A few months ago, I attempted to start a series of posts about courageous women who lived some amazing stories during the Lebanese Civil War. I started with one about my friend's mom but then never pursued it. Until today. The story for this post is very special to me, because it was written by my own mother. After some digging, I found out, from her obviously, that she actually kept a diary of everything that happened to her during the war. I asked her which one stood out more than the others, and she gave me this piece during the Israeli invasion of Beirut, in July 1982. What's below is my own translation, under it is the original in Arabic (more or less). I hope you take the time to read it, because it truly is a story of almost mad heroism that I am proud to be at least genetically linked to. And I think that with the direction this country is headed, it's very appropriate to remember the war, because this really should not be an option ever again...
It was a relatively quiet day and so I ventured out to buy some groceries. I took my eldest son of eight, Rabi', to help me carry some of the things I bought. I couldn't take my car for two reasons, the first is that the store was too close and the second was scarcity of petrol. We walked between piles of garbage, and all the while I was attempting to steer Rabi' away from them. Having Rabi' with me is a responsibility, for if I were alone, I wouldn't have been so afraid. So I started talking to him about the war, answering his never-ending questions. I would suddenly go quiet thinking, "What if I return and my home was no longer there. This has happened to many people..." So I hasten my pace, attempting to dispel these morbid thoughts. "What if the planes bomb the grocery store, or the butcher, or the building facing ours..."
And I remembered yesterday's incident at the bakery next to our building. People were standing in line early in the morning, when two of them started arguing. The argument escalated and guns were used. The bakery was bombed and many people died, including Mrs. Sinno, a young woman who was standing there holding her little boy's hand. The blast threw little boy to the other side of the street and his mother was killed. I was terrified by these images and thoughts and started walking faster, when Rabi' said "There is no shelling Mom, why are you hurrying?" "Nothing, I want to get there before they run out of meat and vegetables". Rabi' was skeptical but he walked. I slowed my pace to avoid more questions. We got our groceries and returned home.
I arrived home to find a call waiting for me. The teachers of Beit Atfal Assumoud (a humanitarian organization that works with Palestinian refugees) were waiting for me at the union to give them their monthly salaries. I called back and said that I would come. I fed my children and started to leave to tend to my other duties. As soon as I grabbed the car keys, the bombing started. "It's only battleships." I thought to myself. True. But the union building directly faces the sea, so does the street I need to go through to get to it. I did not tell anyone about the location of the union. And despite my mother's pleading, my mind was made up. I have to go.
I left, and it was one of the few times when I felt frightened. What if I get hit by a bomb? Would they recognize me? Who would carry my body? What would become of my children? I did not show my fear and drove on carefully, so that if I am faced with a bomb, I'll know which way to swerve. As if all those who were killed died because they were driving fast. Suddenly, I hear an explosion nearby. I arrive at the union and the shelling intensified. They said "Don't be afraid, a bomb fell close by but in the other street." Another bomb could be heard in the direction of my home. I ran to the phone to make sure my family was OK and my mother yelled "Where are you?! There is shelling here! Please be careful!" and then started to cry. "Don't be afraid" I muttered. How could she not be afraid? Sometimes, we say things we don't really mean... just hope. I went into a frenzy. If only I hadn't insisted. They will say that she died because of her madness, recklessness. If only she had waited a little longer. If only she had left a little earlier. I dispelled my fears, paid the teachers' salaries and took their signatures. If those teachers did not desperately need these menial amounts of money to feed their children, and all of them are refugees, they would not be waiting for hours under this shelling. I should have come no matter what.
