Aside from its unequalled spiritual value, Ramadan possesses another
charm with a meaning that varies from one individual to the other. It is
the value of the memories which Ramadan brings, bringing with it as
always, faces and places which now seem never-lasting ones. Just as
Ramadan made its annual appearance in many spots around the world, it
never failed to visit Gaza's refugee camps. Unfortunately many happy
occasions have come to the camps and departed again without leaving a
mark, save Ramadan.
While there are many other things that most people take for granted, for
us refugees, Ramadan was a challenge. The challenge lied however, beyond
abstaining from food. Instead it was obtaining this food which we would
break our fast with, when the time came. Although life was relatively
livable, from a financial perspective before the Palestinian uprising
(Intifada) on Dec 9, 1987, life truly hardened for most Palestinians
after the Intifada's arrival. Without a steady income, or without any
income at all, for most refugees who survived on a day-to-day basis, the
joy of Ramadan appeared unachievable. But as hard headed as these
refugees have always been, they were determined to celebrate Ramadan
with the rest of the Muslim world, even if it meant fighting for that
right.
Two very memorable and meaningful occasions have taken place at the same
time this year; Ramadan and the 12th anniversary of the Intifada.
Although these two occasions appear unrelated, throughout the years of
the Intifada, they seemed inseparable.
Congregating around the television, waiting with eagerness for any Arab
channel to announce that the crescent had been spotted somewhere,
marking thereafter the beginning of Ramadan, we gathered in our humble
home in Nuesierat refugee camp. The moment this announcement was heard,
cheers from the neighbors, near and far, echoed within the impoverished
but warm neighborhoods. "Allahu Akbar", people chanted. That night we
would sleep, each with our own worries and reasons for joy. While
grown-ups worried themselves about the mouths that would need to be fed,
and the suitable food that would need to be purchased for this special
occasion, children waited for sun to rise, so they could initiate the
beginning of the month in their own special way. Children's Ramadan
traditions ranged from collecting candy from old women at the nearby
grave-yard who would come to visit their loved ones, to placing a candle
inside an old oil or sardine can to roam the streets singing for
Ramadan.
Dreams were crushed and hearts were broken when Israeli military
vehicles were the ones roaming the streets before the dawn prayers,
announcing that a curfew would immediately be imposed on the camps until
notified otherwise. The words "Allahu Akhabr" would once more echo in
the camps, this time, protesting the cruelty and disregard for human
values and children's dreams.
I cannot exactly remember how we survived the first two weeks of that
Ramadan. In fact, I cannot remember how we survived all the long curfews
that were imposed on the camps throughout the years of the Intifada. It
was a miracle you may say, or perhaps determination if you don't believe
in miracles. One thing I shall never forget is the bags of vegetables
that were thrown over the walls of many homes, including our own, by
some unknown league of Samaritans. Those who are considered "terrorists"
outside Palestine, risked imprisonment and perhaps death, by violating
the curfew to be the refugees' angels of mercy, assuring us some sense
of comradeship and security in this sacred month. The packages were
neatly wrapped. For those who had infants, a small can of powdered milk
was also included.
The Intifada has indeed brought out the best in us. Ramadan, however
emphasized that great sense of solidarity, togetherness and brotherhood
that Palestinian refugees camps have always possessed.
And because people were prohibited from going to the mosque in the time
for prayers, men climbed to the roofs of their houses and made the
prayer calls. Although the Israeli orders were very clear in respect to
the curfew, "..and those who disobey orders will be shot", we always
dared to disobey these orders. Late in the evenings, when military
vehicles were seen departing our area to another, we fled to the
streets, sharing all that can be shared. Even children managed to
complete their hand-made Ramadan lamps illuminating the dark streets of
the camp with candlelight and songs.
Many things have changed since then. Refugees now endure different kinds
of hardships. Yet somehow they manage to survive, live and find a reason
to smile. As always their nights are engulfed with worries and joy, yet
they maintain their eagerness for a better tomorrow. Ramadan Mubarak to
my fellow refugees and comrades, to Nuesierat, my still standing refugee
camp, and to all Muslim brothers and sisters.
