Omar Shaat connects with his grandmother who connects him with a historical period that he wasn’t apart of, yet has affected and shaped his life as well as millions and millions of displaced Palestinians. Omar Shaat is a junior in Information Systems major at Carnegie Mellon University in Qatar and this “Narrative History” paper was submitted in the Writer’s Craft course- Spring 2009.  

I visit my grandmother on a sunny afternoon to have lunch with her. She always sits on her comfortable sofa, watching the TV if not praying or sleeping. After having lunch, we sit in the living room to watch the TV. She switches to a news channel. Even though she moved to Qatar in 1958, she is still eager to know the latest news of Palestine.  It is January 2009, the news channel is broadcasting images of injured men and children, houses being bombed, and women crying and shouting. In December 2008, Israel launched a military campaign in Gaza strip. The massacre of Gaza citizens begins. “The history repeats itself”, my grandmother says. I look at her and find her wiping off her tears.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The first Naksa of Gaza was when I was a young girl” she answers.

“During the British colonization of Palestine in the 1930s, the Jews started migrating from Europe to Palestine. They were concentrated in Tel Aviv, and Palestinians and the Jews co-existed peacefully. The Palestinian brides used to go to Tel Aviv to buy their wedding dresses. Similarly, Israelis kept roaming in Deer Yaseen city. The Palestinians thought the Israelis were tourists, just looking around. Then Jews were promised a land in Palestine by Balfour; the British Prime Minister. In 1948, Israeli soldiers treacherously attacked the citizens of Deer Yaseen. It was a massacre. They killed everything that moved. They also raped women, and cut the bellies of pregnant women and threw their babies on the streets.”

“Soon, the news of the Deer Yaseen massacre and what Israeli soldiers did to the women there spread over radio channels. Men feared such attacks would disfigure their honor, and in order to protect their families they decided to migrate to other cities. I lived with my family in Yafa, in a neighborhood called Al-Ajami that was very close to Deer Yaseen. We could hear the bombing and shooting. Families in Al-Ajami escaped through the seaport. The boats were too crowded and some sank. The passengers started throwing their belongings into the sea. People were scared of drowning, and, sadly, some sacrificed their babies. When my father heard of the sunken boats, he decided to escape overland. So we left our house with nothing but the clothes we were wearing. We locked the house and took the keys with us. We headed to the trucks that were going to Egypt. Each truck carried two or three families. We all were standing in the truck as all seats were occupied. The trucks took the mountains route moving on narrow roads. Truck drivers drove faster because the Israeli humvees followed them with bullets. Small children were excited to see trucks falling off into the valley. They were too young to realize how serious the situation was, and that people were dying.”

“We were lucky to reach Al-Majdal city safe, and its people welcomed us warmly. Unfortunately, the following day, the Israelis forces attacked the city, so we went to Gaza and took a train to Rafah – a city located at the Palestinian border with Egypt – aiming to get to Egypt. At Rafah, they told us we needed vaccinations before entering Egypt and they sent us to Al-Qantara – an Egyptian city located in Sinai between Egypt and Palestine. In the meanwhile, my sister and my extended family were in Al-Lad city. The only way possible to escape was through travelling by foot to Al-Ramlah city. The weather was too hot and the distance was too long. Some started to drink their own urine from thirst, and few women left their babies under trees because they were too tired and couldn’t carry them anymore.”

“In Al-Qantara, we were walled in a camp for two years. Each family was given a tent. The Egyptians sent us cooked food and clothes. Perhaps the life there was not that good, but at least we were safe. Moreover, some of our men started a school to teach the children. The classes took place in a tent with chairs of bricks, and the tables were piece of woods we called Oblakaja. Teachers were paid in goods rather than cash. We gave teachers eggs, bread, or any available food. Some women sold their jewelry to feed their families. We suffered in the winter seasons. The tents didn’t protect us from the cold weather and we didn’t have thick clothes or blankets to use, and some of the tents were blown away by the wind. After two years, we ran out of patience, we couldn’t leave the camp, so why not go back to our homes? We protested “We want our home back!” After that, the Egyptian government sent us to Gaza.”

“In Gaza, each migrated family was given a room made of bricks and mud by UNESCO. The organization gave each family a food card according to the number of family members. They distributed milk and fish oil pills. They also established schools, the morning session was assigned for Gaza citizens and the afternoon session for migrants. Nonetheless, some families were too poor and started to sell their food cards while others sent their daughters to serve as maids in Kuwait.”

“I completed my school education and graduated from high school. There were delegates who came from the Gulf, searching for teachers, so I applied. I got accepted and moved to Doha with an external contract in 1958. Every summer holiday I used to visit Palestine. In 1967, the Israeli army attacked Gaza and the blood was knees-level. They didn’t allow anyone in or out of Palestine. Today, we refer to the 1967 incident as the Palestinian Naksa. I haven’t been able to visit my home since then.”

“You had such a harsh childhood!” I comment.

“Gaza today is going through the same tragedy imposed by the Israeli forces”, she replies. Then, she adds “I lost my sister back then and we couldn’t bury her until the next day”

“May God have mercy on her soul”, I say. She turns off the TV and gets up from the sofa.

“I’m going to take a nap”, she sighs.

“Ok, I’m sorry for reminding you of that, but it was nice talking to you”, I say.

“It is okay son. You need to learn your history”, she answers. “Because, dear, history repeats itself”, she concludes.