From the notebook of memories (5)

author

Ismail Al-Talawi

From Ain Al-Hilwa to Al-Khalsa...a strand of hair precedes its owner

Our story this time begins in the Ain al-Hilweh Palestinian refugee camp, located near the city of Sidon in southern Lebanon. That camp carried in its memory decades of asylum, and in its alleys and neighborhoods bore the names of more than thirty-five cities and villages in the Galilee... from Safed, through Saffuriyya and Zeeb, to Safsaf and Hattin, etc.. It lived through war, bombing, siege, fear, and loss for decades, until its refugees called it (the capital of the Palestinian diaspora)... and it remained. Palestine is present in it, not as a distant memory, but as something that inhabits homes, faces, and names... and in its narrow alleys, the stories of the villages, cities, and towns of Galilee came together, so the camp was a symbol of oppression and deprivation from being far from the homeland, and longing and nostalgia for it... so the camp’s houses were decorated with the keys to their homes, which they only carried, what their hands were able to carry, and what memory was able to preserve...

In one of the camp houses, ten-year-old Israa Al-Issa was moving briskly between her bed and her small bag, carefully folding a piece of her clothing, then reopening the bag, looking at it for a moment, taking it out... putting on a shoe, then hesitating and replacing it with another... and putting a small notebook and pen, then returning and putting them in another place... She was acting as if she was preparing for an ordinary trip... but, in reality, she was preparing for something that she did not know how to describe, even to herself... For days, she has been hearing from the camp children talk about a trip to Palestine, a trip that brings together children, youth, and the elderly, from the camps in Lebanon, and from other camps in Syria and Jordan, and from different areas in the diaspora... and the name Palestine was repeated among them as if it were something very close, and at the same time far away.From imagination... Israa had not told her grandmother, Umm Al-Abd, about this event that was closest to a dream!! She was afraid that she would not believe her.. The truth is that she herself had not completely believed that she would go.. Every night, Israa would ask herself before she slept, would the trip really happen? Will I really see Palestine? Can a child who has never seen her homeland in her life know it when she sees it? Her grandmother (Umm al-Abd) was sitting in her usual place, watching her granddaughter from afar... a woman over eighty, but her face retained something of a distant childhood, whenever her village (Al-Khalisa), her birthplace, was mentioned... that village in which she lived her childhood, and mixed in her memory with the details of the Lebanese and Syrian villages close to her: (Hounin, Houla, Al-Adaysa, Markaba, wheat camels, Arab Al-Aramsha, Al-Ghawarna) and others... in which she spent ( Umm Al-Abd) of her childhood and youth, and its details remained fresh in her memory, as if she had left it yesterday... and she still remembers her families... Khalil, Al-Dakhloul, and Abu Dhaher... and the Al-Ali and Faour family... and Abu Tarbush... and the taste of (the spring of gold and the spring of honey) in her village (Al-Khalisa) is still lingering in her mouth since she forcibly left it... While Israa was putting a shirt in her bag, she suddenly raised her head, She looked at her grandmother: Siti... Siti? The grandmother raised her head in fear: What, my lady? May God’s name be upon you, my lady! Israa pointed to the bag: What do you think, lady? Do you think these clothes are enough? Umm Al-Abd looked at the bag, then at the clothes scattered around it: Why is it enough, my lady? Israa hesitated a little, as if she was searching for the way to tell her grandmother about it: for the trip... for the trip, my lady! Israa lowered her eyes to her bag: the next tripI told you about her... What did you forget, my lady? In a calm voice, the grandmother said: Then with you, Zaaraa.. What is this trip that you can’t tell me where you are going? With the simplicity of the children, she quickly said: To Palestine, we are going to Palestine, my lady!! Umm al-Abd’s hand stopped. She looked at her for a long time: What, my lady? Why did you see me so small, my lady? Do you want to laugh at me? It was not easy for Umm al-Abd to believe what she was hearing. She was looking at Israa, then staring into her eyes, as if searching for a small smile that would reveal a childish joke, or for a hesitation that would bring her back to the truth that she had known all her life, that Palestine was far away... and those who had left it were the same. One day, they did not know that the days that they said were days would become years, and that years might become a whole lifetime.. But (Israa) did not back down.. She said it with the simplicity of children, and with certainty that does not need proof: I am going to Palestine, my lady!!.. And again her grandmother asked her, and then she asked her again, as if she did not want to believe it, or perhaps she was afraid to believe.. And when Israa explained to her that the trip was real, and that she would be with a group of Palestinians from a camp Ain al-Hilweh and those coming from the camps and the diaspora will participate in the cultural forum that will be held in Palestine... and that she will actually stand on the land of Palestine, changing the face of her grandmother little by little... Umm al-Abd was no longer in front of a child narrating a dream... she was in front of her granddaughter who would do what she could not do all her life... Suddenly, the memory began to recall the place... the road... the houses... the water springs... the orchards... the faces... the families Conclusion... (Khalil, Al-Dakhloul, Abu Dhaher... and the Al-Ali family, Faour... and Abu Tarboush)... and she still remembers the details of her home (the contractThe one she left and did not return to.. even the small things that no one knew except her.. as if the memory, when Umm al-Abd realized that (Israa) was going, decided to open all of her safes at once.. (Israa) was listening eagerly, asking about everything, and getting closer to her grandmother little by little, until she found herself sleeping in her embrace.. Then she asked: My lady, I want to ask you.. The bottom line is still there, my lady?? Is there anything wrong with us? The question came from a little girl, but it fell in the heart of a woman who had carried the village for eighty years. Umm al-Abd took a deep breath and said: Oh my lady... the bottom line from here is not far away, haha... an argument and a half we will deliver. Then she was silent for a moment, before adding: Your master Abu Al-Abd, may God have mercy on him, returned to the country ten days after we left... He returned with him, your master Abu Al-Rajeh and our neighbor Abu Fahmy, may God have mercy on them... He wanted to answer. Israa remained silent, but her questions did not remain silent. With questions to her grandmother, Umm al-Abd was feeling something else... something for which she could not find a name. And for the first time, it seemed to her that the journey was not Israa’s alone. Umm al-Abd was silent, and put her hand on her granddaughter’s hair, and began running her fingers through its strands slowly, then she grabbed a small lock, and looked at it for a long time... as if she saw in it, for the first time, something that had stayed with her since she was in Al-Khalisa, lived with her for years, and grew up with her in the camp, the asylum. He remained a silent witness to a lifetime of absence...and suddenlyUmm Al-Abd said: My lady... Get up and dress me, my lady... Bring me the scissors from the closet, my lady... Israa got up from her lap and headed to the closet, looking at her grandmother with fear: The scissors, my lady? What do you want to do? Do you want to cut my hair? Shame on you, my lady! Umm al-Abd smiled: No, my lady, do not be afraid. The grandmother took the scissors, then extended her hand to her hair, and cut a small strand of it. Israa gasped: Why did you cut your hair, my lady? She did not answer her.. She took a small piece of cloth, carefully placed the strand in it, and folded it as if she were folding something valuable.. The grandmother’s hand was trembling as she pointed to (Israa) holding the cloth: When you reach Palestine, dig a small hole, my lady, and put it in it, and then cover it with dirt!! Israa looked at her grandmother for a long time: Why, my lady? With sorrow and pain accompanied by tears of sadness, the grandmother said: To get something from me there.. Israa said with complete innocence: But you, my lady, will go to her one day! Umm al-Abd smiled, and tears had already welled up in her eyes: “I hope, my lady.” Then Israa responded: “Why do you say I hope?” You will definitely go, my lady! Umm Al-Abd looked at her granddaughter and kissed her, as if she wanted to preserve her face at that moment. Then she said in a faint voice, suffocated by decades of waiting: Oh Israa... I don’t know, my lady, if age will allow me to return to Palestine.. But if I cannot return with my body, this lock will arrive before me.. Israa hugged the lock of hair to her chest and said: I will put it down, my lady (in all honesty).. Her grandmother smiled: Then My ability, my lady... put it (in sincerity).. Israa said: I love it completely, my lady.. That's why I want to bury it in (sincere).. The grandmother shook her head: No, my lady... I love every inch of Palestine.. The important thing isMy hair touched the soil of the homeland.. And she joined her hand to her granddaughter’s hand: My lady, you will not bury anything.. You will return it to its place.. The words were too big for a ten-year-old girl to comprehend, but they entered her heart in a way that she did not know that day.. Israa closed the piece of cloth well, and put it in a safe place inside her bag.. Then she asked: When I reach Palestine... What will I tell her, my lady? Umm al-Abd smiled: She will tell you about Palestine. She was silent for a while before adding: And if you happen to see a place and feel that your heart has stopped for a moment, know that there is something inside you that knew the place before you. That night, Israa fell asleep thinking about the trip. As for Umm al-Abd, she did not sleep easily. She kept looking at her granddaughter’s bag. She knew that a ten-year-old girl would be carrying with her, in a small piece of cloth, something from An eighty-year-old woman, something of a sincere story, and something of a homeland that remained present in the memory throughout the decades of absence. Israa left with the crowds of children and young people returning to their homeland. Israa arrived in Palestine and saw for the first time what her grandmother had been describing to her for years. She saw the land that had been, until that day, a story. Her eyes....

