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Letters from Gaza (20)
…Children No More
Finally the war has ended and the children of
Gaza can go back to school. What was supposed to be their
mid-year vacation became their mid-year nightmare, the worst
thing that could have happened: a nightmare that packed them
with unforgettable images of dead faces, beloved dead faces,
destroyed houses, scary moments and horrible experiences that a
child cannot handle and should not in any way experience.
The stories that each child will tell about
his or her experience during the war, about a certain situation
- a destroyed house or a loss in the family - will bring back
the same feelings of anguish each time the story is repeated.
Their stories will be full of horror scenes and a pain that will
accompanied them for life.
The war destroyed not only the infrastructure
of Gaza but also the mentality and psychology of the people in
Gaza, especially that of its children. After two intifadas, a
suffocating closure and the war, these children have lost their
childhood. It has affected their lives, their personalities,
their minds and their tender hearts.
We were in the taxi returning from a family
visit when Mustafa, my son, began a long conversation with the
taxi driver. The way my son talked and expressed his thoughts
when he saw the destroyed houses on the long to our house from
Khan Younis rang a warning bill in my head. I knew then that my
eight-year-old child was no longer a child.
The taxi driver was commenting about those
who had lost their loved ones during the war and that they will
eventually be forgotten as life continues. Mustafa broke into
the driver's monologue and, in a firm voice, asked him, "Who
will forget? No one will do. If you bring me all the money in
the world, it will not make me forget the moments of fear, the
moments when we were waiting to die."
I was shocked
The next day was the first day back to school
and I was telling both my children about the nice time they
would spend there, especially as they would not start to study
immediately. But they were quiet, as though they didn't care
about any of the programs they would have in school that day.
They didn't seem to be interested in anything.
I was hoping that the effects of the war
would not last long. I wanted my boys to act like children again
and love what most children love, to wish for what most children
wish for. That they did not made me very sad.
As they like to draw, I gave them paper and
colors in the hopes that this would help to draw some of their
emotions, the bitterness, out of them. Mustafa did not draw, but
wrote, instead. "Gaza under fire. No water, no electricity.
Nothing but death and closure". Ahmed drew destroyed house and
planes shooting from the air. That's all, he refuses to
continue.
The next morning both Ahmed and Mustafa went
back to school. When they returned, I hoped that they would show
some signs of enthusiasm. I was looking for signs to tell me my
children were children again, back to their childish reactions.
I was waiting for them to come and tell me everything about
their first day, about the happiness in seeing their friends,
their teachers, their school. They came back only with stories
of friends whose homes had been destroyed or whose relatives had
been killed or injured. It was as though they refused to forget;
they would not allow themselves to forget.
I asked myself, "If my children are reacting
like this, what about the children who were in the eye of the
storm? What about them?" |
