 PEOPLE
OF THE TRAFFIC LIGHT
Naaman Ismael Abdulqader - Morocco
Translated by Hassan Sarsour
The road I use to take in my travel
from my village to Nazareth is the shortest one. It only takes one hour or so..
Nevertheless, when taking this road you'll come across the Valley of A'ra, and
you'll see several Arab villages adjacent to the Green Line. In addition, you
will have to stop at traffic lights spread in road junctions, waiting for cars
and travelers moving back and forth. There, your eyes will catch the sight of
little boys of which some are less than eight years of old, with their rags ,
bale faces and innocent souls, bathing in a waterfall of burning sun rays,
fighting their way valiantly between lines of cars, asking for help. When you
give them something, they will pray for God to bless you, and thank you with a
smile showing their content with the situation and their acceptance of the fate
that neglected them, and gave its most attention to the sons and daughters of
Jacob and Isaac . On the other hand , if you refuse to give them anything , they
will leave you and go for another as to find something useful .Little boys under
the harshness of life forcing them to be miserable and beggars . Fearing the
victory of hunger , they surrendered to life lest they leave it .
One morning as I was traveling to
Nazareth with my friend " Naief " , I decided to give something to every one I
meet on my way .When I reached the road junction of
" Kufur Qarrea " I started scanning
the place with my eyes . I found two little children . One of them was taking
refuge in the shade of the traffic light while drinking water from a bottle that
was in his right hand .. The other one was biting a candy that someone gave it
to him as charity. The traffic light didn't give us time to stop and we were
forced to proceed towards " Um Alfahm ".
Seeing the red light of the traffic
light from distance we stopped .Little children approached us and I gave them
enough money to buy a meal or two . A little girl stood behind . Her clothes
were rags and her shoes were torn as if they were expired sixty years ago with
her toes coming out from the sides . Without saying a word she looked at me with
her sad and shy eyes which made me feel pity and sorrow . She mumbled few words
of prayers and praises that she had learned by heart . There I remembered my
little girl and her doll that she used to hug and kiss all the time .
- What's your name my little one ?
She answered with a fading and shy
voice :
- Manal ….
- Here… take this please …
She reached out her tiny hand and
took the money after reciting some of her prayers and showing a smile that
appeared on her dark mouth … She almost flew out of joy with her gain and lavish
fortune ...
" Naief " awoke and started bluntly
rumbling :
-
Damn those fathers … they enjoy
in their beds while planting in the wombs of their mothers human seeds
without knowing the consequences … After that you get miserable children ,
like these , that are stepped on like cockroaches by life in their chase
after bread … The don't learn . The don't smell the flavors of childhood .
They are deprived of everything…
" Naief " , I think they are
from Jeneen and its camp … May God help them .. In 1948 they were forced to
leave their villages and cities … and they are beggars … just like gypsies
…" Naief " ! do you know that if the rich Arab people gave only one penny
each month as a charity , you would never ever find a poor person in this
nation… Where are the alms ? Where is the oil? Where is the foreign aid ? Of
course , all dried on the desert way …
Things went fast at Nazareth and we headed back while complaining from the
oppressive heat of July , the long distance and the short time . It seems as
if the tragedy was roaming in the sky , waiting for us in contempt . It
waited for the clock to reach two and thus forcing us to meet the little
girl again … Perhaps it was waiting for me so that it could surprise me with
a shock that would never be cleared , even with the waters of Tiberias . …
Is it because I'm an emotional guy that gets excited vary fast , or because
I cry in such situations ?? maybe ..
It is said that when a child dies ,
the world becomes sad , the sky feels pain , the fate cries out of regret , and
the letters fall from the books out of anger ..
Why doesn't the Earth shake when it hears the moaning of " Manal " as she lies
on the sidewalk struggling against fate as to win her last seconds of life ? She
wanted to cross the road and to catch up with her cousin but Fate was faster
than her and it received her soul after a fast car had hit her … People of the
traffic light , with their sad looks , gathered at the scene . Passengers rushed
spontaneously out of their cars in an attempt to lend a hand and help …
Pointing at the child on my left
they replied :
Yes , she is his cousin …
Another added with a grievous voice
:
Her father died five hears ago and
her brother was arrested three years ago .. She came here to find her daily
bread … she's been with us only a week …
The body was removed and life returned to its regular course with the ambulance
and its noise.
Overwhelmed withy the feelings
bitterness and anger Naief said :
Damn you life … What daily
bread these children pursue ? Oh humanity …Alas … Where are you freedom ?? Oh ,
he who died and left Life for the miserable , weak and the hard workers …alas .
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