Today being Wednesday, I had another uneventful cycle ride to the market in Uppermill this morning. I must say I am impressed by the local dog-walkers who almost all take notice of my bell and ensure that their dogs are under control and keep to one side of the path. It’s no fun to be “herded” by an enthusiastic border collie when you’re on your bike. Years ago we were on the Donkey Line bridle path encouraging Granddaughter Number One, then about 8 years old, to gain confidence on her bike. Some dog owners let their small yappy-type dogs run at her bike wheels, causing her to fall off. To this day, almost 20 years on, she has not got back on a bike. And she keeps her own dog under control when out and about!
May is coming along nicely. It rained a little late this morning but on the whole, apart from Sunday’s thunderstorm, we’re doing quite well weatherwise. Suddenly hawthorn trees are in bloom (we can start “casting clouts”) and the horse chestnuts are full of “candles”, these strange, very upright blossoms those trees produce.
Here’s some artwork produced by a Palestinian artist, Maisara Baroud, drawing on whatever paper he can get hold of as he moves from one refuge to another.
He writes:
“Drawing and posting online daily became the only way to reassure my friends, after all communication and social media were cut but later partly restored. My drawings, in which I document the war with all its cruel scenes, have become the message through which I inform friends: “I am still alive.”
The drawings were in the place of a scream and were a call out from the middle of the war demanding a stop to the killing … and that the world notice what is happening in Gaza and its confined universe.
The university at which I work as a lecturer has disappeared and lies in ashes. The war machine has distorted the features of my small city and the occupation has destroyed all the beautiful things in it; so the things that are fixed in my memory now lie distorted under the rubble.”
Images by Maisara Baroud form part of Foreigners in Their Homeland, an exhibition of work by Palestinian artists, organised by Palestine Museum US, at the European Cultural Centre, Palazzo Mora, Venice, until 24 November.
As we try to keep in touch with old friends, scattered about the country, indeed scattered about the world, I think about the importance of those friends and the shared memories. Like that artist, masses of Palestinians have lost touch with those old friends, have no idea whether they are still alive or not. And they continue to be moved around, losing belongings as they go, for in the haste to move on (to be “moved” on) inevitably more and more stuff gets left behind.
These are the words of ten year old Massa al-Arbeed, recently arrived at yet another refugee camp near Khan Younis, moved from Gaza City, with her brother and mother:
“We have had to leave a lot behind because this is perhaps the sixth time we have moved. So I’m just sitting here.
“There are no games or dolls to play with, or even a house to take shelter in, and because we move a lot, I’ve lost touch with all my friends and now I don’t know anything about them.”
Here’s a link to an article about that.
Recently I heard someone explaining how Generation Z had had their childhood stolen from them. This is the generation brought up surrounded by technology, and often not given the freedom, or not sufficiently encouraged, to play imaginative games outdoors, in direct contact with friends. How much more are the children of this conflict having their childhood stolen?
And I hear that there are appeals to our government, so far unsuccessful, to fast-track applications by Palestinians who wish to be reunited with family already living in the UK, as has apparently been done for Ukrainians. That seems unfair.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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