I rushed to my car, not sure if the beating I hear are those of my heart or the bombs falling everywhere. I stopped in front of my father-in-law's house to pick up my 2-year-old daughter, Tala. I carried her without a word and ran downstairs, hearing their voices behind me at every step. "Be careful. The shelling is intense. Call us when you arrive." I put Tala in the car and almost fell to the ground while carrying her. Finally, I was in my car, driving the empty streets, except for a few crazy people, and those, like me, who had no choice but to leave. As I arrived at the police station in our street, I saw a bomb fall right in front of me, smoke billowing where it hit. It is our building... I don't know how I stopped the car, carried my daughter and ran with her, staying close to the walls. I didn't forget to stick to the walls, because they say its's safer.
The smoke was a little further away from our home and so I ran into the building. At that moment, I didn't care which building fell or which apartment burnt, may God keep everyone safe. I was reassured, and I need to reassure my family...
The original story in Arabic
It was a relatively quiet day and so I ventured out to buy some groceries. I took my eldest son of eight, Rabi', to help me carry some of the things I bought. I couldn't take my car for two reasons, the first is that the store was too close and the second was scarcity of petrol. We walked between piles of garbage, and all the while I was attempting to steer Rabi' away from them. Having Rabi' with me is a responsibility, for if I were alone, I wouldn't have been so afraid. So I started talking to him about the war, answering his never-ending questions. I would suddenly go quiet thinking, "What if I return and my home was no longer there. This has happened to many people..." So I hasten my pace, attempting to dispel these morbid thoughts. "What if the planes bomb the grocery store, or the butcher, or the building facing ours..."
And I remembered yesterday's incident at the bakery next to our building. People were standing in line early in the morning, when two of them started arguing. The argument escalated and guns were used. The bakery was bombed and many people died, including Mrs. Sinno, a young woman who was standing there holding her little boy's hand. The blast threw little boy to the other side of the street and his mother was killed. I was terrified by these images and thoughts and started walking faster, when Rabi' said "There is no shelling Mom, why are you hurrying?" "Nothing, I want to get there before they run out of meat and vegetables". Rabi' was skeptical but he walked. I slowed my pace to avoid more questions. We got our groceries and returned home.
I arrived home to find a call waiting for me. The teachers of Beit Atfal Assumoud (a humanitarian organization that works with Palestinian refugees) were waiting for me at the union to give them their monthly salaries. I called back and said that I would come. I fed my children and started to leave to tend to my other duties. As soon as I grabbed the car keys, the bombing started. "It's only battleships." I thought to myself. True. But the union building directly faces the sea, so does the street I need to go through to get to it. I did not tell anyone about the location of the union. And despite my mother's pleading, my mind was made up. I have to go.
I left, and it was one of the few times when I felt frightened. What if I get hit by a bomb? Would they recognize me? Who would carry my body? What would become of my children? I did not show my fear and drove on carefully, so that if I am faced with a bomb, I'll know which way to swerve. As if all those who were killed died because they were driving fast. Suddenly, I hear an explosion nearby. I arrive at the union and the shelling intensified. They said "Don't be afraid, a bomb fell close by but in the other street." Another bomb could be heard in the direction of my home. I ran to the phone to make sure my family was OK and my mother yelled "Where are you?! There is shelling here! Please be careful!" and then started to cry. "Don't be afraid" I muttered. How could she not be afraid? Sometimes, we say things we don't really mean... just hope. I went into a frenzy. If only I hadn't insisted. They will say that she died because of her madness, recklessness. If only she had waited a little longer. If only she had left a little earlier. I dispelled my fears, paid the teachers' salaries and took their signatures. If those teachers did not desperately need these menial amounts of money to feed their children, and all of them are refugees, they would not be waiting for hours under this shelling. I should have come no matter what.
I rushed to my car, not sure if the beating I hear are those of my heart or the bombs falling everywhere. I stopped in front of my father-in-law's house to pick up my 2-year-old daughter, Tala. I carried her without a word and ran downstairs, hearing their voices behind me at every step. "Be careful. The shelling is intense. Call us when you arrive." I put Tala in the car and almost fell to the ground while carrying her. Finally, I was in my car, driving the empty streets, except for a few crazy people, and those, like me, who had no choice but to leave. As I arrived at the police station in our street, I saw a bomb fall right in front of me, smoke billowing where it hit. It is our building... I don't know how I stopped the car, carried my daughter and ran with her, staying close to the walls. I didn't forget to stick to the walls, because they say its's safer.
