Ghazal Mhanna, 15 — Trainers’ Academy, Tulkarm
He sat on his bench in the garden sipping his coffee quietly, enjoying the warm sunshine and the gentle spring breeze. Usaid glanced towards the wall to find that its shadow had disappeared…
Goodbye, My Beloved
Maram al-Amlah, 25 — Hebron
The foetus thrashed in its mother’s womb as if beating war drums to herald the moment of labour. It was the fourth of June 2012 when the mistress of this battlefield realised she still had a month before she would deliver her little warrior.
But the labour pains grew worse and worse. She set down the textbook she had been revising for tomorrow’s exam, rose heavily, leaning on the edge of the bed, dragged her feet slowly and made her way to the next room, where her mother-in-law was, and told her what was happening.
Her mother-in-law clenched her teeth in fury until her canines gleamed and said: “Waja’ msafer” — a passing pain. But the agony showed no mercy to Maram’s insides for three full hours; it was like an army attacking her body with every weapon at its disposal. After long suffering, her husband and his mother decided to take her to the doctor, all the while throwing out phrases of mockery and contempt at her and her condition, as though they knew her state better than she did.
They reached the doctor’s clinic. Immediately she lay down on the examination bed, and as soon as the doctor began examining her, shock appeared on his face. When she looked at him with a pleading, imploring gaze, he spoke his killing words: “You trust in God and you are a woman of faith. To God belongs what He gives and what He takes away. May God have mercy on what is in your womb. It departed this life half an hour ago.”
The news struck Maram like a thunderbolt — a state that should never have befallen a girl not yet eighteen years old. She was a child who had lost a child dwelling in her womb. They took her to the hospital, thoughts warring in her head: “What if they’d believed my pain?” … “What if I’d started crying on the way to the hospital?” … “What if I were reading my textbook now?” … What if, what if, what if…
There in the hospital Maram delivered a fully formed foetus — a foetus lacking nothing but a pulse, lacking nothing but a soul. They placed him beside her: no sound, no crying, no breathing, no life. How immense the pain when you see the joy of your heart, whom you awaited minute by minute and moment by moment, lying beside you cold as a piece of dead flesh.
His mother bade him farewell with weeping eyes, bade him farewell with choked sobs that nearly suffocated her, bade him farewell with a trembling hand. She had dreamt of holding him, feeding him, playing with him. “Goodbye, my beloved.”
And when they asked her if she wanted anything, her answer was: “Bring me the Qur’an.”
The End
0:00
More stories
Yousef Ayyash, 15 — Trainers’ Academy, Tulkarm
I’m Yousef. Ever since I was little I’ve dreamt of talking to animals and birds. I used to wish I could speak to my cat Zumurrud to find out if he was hungry or ill, or talk to my bird Shams to know whether he felt lonely or not…
Friend of the Animals and Birds
Mohammed Nidal Abu Hamad, 15 — Jalazone Camp
“Oh God, when I wake up, don’t let there be anyone in the house — not my mum, not my dad, not my brother, not my sister.” Rayyan prayed to his Lord in anger after his mother told him off for leaving the table just as it was when he’d finished eating, without putting his plate and spoon in…
Rayan
Safaa Shweiki, 16 — Al-Hamawi Centre, Al-Eizariya/Jerusalem
All my life I felt like a strange bird without a flock, but I didn’t understand why until that misty morning that turned my whole being upside down. I was walking in an old alley behind our house that smelt like earth after the first rain, and suddenly I saw…
The Strange Bird
Sarah Fathi Hammad, 16 — Al-Hamawi Centre, Al-Eizariya/Jerusalem
It began one day when little Rafi was playing alone amongst the flowers. She reached her hand into the air as though catching the sunlight, and suddenly felt a warm tingle in her palm. She opened her hand and found a small, glowing butterfly circling round her…
