In arabic, the greeting used for "good morning" sabaah ilheer, translates literally as "morning of goodness (to you)" and the typical response "sabaah innuur" means "morning of light (to you)". Arabic, a language of poets and philosophers, is filled with kind and gentle wishes, invocations, blessings and praise.
Yesterday morning as we walked to work, my pretty colleague, always friendly and working hard to get to grips with the language, greeted the young Hamas guard sitting on the corner, machine gun propped beside him, "sabaah ilheer". A bright smile lit his face as he responded "sabaah ilyasmeen". He had wished her a morning of jasmine. A morning of jasmine!
There is something in this situation, the juxtaposition of the young soldier in this besieged place and the beauty of his words that reflect the paradox that is Gaza.
A question I am frequently asked is how I like Gaza. My immediate response has been " I love it" and I do. On consideration this sounds ridiculous, trite. What is there to love? The poverty? The buildings reduced to rubble? The rank smells in the air as rubbish goes uncollected? The news of airstrikes and civilian deaths? The every-day grinding impact of the illegal closure and witnessing the hardship and struggle of peoples lives? All these things, and worse, are true, are real.
And yet there is so much more to Gaza than this. There is a poetic beauty in the dignity and resilience of the people. Each child playing in the street is is a living hymn to creation. Each fisherman who heads out in his boat, every farmer to his field, an ode to the human spirit and its connection with the land and sea. The kindness of the people I have met, their hospitality, their love for their families and care for one another is a shining prayer. The colour and laughter and vitality is a wonderful, sparkling sonnet.
So for now, from Gaza, I too wish you a morning of jasmine and birds and fathomless beauty.
Yesterday morning as we walked to work, my pretty colleague, always friendly and working hard to get to grips with the language, greeted the young Hamas guard sitting on the corner, machine gun propped beside him, "sabaah ilheer". A bright smile lit his face as he responded "sabaah ilyasmeen". He had wished her a morning of jasmine. A morning of jasmine!
There is something in this situation, the juxtaposition of the young soldier in this besieged place and the beauty of his words that reflect the paradox that is Gaza.
A question I am frequently asked is how I like Gaza. My immediate response has been " I love it" and I do. On consideration this sounds ridiculous, trite. What is there to love? The poverty? The buildings reduced to rubble? The rank smells in the air as rubbish goes uncollected? The news of airstrikes and civilian deaths? The every-day grinding impact of the illegal closure and witnessing the hardship and struggle of peoples lives? All these things, and worse, are true, are real.
And yet there is so much more to Gaza than this. There is a poetic beauty in the dignity and resilience of the people. Each child playing in the street is is a living hymn to creation. Each fisherman who heads out in his boat, every farmer to his field, an ode to the human spirit and its connection with the land and sea. The kindness of the people I have met, their hospitality, their love for their families and care for one another is a shining prayer. The colour and laughter and vitality is a wonderful, sparkling sonnet.
So for now, from Gaza, I too wish you a morning of jasmine and birds and fathomless beauty.
Thank you Elaine for such lyrical expression of your time in Gaza, sharing a window's glimpse into the heart of life in Palestine, the beauty, pain and Ilyasameen, ...the jasmine
ReplyDeleteJulie
I love your blogs Elaine; they show Gaza so many different ways that I have never considered.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
Detta