Democratic Palestine : 7 (ص 30)
غرض
- عنوان
- Democratic Palestine : 7 (ص 30)
- المحتوى
-
The Palestinian Kuffiya
Below is a short story written by Vesna Al Masharifa, a Yugoslavian friend of the Palestinian revolution,
based on her experience during the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon.
Second week of Ramadan...The war in Lebanon was
magnifying. The heavy burden of dark presentiments inhabited
the vacancy left in the houses of families whose members were
fighters in Lebanon. Ramadan’s prayers and fasting per-
meated the hot sandy days and gloomy nights to break the
unendurable uncertainty that had become the people’s daily
life rhythm.
In that time, Amna was in Damascus. She and part of her
family had left their house in Ain al Hilweh camp near Saida,
South Lebanon, after the Israeli invasion, and arrived in
Damascus. Then Amna participated in social work in the
Palestinian camp, Yarmouk. She was assigned to collect
clothes from people in the camp for wounded comrades, and to
pay visits to the Palestinian hospital, Jaffa, where she distri-
buted cigarettes, newspapers and other personal things
needed by the wounded comrades.
Every morning she would appear in her military uniform
with a broad smile and the first drops of sweat on her forehead
as an intimation of a new broiling day. Her curls were plastered
over her eyebrows and she was always pushing them back
before addressing someone. Although she was a silent per-
son, a bit closed, her gesticulation was vehement and her lean
figure moved with haste. Her eyes were set in deep hollows
and always shining with tenderness and exilaration. Every-
body loved her and liked to tell her their life story. So, much of
that she carried in her heart.
That moming Amna set off to the headquarters in Yar-
mouk to prepare things for the hospital. It was 8 a.m., but the
sun was already very strong. Therefore, she kept trying to con-
ceal herself under the shadows of the stone houses. «This
street is so similar to the street where | lived in Saida», she con-
cluded, glancing at the glittery yellow, dusty street, «but now
everything there is ruined and there is only the debris of the
houses sagging deeper and deeper into the ground...Who
knows? Maybe our house is still undestroyed.» She rushed
through the golden strip the sun had made through a crack in
the wall and stumbled on a big stone which was in its shade.
«Oh», she cried out, catching her toe in awkard pain, and
instinctively sank down on the stone, checking to see if it was
seriously hurt. There was no blood. She decided to rest for a
while.
Then her attention was drawn by the excited voices com-
ing from the other side of the street, which belonged to a group
of barefooted and soiled boys around ten years old.
«What makes them so excited?» Amna was curious, try-
ing to catch their discussion.
«Ohohoo, | am not going to be deceived this time»,
shouted a bowlegged boy bluntly. «Every time you need some-
body to be an Israeli soldier, come along Hassan! This time |
am very sure that | don’t want to be...Why isn’t it Ahmad this
30
time?!» He turned towards a skinny boy in worn-out trousers
and shirt with sparkling eyes. Now Amna knew who Ahmad
was, especially when he started to shout:
«| have been two times! Yes, yes, you remember? The
first time you broke my head and the second time, my face was
awfully scratched...»
«What do you think? To be an Israeli soldier and not be
beaten?» a new voice interrupted him angrily.
«Then you be the enemy, Omar,» Ahmad was bold
enough to respond without restraining his temper.
The boy named Omar snubbed him, «You know my father
was killed by Israelis...»
Ahmad felt uncomfortable, trying uncertainly to keep his
sombre face in the same expression.
«Qh, let us stop our quarrel,» appealed a short under-
nourished boy. «Let us begin our game. | suggest that whoever
is chosen to be our army leader today, will propose the
enemy.»
«Yes, yes, we agree,» the boys accepted.
«lf you agree, | can be the leader today,» the same voice
continued.
«Qh, look at him!» Hassan protested, «You were last time
and now you want to be again.»
«Okay, who do you suggest?» The boy was a bit ashamed
of his immodesty.
«Omar, Omar!» somebody shouted.
Omar was very pleased to hear his name and tried to hide
a smile that was timidly stealing from his lips.
«Do you agree on Omar?» the same boy asked.
«Yes, yes, Omar.» The boys were sure that it was a good
choice.
«Okay then, Omar, | promote you to leader of the Palesti-
nian army,» the boy continued with visible importance.
«Okay, okay, | agree, thank you comrades,» Omar was
very proud and still holding his smile. Then he cleared his
throat. Somebody passed a Palestinian-kuffiya to him and he
Started to wrap it around his head.
«Comrades,» he resumed in a voice still hoarse, trying
again to clear his throat, «Today we will begin to apply a new
plan for tearing Sharon to pieces. And | am sure it will work...»
«But who will be Sharon?» somebody broke in.
«Hm...» Omar had a problem making the decision
abruptly. «Well, | think it’s better for somebody to volunteer
himself.» He found a solution and then, silence...
«We are an army, comrades, and the enemy will not wait
for us. We have to act accordingly and quickly.» Omar com-
menced to convince the soldiers.
At that moment a strange, squeaky laughter cut through
his words. The boys and Amna as well automatically turned
in the direction of the sound. The owner was a chubby boy in - هو جزء من
- Democratic Palestine : 7
- تاريخ
- ديسمبر ١٩٨٤
- المنشئ
- الجبهة الشعبية لتحرير فلسطين
Contribute
Position: 41835 (6 views)