In Search of Light

Part three of the Jasmine Flower of Gaza series

Photo of an air raid from the view of a refugee camp (source: Walaa Reada)

The Silence of Night

Nights in Gaza are the hardest.

After sunset, the world goes dark — not just because there’s no electricity, but because fear becomes louder. The sounds of airstrikes echo across the sky, and even when they're far away, they feel too close.

We lie awake in our tent, waiting, listening. Each sound could mean life or death.

I look at my husband, still healing, and his father, trying to sleep through the pain. I can’t offer them comfort, only my presence. Sometimes that’s all we have.

The stars above us shine as if nothing has changed. But everything has.

I used to dream at night. Now, I just pray for morning.

– Walaa from Gaza

Tears of a Jasmine Flower

I now remember all the bad days I went through

I write to you and my tears precede me

It was one of the worst days that was hard to cope with

Please stand by me and help me because there is no one to help us

There are no associations or anything

The Last Olive Tree

It suggests a truce everywhere, as if we are waiting for something great to restore a part of our lost lives. How simple we are! The feeling of safety in itself is happiness. I sit under an olive tree, which I believe is the only one remaining among all the trees that were bulldozed. A breeze makes me forget the heat. I sit in its shade and look everywhere, at the people. Many faces pass by that I knew, but this war has changed their features. I see displaced women lighting the clay oven to use for cooking, baking, heating water to make tea, and everything else. From pampered ladies to women sitting in front of the fire, which eats away at their bodies and faces.

No one cares about that. The most important thing is feeding the children and the family. Putting on makeup and wearing the finest clothes is not a priority here, because all of that is lost. I contemplate everything in the tents that no one can sit in at noon. At the children who create their own happiness despite everything that has happened to them and their childhood. I look smiling and say to myself, "Thank God I did not give birth." Children in such circumstances, without education, without healthcare, without dreams, and even without toys 💔

I said, "God only delays our affairs for something we do not know." Then I remembered the reason for this delay. I learned the meaning of patience and not being content. There is a wisdom to everything we do not know. I love children so much that I wish I could embrace them all and protect them from all this injustice, deprivation, and the killing of childhood. A little girl next to me said, "Auntie, can you tie me a rope so I can make a swing?" With all sadness and a fleeting smile, "Here it is, Auntie."

I was happy that I had fulfilled a simple request for this innocent child, whose only crime was that she lived in these circumstances. I looked at her swinging in extreme happiness, looking at me with gentle smiles, the sound of her laughter filling the place, and children ran from everywhere to swing on that branch that carries the hopes of our children and takes them to a world of happiness for a few moments, perhaps enough to distance them from this bitter, deadly, soul-sucking reality. Moments later, I saw them sweating profusely from the intensity of their happiness.  Because of the play and the heat, I bought some juices for them and distributed them to ease some of their stress.

I wished I had a lot of money. I would have bought more and distributed them to all the children in the camp. But circumstances are stronger than everyone else. The world of childhood is beautiful, making us remember all our childhoods that grew up in the shadow of war, but were beautiful despite all that. Despite its beauty, it left scars inside us that time cannot erase, and they grow within us, and the scene is repeated again and again. I do not wish to give birth under these circumstances. I hope that my child will be safe and that everything will be beautiful.

July 11, 2024. Written by: Walaa Abu Rida

[Editor's note: Olive trees are a treasured possession in many Arab cultures. They take many years to fully mature and are considered to be a very long-term investment. Older generations that plant an olive tree might never see the fruits of their labor in their lifetimes. The work put into such a project is often a selfless act that mainly benefits their children and grandchildren. During the US occupation of Iraq, the US military would frequently destroy olive trees in retaliation against perceived resistance to their rule. In a similar vein, Israeli forces have annihilated entire fields of olive trees in Palestine as an act of suppression against the native population.]

Perseverance

We were planting some vegetables to benefit from them so that we would not buy them at an exorbitant price, otherwise we would be displaced from the camp and made homeless.

We always make alternatives.

A life beyond description.

I really hope my voice reaches the whole world.

I want to travel and build my future again.

I was living a decent life in my home.

Now we are even stripped of life.

I am writing to you crying, longing for home and safety.

I was spoiled and didn't know anything about cooking on an open fire in the hot sun.

I had a diary in which I would describe how much I missed home and the mango tree I had planted and would always check on it like it was a child.

The Value of Life

A new morning after a quiet night we haven't experienced in a long time.

This time I greeted the morning with my soul yearning for freedom.

In my chest is a strange feeling that reflects a comfort I've never felt before. How much I've missed those feelings. Here, I planted basil in my tent to bring back to my memory a scent that was almost absent.

A beautiful feeling. How beautiful life is without wars, without blood and loss of life. We love life as much as we can. Why must we pay a price with our lives here? And why all this destruction that has befallen us at this moment, as I sip a cup of tea, the first since the beginning of the war, flavored with mint, which brings back memories of my home that has become rubble, and with it all my dreams?

In this precious moment, which I don't know if it can be repeated, I hope that this feeling of safety will last. And that we will always have moments of calm. We are people who saw death knocking on the door, so we sat and watched it as if it were something fleeting.

Our hearts grew old and decrepit. We grew older than our ages. We have come to view everything as fleeting, after we used to draw our dreams and decide what to do. The future will be like a dream. We will have no destination and no path to follow. What sin have we committed for our ages to be numbers? For our greatest dreams to be a tent to shelter us, clean water to quench our thirst, and some food to quench our hunger.

Where have our dreams gone?

It seems she died under the rubble, and we couldn't save her, just like everything else in our homes, gone with the years of our efforts. I sit on a worn-out mattress and look everywhere, yearning for everything old. Yearning for peace, comfort, and some fresh air. The heat in the tents is unbearable, with no chance to even breathe. Our features have been burned until we no longer know who we are. I look in a part of an old mirror and see my face carefully, observing everything. I look, and my heart breaks. We have grown up in such a short time. After I was pampered in my home, lacking nothing, now all priorities have changed, and the biggest concern is how we will begin the journey of searching for water and lighting some fires to cook what food is available.

Life has become meaningless. Our hopes are crumbling like the leaves of trees in autumn. We have become lost like the wandering of a child who lost his parents in the midst of the crowd. We live ages that are not ours, and our faces are like masks. I apologize for saying we are fed up, but what  We are going through something that is not insignificant. Our souls are collapsing as if they are worthless. Have you ever experienced the feeling of nonexistence? Yes, the feeling that you are just an atom in this universe, worthless. That you, your dreams, and everything else are an invisible atom.

I will never forget that moment when I saw bodies lying in the street...

...no one paying attention to them, and everyone moving on as if this was a normal occurrence. I stopped for a few moments, contemplating these remains, and I saw myself. I was not afraid. I moved a little closer, saying to myself:

"What is this state we are in? Without feelings and without tears?"

It was as if my inner voice was saying, "This is how it will all end for us here in Gaza." I was preparing myself for it. "What kind of emotional stiffness is this? We do not represent ourselves. They killed our innocence and our love for life within us. We have become accustomed to these scenes as if they were ordinary things." At the end of my speech, I say, "I hope that we can return to ourselves, that our early days can return, that we can forget what happened to us, that our lives can blossom again, and that our love for life and passion can return."

Message from the Author and Editor

I love writing very much and I have always dreamed of writing a book.

I was always first in writing during my studies, reciting poetry and writing short stories.

These were my writings, and they came from the heart of the suffering in light of the power outage, the internet outage, and all means. Writing always saved me and entertained me.

– Walaa from Gaza