Too Close to Home
The Story of Gaza — Why I went silent
Many of you would have missed me on Medium. I stopped writing the day the war broke out in the Gaza Strip. Wading through the war in Gaza is nothing new for me. Since 2020, I have been witnessing Israeli bombardments on that tiny strip especially during the month of Ramadan, closer to Lailatul Qader (the last 10 days of fasting). No, I am not a Palestinian. Prior to October 2019, I did not even know that such a place existed. Israel? Knew in the passing, no opinions whatsoever.
My life transformed when someone contacted me, wanting to model our Bollywood Begum clothes. He was a Palestinian, living in Malaysia having left the Gaza strip in 2019. His was a daily existence, some days with food, some days without and most people from the Palestine enter Malaysia either as students or refugees. He came in as a refugee. As I got to know him I realised that he was a highly educated man — a double degree holder who was the 2016 bodybuilding champion in Palestine. A former major in the army.
I also got to know his friend, another refugee. By March 2020, both had moved into my condominium unit and Covid-19 lock down happened. Surprisingly, it was also in 2020 that I had bought my current home and moved in by end December, helped by both boys. The Major stayed with us, while his friend chose to stay with his friends, about 10 minutes away.
During Ramadan 2021, the Major’s cousin was killed in a bomb attack on the street where his family lived. The boy, Ibrahim Ahmed, went viral on the Net after his death as he was one of the Imams at the mosque near their home; was walking home when the bomb fell a few metres from him. The sight of his dead body was very taunting — the back portion of his entire body was missing. The Major was devastated and he cried at 3 am that day, when he received the news. A few metres from Ibrahim, the Major’s family — father, uncle and brothers were walking after tarawih prayers. They escaped unhurt.
Come September 2021, we had rented a small piece of land for our dogs to live — the parents, Power and Jodha, had four puppies which were growing too fast. So, getting the land was the best next thing to do. Eventually, the other Palestinian boy, Mohammed, moved into the land. The boys built their own wooden house from scratch, much to my awe. They were very much at home at the land. They made barbeque pits and nice sitting areas for my dogs. My life saw great transformation and my time was spent between my home and the land. It still is. Probably because they came from a land that had seen much devastation, they could build just about anything from nothing. By end 2022, the owner of the land had built a nice brick house and Mohammed moved into that.
The dogs often played in the adjacent jungle and sometimes when any one of them fail to return home, Mohammed would enter the jungle, even late at night, to look for the missing fellow. Fear is a word that does not exist in his dictionary. I was very thankful that I had someone like him caring for my dogs.
In January 2022, the Major moved back to my condominium unit in the city as the job he secured was closer to that home. It made no sense for him to travel very far from where we had moved to, daily, to go to work. Mohammed remained at the land, working as a handyman as and when his services were needed. I bought a motorbike for him and when my ex husband passed on, we gave his car to Mohammed so that he can earn a living.
Over the years I have learnt not to question God or as some may say — the Universe. I had learnt to accept whatever that came my way. So, I embraced the presence of both boys into my life, treating them more like sons. While the Major is no longer very close, Mohammed had been like a son when it came to protecting me. He was also like the elder brother to my second daughter, at times even warning her when she got out of line. When I needed something like medicine, all I had to do was to say that my medicines have finished and within half hour the medicine would be in my home. The only thing Mohammed shared about his family was his love for his mum. He told me that he was a very defiant child but thinks the world of her. Probably that is why he treats me almost the same way — like his own mother.
When the first time Internet connections were cut off in Gaza after October 7th, Mohammed lost contact with his family for a good 15 days, not knowing whether they were alive or dead. The last news he heard before the disconnection was that his uncle’s family of 17 had perished when Israeli bomb hit their home. But, Mohammed had been unfazed. I asked him repeatedly whether he was okay. This is what he said, “There is no life in Gaza. Nothing. We die either way — in oppression, we die without freedom. In war, we die but fighting for freedom. It is shaheed death”.
It then dawned upon me that if no one from Mohammed’s family survives this war, all he would have left in this world would be me — his adopted mother. Settling a son down in his life is a huge responsibility and I wonder why God had sent him to me. What did God see in me that He sent Mohammed to me to be cared for. May be someday I will get the answers but for now the death toll in Gaza makes me sick in the stomach. Occupation is not new for us in Malaysia.
From 1941 to 1945, we were occupied by the Japanese Army. My late grandfather used to tell me stories about the atrocities inflicted by the Japanese army on Chinese civilians in the Malay Peninsula (now Malaysia).
One story was bone chilling. The Japanese Army had taken a huge number of Chinese civilians as prisoners and brought then to the river side. They were made to stand in one row at the bank of the river, their hands tied behind their backs. A Japanese soldier beheaded them one by one and pushed their torso into the river. If this story did not make you feel sick, I wonder what will.
I am one who try to save even an ant, but not mosquitoes. Seeing how the Israeli bombardments had killed huge number of children in Gaza, I am speechless. I do not know how to process the incidents that had started 75 years ago which had let to the war in Gaza today. I have a lot of opinions on the war but for now I would like to share this short story from the Mahabharath:
The Mahabharath war was won by the Pandavas, supported by Lord Krishna against the huge army of Kurus, using one lie. Just a lie. The Kurus were wiped off from the face of the earth. When Lord Krishna ascended the throne to rule Dwarka, all he had was a barren land with only women and children. There are no winners in any war, only devastation.
Would a state of Palestine arise from the devastation of Gaza or would I become the permanent adopted mother of Mohammed. Probably Mohammed may get his 200 acres of land back. Who knows. Till the answer comes, it would be very hard for me to return to active writing. I will try nevertheless. We, as fellow human beings, have our collective power to voice out against all and any atrocities against mankind, regardless of colour, creed and religion. If we remain silent today, we may be silenced forever.