Walls

I remember when I was very young – as young as I would ask for stickers to collect, and had not yet memorized the Fat-ha verse, I would be sitting in the back seat, and after a tedious fight I would get the seat next to the window. The seat next to the window is a very important issue in our family, and that is for a number of reasons. First, you will have a better view of the beautiful land of Palestine. Second, the cold breeze will refresh you since the AC is always broken in our old car. Third, this breeze will smell very nice, in contrast to the hints of tobacco of the last cigarettes that my dad has consumed. So as you can see these are very essential matters for a kid like myself.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to get the window seat quite often. Also, I was fortunate enough to be raised in a family that values the land. My dad would take us to the Batouf- our meadow. We would help him with the planting, weeding, cleaning and picking. Al-Batouf is huge swath of land that connects four different mountains, each holds couple of small towns. My dad inherited the land from my grandpa, whose father bequeathed him massive swaths of land, and the chain goes on… I always asked my dad ” How can he memorize every piece of the land? who owns it? what did he farm it? to whom they have sold it or lend it?” these questions bothered me, yet the most important one, the one that haunted me is how do people know which land is which? there’s no borders and no signs, nothing!. One day I got the courage to ask my dad The question, he answered with this nonchalant manner of his: we just know, people never had borders, you know by heart with time. You know, in the old day we didn’t have locks on our doors, people trusted each other. All these walls and bricks didn’t exist at my old days, people just knew and no one would dare trespass or bother anyone. We had no walls, the streets were open, the yards were open and so are the pieces of lands.

I nodded submissively though I had the urge to ask more questions.

Today, after spending one year in the US, my dad’s words resonate in my mind. They intensify whenever I pass another wall. I came back and I found three more new walls in my neighborhood alone. I was walking to my friend’s house, and as usual I take the shortest route which cuts through our neighbor’s backyard, but that never was a problem. I would pass and say hi and tell them that my mother says hi too. Yet, this time I was going in such a rush that I didn’t pay attention to the massive wall that has been built that blocks the way. I stood astounded and deeply sad. I was deep in sorrow not only because I had to go all the way back and walk extra 7mins while fasting, but because the wall is THERE. when and why did they build it? why are there so many fucking walls?. I’ve become wall-phobic. Walls suffocate me they remind me of the separation wall, of the occupation wall, of the wall been erected between the people and between identities. We’re living inside a wall, in a wall, and behind a wall. People build walls in the hope of protecting their own and lining their properties, but what they don’t know is that these walls take up space. Walls swallow soil, freedom, and love.

What has been built up WILL COLLAPSE.