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8:14 AM
Uneskhartit.blogspot.com
In one of the greatest days to the Muslims world, I was born in a very cold but good day. I was born and bred by a very humble family. I had a chance to have an acquaintance with one of my lovely parents; I have had a chance to know and befriend my mother.
At the day of my birth, I was surrounded by lovely sisters, brothers and cousins. I was like a seed in the middle of a rosebush. Everybody loved me. They all wanted to touch me, kiss me, have a conversation that I couldn’t recognize a lot (or at all). I was protected by them. Some were yelling to get me in their hands; whereas some were yelling on them for fear to get me hurt.
That day, there were many women coming to congratulate my mother for having me as a male baby. They were ululating as there were some who were laughing and smiling.
Seven days had passed. My father declared my birth on the village’s delegation. It was my first time to be enlisted in the country’s repertoires.
Before I was born, my eldest sister, who is the firstborn of the family, had a dream that she is going to have another young brother. She told my mother about the new born would be called Omar. Omar is the name of one of the prophet’s (PBUH) friends. The family liked a lot the name and they really wanted such names in the family. They decided my name before my birth. However, when I came to life, my cousin refused to name me Omar. Fortunately, she preferred the name of one of the messengers, namely Younes. My father, who had the main say, accepted her request gently. He rejected my eldest sister’s dream. He always tried to satisfy his nephews’ wills than his offspring’s.
My mother catered for me a lot. She did her best. She tried hard to get me soft tissues made from old clothes that she just cut and use. There were some aids by local and international organizations. I benefited for a while in one of these aids. Since I had a father, they stopped helping us quickly. However, my mother managed to get more aids. She took an autistic girl of one of our relatives. Hence she got more aids that she shared with the daughter’s family.
My father worked as a carpenter. He made a lot of utensils and traditional ebony materials to help the people of the village. He made doors, windows, tables, chairs. One day, he decided to work on a stretcher. He made one that he gave as a donation to the mosque. He meant to introduce it so that people could carry easily dead bodies. However, the minority of indigenous didn’t like it. One neighbor wished if only my father had been the first to be carried on it. She never stopped disturbing us due to her nasty kids.
Life is characterized with differences, so are the people. Our neighbors are different. Some of them are good, sociable, gregarious, humorous, easygoing and even generous. However, the others are selfish, arrogant, and bad-tempered. One of our neighbors never stopped shouting. She was often yelling at the boys playing in the street. Her siblings were silly and talkative. They kept disturbing us. Whenever someone dared to speak out against their behaviors, they went on crying and complaining.
I remember her shout on my sister, when I didn’t want to play with her spoiled child. My sister ignored her when she perceived that she barking as scary dogs do. One day, the boys of the neighborhood playing with the childish and jerky boy. He appeared to be like a wimp. He went on playing with girls fir a while. No sooner had he come to seek reconciliation, but in vain. We went on boycotting him for dozen of days.
It was Sunday afternoon. We started playing seesaw in a yard near to our house; suddenly, a muddy stone fell on my closest friend’s back of the neck. He fell down oblivion for a while. We were crying and shouting. The blood on his neck showed that he was surely injured. Suddenly, a woman was knocking on their door and shouting. It was my friend’s mother in her road home. She came back from routinic work in the fields. She saw her child when being hit. She was such a tough and harsh woman. She really wanted to beat the child that hit her kid. However, his mother begged her forgiveness. She was one of the good people that’s why she forgave him later on.
It was Monday evening; my mother was busy doing something to bread us. She was really the great breadwinner. I am alone with my youngest sister. My sister was about to finish home work. Her friends were calling her to go for a walk. I knew that she was in a dilemma. She didn’t know whether to accompany me with her friends that would like to be free from censorship of talkative boys. She couldn’t also let me alone at home nor leave me for my busy mother.
Finally she managed to finish the work. She informed her friends that she was going to escort me with her. She hardly managed to convince them. We went out of the door. I saw a bit painted faces; I smelt stinky smells and enough good ones. Some of the girls gazed at me; some geed; and some showed a short smile. I knew that I was not completely welcomed, and may be they intended to do something secretly.
Every evening, girls met in a corner. They chat for a while. They sometimes flirt with some young boys. Some of the boys had intention to marry. However, most of the rest wanted to flirt for the sake of flirting.
In our way to the corner of dating and flirting, there appeared two young boys who had no patience due to the seduction of the girls’ moves as well as way of walking. He obliviously rode his bike towards us. The girls were talking and paid no attention. They couldn’t see the horny boy. Suddenly, I hear a loud scream. Later on, I recognized that the bike rider stoke my leg.
I couldn’t feel my leg. I tried to walk but I just limped for some inches then I fell. My sister hanged me crying. The other girls tried to touch me showing pity and regret. But the smells as well as the pain made me faint after I had had a loud short and sharp cry.
I opened my eyes on the light of a lamp. It came as lines between big carcasses of women. There was a lot of talk and it was all about me. One woman turned her face and said smiling: “look!! The cute boy has woken up.” They all turned towards me and give me torrential pensionable kisses.
I felt the upper part of my heel tightened; and there was something under it. I asked:” what happened to my foot?”
My mother said gently:”oh my son, your foot was injured by a bike”; she went on comforting me: “but it’s OK now. I have done something for it.”
“What did you do?” I wondered.
“It’s just some Hanna with warm water” a soft quiet voice heard:” don’t worry you will be fine.”
“But what’s this in my head?” I asked.
“You have a fever my boy; it’s just some slices of lemon to abate your temperature” my mother claimed.
The hospital in our village was about three kilometers far away. It was a very small hospital where you could find two nurses chatting or playing chess. They couldn’t do anything for you but a red medicine which is of no use. Hence, people prefer to heal themselves at home. They tended to use traditional prescriptions.
My sister prepared some boiled eggs. She brought in a plate with a cup of tea and a loaf of bread. I could see regret in her eyes. They full of tears that are triggered by my mother’s shout:” go and bring him a glass of milk”.
My sister replied murmuring:” I have put some mint and herbs in it”
My mother checked:” is that a herbal tea?”
My mother handed me the cup as she helped me drinking it. No sooner had I drunk it that I felt better. There was no more pain.
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