Update: July 27 10 am. Local GAZA time: “CEASE-FIRE” OVER, the BOMBING resumes via air, land and sea. My heart is on edge all day, our last call brought voices that were overcome by the devastation they saw during Israel’s SICK “intermission.” A game, people’s lives are a game.
The phone rings only two times, Asmaa answers. Her voice is groggy, I think I just woke her up.
Hi habibti, how are you?
“M’leehah,” she says as she lets a yawn escape. I can hear the sound of a boom in the background. I ask her if the bombing is heavy. “It’s the same, nothing has changed, even during the cease-fire, they didn’t stop,” I don’t hear voices around her.
Do you want me to let you go back to sleep, I ask, feeling guilty that I may have woken her and everyone else is still sleeping.
“No, hold on,” she replies. I can hear a door and then voices follow. “Yama…Shehnaz,” I hear the phone move through air and in that moment I can hear shelling CLEARLY.
“Ah, habibti,” Souad answers. Her voice is different from the last time we talked. There was a sense of strength, a NEW tone of HOPE I haven’t heard for a long time. “Keef intee,” she asks how I am doing. I feel guilty it sounds like she is engaged in conversation with those around her and I know they usually sleep in because of the MANY SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. I apologize if I am bothering her and keeping her from whatever she was doing.
“NEVER she says, you are our HOPE in this world, AND YOU ARE LATE! (we both laugh at the same time, something we haven’t done in almost three weeks) Usually you call us earlier, NEVER apologize, PLEASE, you are my sister and we love you I LOVE YOU,” her voice is raised and filled with energy.
I am relieved. My body relaxes. The initial shock they suffered of the FIRST viewing of the landscape they called home was a vicious reminder that they could have been in that rubble. In the place of grief and sadness it seems as though ANGER has risen. And rightfully so.
I ask what she has been doing today. I feel a rush of blood moving in my body as we talk, I want to be on the move to match her body’s sway. My anxiety is now completely gone, then I hear more shelling and a big BOOM. I realize at that moment that the sounds of shelling, bombs and artillery don’t bother me ANYMORE. It is THEIR voices that move and shake me and make me fear and give me HOPE. They are balance in a world where there is none.
“WE had our bags packed, WE had our HOPES on returning to our HOME. Even if it is destroyed it is OUR HOME. When you called we were sitting around a radio someone found, run by batteries, that’s how we get our news,” she runs through her thoughts. It is refreshing to hear her this way. Determined. Angry. Hopeful.
So, you get your news from the radio, that’s good then. She jumps in, “We in GAZA know many people in different areas. Our news is passed from person to person by calling each other; the phones have been our lifelines.”
How are the children? I try to ask questions in between her brief pauses.
“They are good, they keep asking us when we are GOING HOME? I tell them to be patient, they see the news they HEAR the BOMBING but they still want to go home,” her voice is one of affection and frustration. Not at the children, but at the EVIL that has enveloped GAZA by land, air and sea.
“I don’t know,” she says. I can hear the artillery again, “do you hear it?” she asks. YES. I HEAR it, and I wish I could make it all go away…I think to myself.
WE are trying as hard as we can HERE and ALL over the WORLD to put pressure on our governments, to bring about REAL change, I try to reassure her that there are people who CARE.
“GOD hear your prayers for us and every OPPRESSED PEOPLE and not let your work be in vain,” I can almost see her pretty eyes move to the sky as to make sure her voice is heard.
“GOD curse the Arab leaders. We are not asking for much. We want people to rise up against this oppression, against this DESTRUCTION, against the MURDER OF OUR CHILDREN. We don’t need anyone in particular, what we need is the RISING UP OF HUMANITY,” her words cause my body hairs to rise in attention. I salute her words and reaffirm them.
The COMMON person is with ALL of you, from all faiths and backgrounds they send their love and their solidarity to YOU and ALL Palestinians….she then jumps in and continues her thoughts. I scribble in my notebook, her words as fast as I can to keep up.
“WE KNOW, today on the radio, we heard that Jews, Christians, Hindus, Muslims, Arabs, Americans, Moroccans, Australians, Iranians etc… all standing with us!” Her rising voice is amazingly composed, given all that she has been through, and PASSIONATE.
“HOW could they NOT feel for the people of GAZA? After seeing the DEATH AND DESTRUCTION one is not HUMAN if they are not moved by this MASSACRE. GOD curse ALL those all over who OPPRESS and kill the INNOCENT!” She takes in a long deep breath and continues to thank GOD and to THANK all those who stand with JUSTICE and to give us POWER to endure a struggle which to her is now one of a COLLECTIVE HUMANITY.
Another promise, I hope I can keep my promises. WE will work together Souad and bring justice and security to all Palestinians, I say, God willing. Please God, help us keep our promises, I think to myself.
“Ya habibti,” she says, “go sleep, I know it is late where you are. Don’t worry and sleep well. One day we will sit and eat together united under one ROOF. GOD sees the sins of those who wrong us and if GOD chooses us to be with him, then that is acceptable too. WE are comfortable in life and in death, justice will be served,” my body aches to move to run down the street and wake my neighbors and scream WAKE UP HUMANITY, WAKE UP AND LISTEN TO SOUAD!!!
She bids me goodnight with her usual loving goodbyes that last forever as her voice fades into the distance. I think she knows I won’t hang up the phone, as she continues with her prayers of love and protection and then more salaams, then nothing.
I move inside towards my computer as her voice RESONATES LOUD AND CLEAR in my HEAD, my EARS and my HEART, behind me I can see the SUNRISE with her HOPES and that another day has come and they are still with me…I sit down and begin to TAP, TAP, TAP to SEND her MESSAGE of LOVE, STRENGTH and HUMANITY to the WORLD.
Soon it will be EID, I think to myself. I remember Mohammad’s apple face, her youngest. He said he wanted a NEW SUIT.
Gaza: Phone Diaries 