.
On the fifth night, Baba came and sat beside me. He kept taking my hand and tried to still shaking. That's when I told him of the arms and legs that had blown over the police station near my school, from pieces of meat I see the ground covered in blood on the ground around me. My throat got so tight that I could not tell you any more until he hugged me and said it was awful, what I saw, and that it is OK to cry. I want to forget all this now, but I can not. Every time I hear explosions now I froze for a moment, practically forgot to breathe. I re-live them, turn off the first minutes each time, and then blow the rest on top of me like a cool breeze from the sea. I remember shaking Salwa, a voice crying when the bombs were so close they shook our building. "Mama, are they going to kill us, too?"
I think everyone is asking questions later. Are we next? If they kill us, too?
We have moved on since then, to another part of town, to a new home and a place with no memories of nightmare. It helps us forget, though the explosion still makes me freeze with fear. I know this is not over even though I tried to focus on school and friends. Every day I hope the explosion will start again.
- Jennifer Loewenstein is an associate faculty of Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison; LEAP project administrator (http://www.leapsummerprogram.org); freelance journalist, and founder Carol Chomsky Memorial Fund (www.chomskyfund.org). She contributed this article to PalestineChronicle.com. Contact him at: amadea311@earthlink.net. source
0 komentar:
Post a Comment