Gaza: Deep Roots, Resilient Branches

posted on: May 17, 2017

BY: Anas Mohammed-Ali Alfarra/ Ambassador Blogger

As with many Palestinians, my life has been a series of international moves to and from Palestine—for me, in particular, Gaza—inspired by hopes and fears, and always influenced by the fluctuating realities of the Israeli occupation. I was born in Egypt. Then we moved to Saudi Arabia, and then back to Gaza, when the first Oslo Accords promised hope, peace and freedom, which slipped away as the accord was violated. And then back to Egypt, where our family struggled to keep our business alive, due to extreme restrictions on Palestinian enterprises. Then back to Gaza. At age 17, I came to the US by myself (see the full story).

My memories of Gaza are strong, clear, and deeply rooted in my being. A unique relationship with the land—this place where my family has been longer than we remember—and having managed through it all to create a tightly knit family of 16,000+ members, is quite incredible. My full name is Anas Mohammed-Ali Abdelrahman Khalil Ibrahim Khalil Ali Awwad Alfarra.

Another remarkable fact of Gaza: almost anybody can accurately guess where you live and who your parents are within 30 nanoseconds of the first meeting!

A large close family fosters well-celebrated gatherings; joy abounds, mixed with the tastes, smells, and sounds Arabs know so well. Nearly 2,000 family members attended my sister Mariam’s wedding in 2010. Another 10,000 family members felt left out. I missed my sister’s wedding due to travel restrictions. This caused enduring disappointment for everyone, since we are separated more than we can gather.

In Palestine, chivalry, respecting elders, and caring for children are the moral laws above and beyond any human-made law, even now in 2017. Selfless by nature, Gazans struggle to create a better life within this framework; they give back to family and society. They are acutely aware that life can end at any moment. They focus on what really matters—supporting one another, offering what they don’t have if it helps someone else get up on their feet—because what else is there, really?

Meals in Gaza are almost beyond description. World-class, made-to-order falafel is always within a short walk. Gaza shawarma is totally worth the risk of going under the tunnels from Egypt to Gaza! And to start the day, there’s nothing better than a traditional breakfast—tea, mana’eesh (bread with olive oil and za’tar), labnah, olives, and dagga (Palestinian salad made with dill seeds, olive oil, really hot green peppers, and tomatoes in a clay plate), just for starters.

Then there is the beach. Even after traveling to Hawaii, the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, the Mediterranean and Red seas, Gaza still has one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve seen. And it includes a hookah with view, and a great meal, dajaj mandy, for less than a McDonald’s “Happy Meal”!
The harsh realities of military occupation are something I’d never wish on anyone.  Yet there are unexpected compensations—for example, having only 4 hours of electricity per day. Talk about really bonding with people; no phone, no Internet, just getting to know each other really well. Living under occupation, people become accustomed to attending a wedding and a funeral in the same day, participating fully in both experiences. People just embrace each moment, experiencing every emotion as it comes.

It’s not unusual to see people sitting in rubble, in the middle of a destroyed building, enjoying a hookah and calling a kabood (13/13 books) while playing Tarneeb (a game similar to spades) with friends.

People’s resourcefulness is inspiring. Gazans find ways to keep going. One day, I caught a ride to the university and was mystified by the persistent aroma of falafel. I couldn’t imagine where it came from. Finally, I realized the driver was improvising—using cooking oil, because there was no diesel gas to be found. Mercedes-Benz warns that cooking oil is “not suitable” for diesel engines, but that’s not going stop a determined driver in Gaza. It has been scientifically proven that cooking oil contains carcinogenic agents. However, in Gaza, possible eventual death is preferable to a certain stagnant present.

Being in the presence of an olive tree is the most holy experience there is. The aroma of the tree and its wide-ranging, complex roots and branches will tell you more than any history book or storyteller. I was honored to recycle olive trees destroyed in the air strikes over Gaza, creating lanterns out of them. For me, the implicit message in each lamp is: “From the destruction, we are sending light out into the world.”

Working with olivewood will bring a resurgence of life to anyone who is fortunate enough to work with it. I would cut the olive tree slab at my school or at the local carpentry shop to create delicate, precise patterns of Arabic calligraphy and Islamic geometric designs. Every tooth of the saw that met this wood had to show respect for what the tree had experienced, or the blade simply wouldn’t make it. I have gone through many blades. The wood slab would produce an aroma of slightly burnt olive oil, a light smoke, which left me truly humbled and honored every single time.

I remember the citrus trees known as almawaleh (orange trees, lemon trees, grapefruit trees)—the drift of citrus scent reaches up to 50 feet away. I would rub my fingers around the lemon leaves on my way out of the house every morning. This tree made the best lemon mint juice. We also had a pomegranate tree in our yard. I watched it flower and make those beautiful pomegranates, and I’d feel bad picking them from the tree.

Gaza’s soil and climate is just perfect for growing the best berries, which were once exported around the world. Herbs flourish, too. The grandmothers’ go-to for any sickness is sage (marmareya) tea. If sage tea doesn’t fix your aches and pains, probably nothing will. Then there is thyme (za’tar), and the myth (or truth) that links the high intelligence of Palestinians to za’tar. Find out yourself: eat some za’tar and see if your IQ soars.

When I was at the UNRWA refugee camps, we’d play sports after school. We didn’t have any gyms in Gaza. I would meet up with my friends in the Khan-Younis mokhayyam, and we’d jump the concrete school fences to play basketball. Those friends went on to found the Gaza Parkour team and Slingshot Hip Hop (Palestinian rap group), and one became the Arab Idol (Mohammad Assaf). I took the initially less culturally challenging route, known as the “good kid route”—going to school and working with startups and NGOs of all kinds. Some of the most intense games I’ve ever played were on these concrete courts and shakily built posts.

As I was leaving Gaza in 2009, I realized I was building a strong psychological barrier created from every hardship I had faced, to keep me from missing Gaza. To my surprise, the barrier has slowly melted away. I yearn for Gaza deeply, profoundly, and I see myself there again, in real life or perhaps on a parallel planet, reunited with Gazan soil and my family.

“Indeed, I am longing for the land of Gaza, even if my expression of emotion has failed me. May God nourish a land which, if I could reach its soil, I would line my eyes with, because that is how much I am intensely longing for Gaza.”

“وإني لمشتاق إلى أرض غزة‏ وإن خانني بعد التفرق كتماني‏ سقى الله أرضا لو ظفرت بتربها‏ كحلت به من شدة الشوق أجفاني”
—  Al-imam al Shaf’ee /الامام الشافعي

From Seattle to the land of sumud, Gaza: Until we meet again.

-Anas Mohammed-Ali Alfarra