In the land of Jenin, at the cemetery of the Iraqi army martyrs, Israa sat for a while. She took out a piece of cloth from her bag. She opened it. She looked at her grandmother’s long locks of hair. Perhaps she remembered her face, her hands, her voice, and that sentence that she did not fully understand the day she said it to her: (You won’t bury anything. You will put it back in its place.) Israa dug a small hole. She put the lock in it, then covered it with dirt. When She wiped her hands, and some dirt remainedWith her fingers... she looked at him for a long time... and at that moment, the strand was no longer just a strand of hair... she was an absent woman... she was a village and the memory of a home... and they were mothers and grandmothers, who carried with them when they left the country, the keys to homes, pictures of loved ones, and stories of oranges, lemons, olives and thyme... and they carried in their breasts a fetus from a country in which their children had not been born... Israa placed her palm on the dirt... she did not say anything... but she She remembered her grandmother’s commandment (Let Palestine tell you about its situation) and for the first time, perhaps, Israa understood why her grandmother did not say: (I will return)!! She was saying: (I hope)!.. and I understood that the lock of her grandmother’s hair, which she had carried from the Ain al-Hilweh camp, was wanting to return a part of her grandmother to the place from which she had left one day.. As for (the sincere one), she was waiting for her somewhere, in memory and on earth, as if she had never been absent.. and she would inevitably return to her... and thus the lock of hair had preceded its companion to it....