Thus, the barley grains were turned into concrete, and the flocks of pigeons came crashing down to the ground.

Whenever boredom overwhelmed Al-Mahi because of isolation and loneliness, and the serpents of solitude wrapped themselves around him, he would gaze from the top of Hjarat El Hlouf Hill. He would let his eyes wander across the emptiness of slow-moving time, seeing nothing but Es-Sandika, standing proudly in the middle of the city. At its summit rose a tower that reigned over the town like a king upon a throne, watching the growing flocks of pigeons circling around it.

Usually, Al-Mahi found it difficult to keep track of time. The hours here all seemed alike, as did the days and the years. He no longer knew how to measure time or place, as the wheel of life kept turning through the same days and showing the same scenes. Yet this time, he could not forget either the moment or the place.

It was the morning of May 30, 2002. He was sitting in a café in Katroute with his friend Omar, who was deeply focused on a poem he had scribbled in the margin of a newspaper. Al-Mahi had read only its opening lines:

“My homeland is captive and captor… My homeland is beautiful and sinful.”

After finishing his mint tea and harcha bread, he stepped outside to buy a cigarette from the local shopkeeper. But what he saw before him was so shocking that he forgot why he had come out in the first place. In disbelief, he murmured:

“Have the drums of war begun to beat?”

He rushed back into the café and asked his friend:

— Tell me, what is happening outside?

— Outside? Wars in Palestine, chaos in Iraq… and America’s attempt to spread freedom around the world.

— Rather America’s attempt to deceive freedom! That is not what I mean. What is happening here, outside this café, on Saïdia Street? What are those machines… those bulldozers… those trucks?

— Ah… didn’t you know? We are lucky. The municipality has transferred that site. Shopping arcades and apartment buildings will be constructed there. The municipality will benefit, the city will prosper, and tourism will flourish.

Al-Mahi felt dizzy and cried out:

— And what about Es-Sandika? What about Es-Sandika? What about Es-Sandikaaaaaa?

 

By Jaloul

January 23, 2013 – 14:45