11 Lives by Khalidi Muhammad Ali;Issa Perla;

Author:Khalidi, Muhammad Ali;Issa, Perla;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bisac Code 1: LCO012000
ISBN: 7137075
Publisher: OR Books
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

My Heart Hangs from a Mulberry Tree

WEDAD TAHA

(b. Libya, 1991)

Large raindrops are reflected on the dashboard of the car and I mistake them for insects that must have crept in when I wasn’t looking. I try to wipe the shiny black dots with my hand, shivering in the December chill, and succeed in wiping nothingness. I shake my head, ashamed at myself, at the delusions that overcome me. I’m cowardly to the point of being mortally afraid of an insect, and always so alienated from my surroundings. Let me be clear: I’ve always been at arm’s length from everything around me and also from myself. I don’t really know myself, maybe because I haven’t searched for myself. But nor have I attached myself to a place or a person; I’ve never been enthusiastic about anything or been driven to seek reasons. I just walk with my head to the ground.

I never knew that Palestine was my homeland until I came to Lebanon. Maybe I realized that I was Palestinian late in life, or maybe I didn’t fully appreciate what it meant to be Palestinian until I wandered. From where they lived in south Lebanon, my family went in search of life in the farthest reaches of the earth. After my parents got married, they went to Libya, where I was born. From there, we went to the United Arab Emirates, where we lived until I was twelve. I don’t remember my parents mentioning Palestine once. Instead, in our house, all the talk was about the refugee camp. I didn’t understand the word and I wasn’t interested enough to ask. I was too caught up in my childhood: school field trips, my green velvet dress, my lost canteen, and the gold ring that I took from my mother’s jewelry box to give to my teacher, which she returned when she saw my father’s initials written on it in tiny turquoise stones. I don’t recall my father ever sticking to one job, so we lived a simple, basic life in the UAE. When he worked, we would eat and live comfortably, and when he lost his job, my mother would shed tears and sell some of her gold jewelry. We didn’t come back to Lebanon every summer, as immigrants do nowadays. I don’t know if my parents wanted to distance themselves, or if their limited means prevented them from going. All I know is that I was a stubborn child who loved dancing and my Sudanese friend Mahira, who was separated from me forever and without a goodbye when we left.

I’m not sure if the first Gulf War was the reason my father lost his job. Abu ‘Ammar (Yasir ‘Arafat) exposed thousands of Palestinians to expulsion and displacement from countries that sought to punish him for his position in favor of Saddam Hussein. Thousands were deported and driven out callously at that time, and that’s when we returned to Lebanon.

I understood the meaning of displacement, loss, and longing for the first time

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