The Butterflies
Maria Samer Nawasra, 15 — Al-Hamawi Centre, Al-Eizariya/Jerusalem
My brother was killed, and we never knew who killed him, but we believe in the depths of our souls that the real killer was my brother himself. He was not a bad person — on the contrary, he was kind, cheerful, good-hearted and handsome…
The Deadly Pill
Maryam al-Ja’bari, 20 — Hebron
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful
A Letter to the Past
Nora Abu Maizar, 15 — Hebron
That voice has stayed in my memory since childhood… that gentle voice full of tenderness that woke me every morning: ‘Come on, darling, get up, let’s go out.’ I would open my eyes with difficulty to see him standing at…
Come On, Darling, Get Up
Sadeel Abdul Karim al-Hashlamon, 15 — Hebron
— You’re amazing, tidy the house…
Amazing
Mira al-Muslimani, 15 — Hebron
He was in his sixties, frail of build, white-haired, his back bent. His eyes, visible through the glass of his spectacles, were lost and weary. Abu Ibrahim sat on his old wooden chair in front of his house, built of…
The Day That Never Came
Rama Khaled Abu Sarhan, 16 — Al-Ubeidiya
One day, as I was walking home from school thinking about our family’s difficult situation and the desperate poverty we suffer, I found a black leather bag lying at the side of the road. I looked around but saw no one…
The Bag
Wasan Nidal al-Radayda, 15 — al-Ubaydiyya
In Gaza, mornings do not wake to the sound of an alarm clock, but to a sound we have come to know well… the sound of the zanana, that small aircraft circling overhead that never leaves our sky, as if to remind us — though we have not forgotten — that…
In Gaza
Ritaj Mahmoud Sidr, 16 — Halhul
“Take these things and put them in the cellar, dear,” my mother said as she handed me a large cardboard box containing my late grandmother’s belongings, may God have mercy on her. I dragged the heavy box down into…
The Secret of the Watch
Lama Nidal Sadr, 15 — Halhul
I’m an ordinary girl living my life normally, just like anyone else in this world. I had a wish — and I won’t call it a dream — a rather strange wish, which was to be able to hear the thoughts of the people around me.
When I Heard What I Shouldn’t Have Heard
Farah Raed Al-Barbarawi, 15 — Halhul
It was a quiet evening and the breezes were playing nature’s music on the leaves of the trees, the flowers seeming to dance on their branches as I sat in my garden watching them with happiness and wonder. A strange feeling came over me…
The Happy Garden
Mohammed Muhannad al-Atawineh, 16 — Beit Kahil
A quiet night, silence heavier than words, and pale light seeping through his bedroom window. He took out paper and pen, hesitated a moment, wrote his name at the bottom of the page, placed the pen on the paper and closed his eyes. He thought about writing…
The Truest of Letters
Malak Mohammed al-Atawneh, 15 — Beit Kahil
He was beaten daily by his father, who came home drunk every day. No one defended him except his mother, but she was too weak to protect him, and often took the blows for him…
The Stranger
Sadeel Omar Al-Zuhour, 15 — Beit Kahel
“I can return you to your normal size if you promise me you’ll change.” This is what Raed said to his friend Ahmed, a twelve-year-old boy whose body had shrunk to the size of a four-year-old.
The Shrinking Boy
Musab Maher Al-Sharawna, 15 — Deir Samet
“Magic candles! Magic candles!” In the old market, Zakariya heard a tall man with a long white beard that almost touched the ground, carrying two bundles of long red candles. The moment he saw him…
The Candle That Never Went Out
Bayan Zuhair Al-Sharawna, 15 — Deir Samet
In a certain kingdom, the king held a grand celebration. He invited the highest officials of the state, the dignitaries of the cities, and the most important men of the realm. That king was just and loved his subjects, and his subjects loved him — or so he believed, especially those invited to his feast.