The smoke was a little further away from our home and so I ran into the building. At that moment, I didn't care which building fell or which apartment burnt, may God keep everyone safe. I was reassured, and I need to reassure my family...
The original story in Arabic
كان اليوم هادئاً نسبياً، فذهبت لأشتري بعض الحاجيات للبيت وأخذت معي ربيع... ابني الكبير... ابني ذو الثماني سنوات... ليساعدني في حمل بعض الأغراض... فلم استطع ان آخذ سيارتي أولاً لقرب المسافة وثانياً لفقدان البنزين... وسرنا بين أكوام الزبالة... كنت أحاول طوال الطريق أن أبعده عنها... فربيع معي مسؤولية... لو كنت وحدي لما خفت كثيراً... كنت أحدثه عن الحرب وأجب على أسئلته المتلاحقة... واصمت برهة أفكر، ماذا لو عدت فلم أجد بيتي كما يحدث للكثيرين فاسرع الخطى... وأبعد تلك الأفكار عن رأسي... ترى لو قصف الطيران البقال او اللحام او المبنى المقابل...
وتذكرت حادثة الفرن القريب بالأمس... لقد كان الناس يصطفون في الصباح الباكر... اختلف إثنان، فجرى شجار بالسلاح وقصف المكان... فقتل الكثيرون وقتلت مدام سنو، تلك الشابة التي كانت تمسك بيد طفلها، فطار الطفل ألى الرصيف الآخر وقتلت هي... أرعبتني تلك الصور وتلك الأفكار... وأسرعت مع ربيع، "ليس هناك قصف يا ماما، لماذا تسرعين؟" "لا شيء... فقط حتى لا تخلص اللحمة والخضار" استغرب ربيع ومشى... خففت سيري حتى لا يكثر ربيع من الأسئلة... وحملت الأغراض وحمل ربيع معي ومشينا...
وصلت الى البيت لأجد هاتفاً بانتظاري فمعلمو بيت أطفال الصمود (جمعية تهتم باللاجئين الفلسطينيين) ينتظرونني في الاتحاد لأعطيهم رابتهم الشهري... اتصلت وقلت سأحضر وأسرعت لأطعم أولادي... ولأذهب الى واجبي الآخر... وما ان حملت مفاتيح السيارة حتى كان القصف يهز المنطقة... إنها بوارج فقط... صحيح ولكن الاتحاد مواجه للبحر تماماً وكذلك الشارع الذي سأنزله لأصله... ولم أخبر أحداً في البيت عن موقع هذا الاتحاد... ولكني وعدت ورغم توسلات والدتي، أصررت على الخروج...
ذهبت وكانت من المرات القليلة التي شعرت فيها بالخوف... ماذا لو أصابتني قذيفة؟ هل سيعرفونني؟ من سيحملني؟ لم أوصي على أولادي كثيراً... لم أظهر خوفي لأحد ولكني قدت سيارتي بهدوء حتى اذا ما داهمتني قذيفة، أعرف كيف أتجه... وكأن كل من قتل قتل لأنه كان مسرعاً... واذ بإنفجار قريب جداً... وصلت والقصف يشتد وعندما دخلت قالوا "لا تخافي، وقعت قذيفة قريبة ولكن في الشارع المجاور... وهوت قذيفة أخرى باتجاه بيتنا فأسرعت الى الهاتف لأطمئن وإذ بوالدتي تصيح "أين أنت؟! القصف هنا! أرجوك إنتبهي!" وبكت... "لا تخافي لا تخافي"... وكيف لا تخاف؟ نقول كلاماً لا نعنيه ولكننا تنمناه... وتهلوست... لو أنني لم أصر... سيقولون أنها ماتت بسبب جنونها... قتلت بسبب تهورها... لو أنها انتظرت قليلاً... لو أنها بكرت قليلاً...فبددت هواجسي ودفعت المخصصات وأخذت تواقيعهم.... لو لم يكن هؤلاء الأساتذة بحاجة ماسة لهذه الأموال البسيطة ليطعموا أطفالهم، وكلهم مهجرون، لما انتظروني ساعات تحت القصف... كان يجب أن آتي مهما حصل...
