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Prologue This
novella is dedicated to those people who are happy to share what they have and
practice tolerance towards their neighbours in the name of peace. Sheyda Chapter
One (Part sample) The sun's rays that were streaming through the fine cracks in the hastily hammered tea chest pieces on windows were beginning to gently wake up Ali to another day. Today, the first Thursday of the month, was Ali's sixteenth birthday. The night before, his eldest sister Samihah had been teasing Ali, pretending not to remember it was his birthday the following day. But it did not matter. Today was Ali’s to enjoy. It was going to be another hot August day. Although it was only five am in the morning, the temperature was already in the high twenties. Ali gently tiptoed out of his bedroom and walked to the makeshift bathroom outside. In this overcrowded refugee camp, there was already a large group of people trying to reach the road that followed the recently erected separation wall around the camp. Most of these early job seekers were middle-aged people with six, seven, sometimes eight children at home. On most days the lucky ones would be recruited by subcontractors to work on construction sites on the Israeli side of their divided land. Ali washed his hands with the water that had been placed outside the bathroom the night before. There was no running water in the majority of the houses on the refugee camp. He walked straight into the small kitchen and started to make the morning tea. This was one of the kitchen tasks that Samihah allowed Ali to undertake daily. As he was setting the breakfast table, Ali’s younger sister Atifa walked in and said, “Happy birthday brother!” and immediately thrust her arms around Ali’s neck, planting a kiss on both his cheeks before Ali withdrew himself from her affectionate clutch. “Atifaaa… that’s enough! Can’t you see I am busy? Now, would you like some tea this morning?” Atifa knew his brother did not like displays of affection but she also knew that Ali cared a lot for all family members, particularly after their father’s imprisonment by the Israeli authorities six years ago for political activities against the State of Israel. Ali was the eldest son in a family of two boys and three girls. Their mother had died giving birth to Ali’s youngest sister Hooriya couple of years before his father was taken away. “Are you seeing Aminah later on today?” said Atifa with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I bet she has a nice present for you under her bed!” “Mind your own business! Are you having tea or not?” Atifa decided to stop teasing him. Aminah was a pretty girl of Ali’s age and she lived with her family two streets away. “Okay. I will have a cup with plenty of sugar. I would like it extra sweet this morning in celebration of your birthday!” As Ali was brewing the tea his thoughts turned to Aminah, his beautiful girl friend. “One day I am going to marry her,” he said to himself. Her parents were very conservative people and did not approve of Ali’s dropping in to see her. On most occasions they had to meet in his Aunt Fatima’s home, a widow of the Israeli Palestinian conflict. Aunt Fatima, his mother’s sister, was a kind old woman who lived on her own, after having seen all her children migrate to various countries in search of a better life. She was born and raised in this area and refused to accept any of her children’s invitations to leave Jenin. She looked upon Ali as one of her own and made sure that Ali and Aminah were able to meet under the safety of her roof. “Hey Atifa! Let Amin and Hooriya sleep a bit longer. After all, they don’t have to go to school and they can use a bit more sleep to grow up! By the way, better tell Samihah to hurry up if she is going to catch a ride to the factory today.” Amin and Hooriya were Ali’s youngest brother and sister. Ali felt that life was particularly tough on them without parents but in a town such as Jenin every family had a tragedy to share. Ali and Samihah shouldered the parenting of the children in the family, a task that often seemed bigger than the resources of the two put together. “Good morning and happy birthday brother Ali!” said Samihah in her typically calm voice and wearing a motherly smile on her face as she surveyed the kitchen. “Thanks sister. I have just poured a cup of tea for you and Atifa so you better sit down and have a bite to eat as well before you hit the road.” Samihah quietly walked across the kitchen, took a sip of tea, grabbed the piece of fresh bread on the table, and with the same pace turned around to leave the kitchen, giving Ali a peck on the cheek. “Sorry Ali! I have to leave early today to catch the first bus out of Jenin. Otherwise my permit may not be valid for the later trips across the checkpoints. The military have been particularly difficult lately.” A shadow settled on Ali’s face as his
stomach tightened at the thought of Samihah’s and other Palestinians’ living
conditions. Barely suppressing his anger, he said, “Okay,” which came out
like a hiss through his teeth. By the time he lifted his eyes in search of
Samihah she was already out the door. aacc Ali and Aminah were holding hands under the kitchen table as Aunt Fatima poured them some more lemonade. The old woman was wearing her traditional head scarf, the hijab, drawn half way down at the back of her head in a casual manner while showing her still wavy and thick dark chestnut-colour hair. Aunt Fatima’s hair was not dyed, nor was it treated with henna. Deservedly she wore her full head of hair with some pride which complemented her honey- colour eyes and clean complexion. In her usual jovial tone she said, “Children I am glad you dropped in today. I was feeling a bit lonely after my visitors departed a couple of nights ago. Would you like some ghoraiybah? I know you like my biscuits!” “No thanks Auntie,” said Aminah, squeezing Ali’s hand harder. “I will have to go shortly. The sun is beginning to set and I promised my family I would be home by six pm at the latest.” Aminah looked down and blushed as she uttered her last words, knowing well that she had told a white lie to her parents when she said she was going to Aunt Fatima’s to learn some of her famous recipes! Shortly after Aminah left, Ali also took his leave after kissing Auntie’s hand as a sign of respect. As he walked the streets Ali had his hand in the left pocket of his trousers, gently rolling around the small present given to him by Aminah. She had finely knitted their initials on a small satin pouch and enclosed a lock of her black, shiny hair. Yet, as Ali’s heart was pacing with the love he felt towards Aminah, there was a darker feeling lurking in the back of his mind that appeared to be totally out of place. Will I ever be able to marry Aminah and provide her with everything that she deserves? he wondered. The next moment Ali was thrown against
the wall by the shock wave from an explosion only a few hundred metres away. For
a brief moment he was unable to breathe as the wind was knocked out of him by
the force of the blast. Within moments the whole town’s folk appeared to be
running past him towards his house. His heart skipping a beat, Ali quickly
righted himself and also started running. As he came close he could see that
their house was not the focus of attention.
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