The Thing…
Mina Thair al-Sharawna, 15 — Deir Samet
That palace stirred Thair’s curiosity a great deal, and more than once he thought about going inside to explore it. But his father always warned him not to enter, telling him that the palace the village people called…
The Palace of Darkness
Lamees Fareed Al-Awawdeh, 15 — Deir Samet
She felt no pain, no ache at all. When she cut herself she paid no attention to the wound, and when she burnt her hand she was indifferent to the burn. Her parents marvelled at this strange child, for Lamees was not like any other…
Lamees, Storm of Darkness
Fadwa Kamel Al-Dalu, 15 — Tulkarm
I cannot forget that day when my tears streamed down because my classmates bullied me at school, and what increased my pain was my teachers’ indifference when I complained to them about the bullying. Perhaps…
Forgiveness Is the Way of the Noble
Aya Mohammed Ammouri, 15 — Tulkarm
Hello, let me introduce myself. I’m Aya, an ordinary girl — or rather, I was an ordinary girl until that day came. I bet you’re asking now, ‘What day, Aya? Come on, tell us.’ Well, be patient and stick with me.
The Day Everything Turned Upside Down
Hiba Mahmoud Youssef, 15 — Tulkarm
This dream was the reason Hiba visited her camp.
A Dream of the Camp
Mohammed Mustafa Sududi, 15 — Tulkarm
In the winter days, Tulkarm Camp used to wake to the sound of children’s laughter slipping between the walls and alleyways, just as warm sunlight slipped through the windows of quiet homes. And the camp’s day would begin, the sound of the drone…
27 January
Aisha Bahaa Ayad, 15 — Aida Camp
It was a dawn unlike any other; the sun’s rays had not yet slipped through the glass of my window. That Monday, silence filled the corners of the house in a solemn way. In her room time stood still, and those prayer beads which…
She Is Gone
Fatima al-Zahraa Khaled Qaraqra, 15 — Aida Camp
A lorry stopped in front of one of the houses in our neighbourhood, interrupting our football match. We all stopped playing and turned to look at the lorry. The door by the driver opened, and slowly out stepped a short man, slightly built and shabbily dressed…
The New Neighbour
Farah Ziyad Akka, 15 — Askar al-Jadid Camp, Nablus
He sat at the roadside, drenched in the rain. His clothes were ragged and old, his shoes worn and torn, and he held a small box of chewing gum in his hands. I was walking to school when I saw him shivering from the cold…
The Orphan
Shereen Sayegh, 16 — Askar al-Jadid Camp, Nablus
When his face was burnt by steam from a pressure cooker, they bullied him. Rami the polite child was loved by everyone; they loved sitting with him, playing and talking with him. One day Rami invited his two friends Hassan and Hussein to have lunch at his house…
Rami the Artist
Meis Mohammad Thawabteh, 14 — Marah Rabah
Rama was a young, innocent girl who had many dreams, but she always believed that dreams stay dreams, so we should dream and enjoy our dreams even though we know they won’t come true. And Rama had…
Sometimes There’s a Chance
Basmala Hamza al-Sheikh, 15 — Marah Rabah
Because she’s the youngest, and the only girl among four boys, everyone bosses her about. They tell her to make their food, brew their tea, and clean their shoes. Whenever Basmala complains about all their demands, she gets shouted at — sometimes even hit…
The Enchanted Ladder
Jinan Anwar al-Sheikh, 14 — Marah Rabah
Like every ordinary morning, I stood before my mirror to tidy my clothes and brush my hair before going to school. It took me ages to change my hairstyle, and when I looked at my watch, it was already half past seven.
The Magic Mirror
Fawziya Ali Abu Ra’iya, 18 — Tarqumiyah
“Whoever goes down this well never returns.” That’s what one of the residents of that small Moroccan town told me. I’d heard so much about that well that curiosity got the better of me — I had to visit it and discover the secret behind it.
The Well of No Return
Mohammed Murad Qabaja, 18 — Tarqumiya
I adore owls. Unlike those who think owls are ugly birds and consider their call an omen of evil and bad luck, I think they’re among the most beautiful birds, and the quietest and cleverest. One day I had the chance to travel to…
Owl
Malika Faraj, 14 — Dheisheh Camp, Bethlehem
To be Palestinian means a child in the bloom of youth writes her will. That she divides her inheritance of forty-five coins. That she covers her doll, waiting for a rocket. What does it mean to be Palestinian?