وأسرعت الى سيارتي... أحمل قلبي على كفي ولا أدري ان كانت الدقات التي أسمعها لقلبي أم للقذائف التي تسقط من كل اتجاه... ووقفت أمام بيت عمي لجلب ابنتي تالة. حملتها ولم أتكلم مع أحد وهرولت مسرعة وأنا أسمع أصواتهم تركض ورائي على كل درجة... انتبهي... انتبهي... القصف عنيف... طمنينا عندما تصلي. وأدخلت تالة في السيارة وتعثرت وكدت أقع على الأرض وأنا أحملها وأخيراً دخلت السيارة. وسرت في الشوارع الفارغة الا من بعض المجانين أو المضطرين أمثالي ووصلت المخفر وإذ بقذيفة تقع أمامي والدخان يتصاعد... إنه على بيتي... لم أدري كيف أوقفت السيارة وحملت ابنتي وأنا أركض بها محاذية الحائط... لم أنس أن أحاذي الحائط رغم كل اللامنطق تذكرت أن أحاذي الحائط....
وكان الدخان أبعد من بيتي قليلاُ. دخلت البناية بسرعة... لم أعد أهتم أي بناية سقطت او أي شقة احترقت... الله يسلم جميع الناس... لقد اطمأنيت أنا... فلأدع أهلي يطمئنون...
وأسرعت الى سيارتي... أحمل قلبي على كفي ولا أدري ان كانت الدقات التي أسمعها لقلبي أم للقذائف التي تسقط من كل اتجاه... ووقفت أمام بيت عمي لجلب ابنتي تالة. حملتها ولم أتكلم مع أحد وهرولت مسرعة وأنا أسمع أصواتهم تركض ورائي على كل درجة... انتبهي... انتبهي... القصف عنيف... طمنينا عندما تصلي. وأدخلت تالة في السيارة وتعثرت وكدت أقع على الأرض وأنا أحملها وأخيراً دخلت السيارة. وسرت في الشوارع الفارغة الا من بعض المجانين أو المضطرين أمثالي ووصلت المخفر وإذ بقذيفة تقع أمامي والدخان يتصاعد... إنه على بيتي... لم أدري كيف أوقفت السيارة وحملت ابنتي وأنا أركض بها محاذية الحائط... لم أنس أن أحاذي الحائط رغم كل اللامنطق تذكرت أن أحاذي الحائط....
وكان الدخان أبعد من بيتي قليلاُ. دخلت البناية بسرعة... لم أعد أهتم أي بناية سقطت او أي شقة احترقت... الله يسلم جميع الناس... لقد اطمأنيت أنا... فلأدع أهلي يطمئنون...
4 comments:
I found it to be haunting in a way.. the empty streets, the void filled with smoke.. beautiful story. There must be more, no? Thanks for that, Lama; their stories must be told.
I don't know what to say, I have goose bumps all over and I experienced all kinds of emotions reading this, respect, fear, pain...
Regards and respect to your mama. ست عظيمة.what if she publishes her diary? Maybe, just maybe it will remind people of the morbid situation
very touching story...God bless everyone that went through this nasty war. And yes Bana your name was Tala but I like bana more than Tala:) every time I go to the movies I remember you because of your name. (Eric Bana) a famous producer I guess?
And every time I go to the supermarket to buy bread I remember Bana:) ( Bana's bakery) . I even took a picture of the name with my Iphone. Can't send it overseas:(
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