In Memory of Sabra and Shatila... Never Forget...Not I

posted on: Sep 17, 2018

By: Leila Diab/Arab America Ambassador Blogger

In memory of the over 3,000 Palestinian refugee victims of the Sabra and Shatila
massacre on September 16-19, 1982.

In Memory of Sabra and Shatila…
Never Forget…Not I

Their eyes were filled with hope and love I gazed upon their faces.
But my eyes were filled with a saving grace
Of hope and discontent.

The children came running after me in the mud.
While standing on the hilly ruble pile where bombs fell.
They waved with a smile and a “v’ for victory sign of one day
a right to return to their homeland Palestine.

The young children called out to me,
Stanni, stanni (wait, wait) take our picture.
And said, “Please write a story about us. We too are the sons and daughters of Palestine.

We are the refugee camp dwellers, without our homeland.”
Our Palestinian childhood stories have the same beginnings
But different endings and journeys of life.

Imagined hope, destiny, and faith for their out of camp relocation.
Back to the fruits of their homeland and family reunions in Palestine and while singing songs of Al-Awdah, al-Awdah( Return) and baladi (my country).

Song after song Sung by generations of Palestinians yearning for peace and human tranquility on the road to the valleys of karama (dignity).

Children of the refugee camp wars,
Children of wanton destruction and inhumane violations of universal human rights,
Children of Palestine.

Lurking out of the rubble and war-torn area of Lebanon,
Palestinian children refugees…camp dwellers stand tall while paying and singing in a playground of bomb craters in the
land surrounding them.
And within the bombshell casings all around they play hide and seek.

And they sing juthouri, juthouri (my roots, my roots).
I know from where I came.
This is our identity, identity…we are not to blame.
We are camp dwellers without an address or city lights,
But we do have a name. The time has come to end this game.
The smiles of barefoot children playing in the mud and bombed out
craters, refugee camp dwellers pause.

And say a prayer to remove these obstacles from their path.
That is all they ask.
This kind of life is no fun.
It should be shunned.

They ask, ‘Does anybody in the world still remember us, or even want to help us go back home to Palestine?
The children look up to the blue sky or in the pouring rain, with open hands and begin to pray to the universal creator of the heavens and earth, and world leaders, please guide us back to the Holy Land to open hanna flower fields…the flower of Palestine.

Sabra and Shatila camp dwellers, many have gone too soon without dreams fulfilled, and blank stares from others without
remorse for human souls.

I will write the untold Palestinian stories of life, courage, honor, dignity, and the will to never give up. The camp dwellers…Palestinian children and families in the refugee camp known as Sabra and Shatila, in Lebanon were not even given a bright glance or chance to return home.

Is this what fate and destiny at a glance?
Or is this what they call
Give peace a chance?

Can anyone forget Sabra and Shatila?
Not I.