What Does It Mean to Be Palestinian?
Reen Adel Faraj, 14 — Dheisheh Camp
There are moments when a person feels that words are the only hand reaching out when everything else has fallen away. In those moments, ink is not merely colour on paper, but becomes a small window…
Between Shadow and Light
Maysaa Mohammed Al-Mattour, 45 — Hebron
He loved his wife and children dearly. He wore himself out for them, laughed with them, played with them, took them everywhere with him, tired himself for their sake without ever letting them feel his weariness. He was a kind and loving husband, a tender father who gave without limit…
The Shock
Leen Issa Al-Natsheh, 35 — Hebron
A pale-faced, withered moon casts its feeble light over houses and streets covered in rainwater. That night I walked through the alley and my shadow had a strange presence; my shadow stretched across the asphalt with a clarity that surpassed…
A Crack in the Darkness
Diana Abu al-Halawa, 45 — Hebron
He was a quiet child who loved drawing and colours. He loved to draw his own world: a hut, trees, birds, flowers, a moon, rivers, plains, seas, night and day, suns, rain, animals and mountains. But there was…
The Little Artist
Rusaila Abu al-Halawa, 27 — Hebron
It was a quiet night, quieter than usual. I sat in stillness by the window, watching the sky as though I were seeing it for the first time, searching for something I had lost. In my hands was an old photograph of me as a small child…
When My Heart Went Back to the Past
Shorouq Samir Masawdeh, 27 — Hebron
Her problem was not that she could not sleep, but that the whole world slept without her. Cities fall silent at midnight and dreams open their doors to others, while she, she remains outside all of that…
Ayla, Light of the Moon
Islam Tahboub, 39 — Hebron
What if rain weren’t just water?
Raindrops
Hind Youssef al-Qawasmi, 14 — Hebron
Hanan, a nine-year-old girl, adored flowers. She grew them in her garden and cared for them with great care. Whenever she saw a flower wilt, she felt deeply sad, so she wished she could understand…
The Language of Flowers
Sundus Fathi Damo, 27 — Jericho
He left without leaving me anything to remember him by. My father — I was ten years old when he died. My mother would tell me about him sometimes when I asked, but all that flickered in my memory were hazy images of a harsh, volatile father.
My Father’s Voice
Sondos Fathi Dammu, 27 — Jericho
I never dared look at old photographs of my original village. Maybe I didn’t have the courage to face that crushing sense of oppression, or maybe, as much as I love the camp, I didn’t want to hate being here — didn’t want to realise the truth that I shouldn’t…
Aqir
Ritaj Younis al-Ja’afra, 15 — Tarqumiyah
“Stop!” I heard the guard standing outside my office door shout in anger, but she did not stop. She opened my office door and burst in, crying and calling out, “Let me see her, let me see her.” She was a fifteen-year-old girl…
I See Myself in You
Bashar Shakir Halaiqah, 16 — Ramallah
I am a horse because I am noble. I honour companionship and never forget those who stood by me. Horses are known for their strength, loyalty and intelligence. When a horse senses danger, it acts without waiting for help — it saves itself on its own…
The Horse and the Night…
Yazan Mu’ayyad Hamid, 15 — Ramallah
My father has a shop for old things: telephones, typewriters, coffee grinders, gramophones, old trunks… and clocks of every shape and size.
The Clock of Time
Lujain Majed Saba’neh, 12 — Jenin
I’m a lazy girl. I love sleeping and resting, and I hate working. I hate studying and I hate leaving the house. My mum told me off and my dad gave me advice, but… it was no use.
Scorn Time, and Time Will Cast You Aside
Sham Abdulrahman Al-Masri, 13 — Jenin
“Burnt-face”, “Here comes ugly, there goes ugly”, “Come here, burnt girl, go away, burnt girl, shut up, burnt girl”. That’s what her classmates at university used to call her, and what was her crime? Her crime was that her face was burnt when her father had a car accident and…