Samia
My childhood was in our “Arabic House” as we call it. It was a rented house in the old town of Beit Jala. Our Arabic house was basically one big room. In the middle of this room, there was a closet separating it into two rooms with a small corridor in between. The first room was a guest room during the day, and a bedroom during the night, while the other one was a kitchen and a living room during the day, and also a bedroom at night – again separated into two rooms, one bedroom for my sister (five years older than me) and me, and one for my brothers. We had a big wooden door for the entrance. It had a big metal key and a heavy long metal lock. When I was little, opening that door and lifting the lock was a very tiring mission as I think it was heavier than me! The only good thing about this door is that we used it for sports. We used to climb it and play on it for how big and heavy it was.
Our house, unlike our neighbors’, was not connected to any sewage system or water source. Our only source of water was the well which we fill during the winter season to use for the rest of the year. I remember that my family used to clean the rooftop yearly before wintertime so a clean rainfall pours into the well proving drinkable water; hoping that the rain would be sufficient enough to cover our water usage through the year.
I was just a little girl with a lot of questions like: why do other people have water sinks inside their house while I have to pull the water up from the well? Why do we have to put all this effort into our daily activities like cleaning, washing the dishes, cooking, taking a shower, or even drinking water? Why don’t we have an indoor bathroom?
We only had access to an outdoor bathroom. The journey of using it in winter in the middle of the rain was mission impossible! I would have to wear a heavy coat, hold an umbrella and light a candle (as the bathroom was not connected to the electricity source). I would also take some extra matches for the just in case situation, and to avoid being left alone in the dark if the candle went off because of the wind.
The process of showering, as well, was not less complicated. We used to pull up some water from the well and heat it up to boiling on a gas stove. We’d add cold water in another bucket to balance the heat for a good shower. We used to take showers in a zinc-plated steel with a loose wooden door room. We had to detach it to enter and put it back to close. We’d keep a hand on it for in case if the wind blows. A strong wind can pull it away and whoever is taking a shower would be put in an embarrassing situation. This bathroom was fine during summertime, but not in winter. If one of us wanted to take a shower in the winter, we would ask everybody to leave the room close to the bathroom and move to the other one. We would announce a curfew until the shower is done.
To wash the dishes, we’d bring big bowls and fill them with water while seated on a small wood piece on the floor and start the battle. It was very painful for the back and the legs!
Both of my parents were working through the years to provide for the family. My father was a painter and my mother was a tailor. Both of them were saving money to build our own house. I have always dreamt of a room for me and my sister; only for us! I would close its door when I want to. I was waiting for my parents to start the construction so I can decorate my room the way I want. I wanted my room to have a white bed and a closet exclusively for us. I wanted a desk for studying. I imagined it to be a colorful room with pictures and toys that I and my friends will play in.
My family finally decided to start the construction of our dream house on the piece of land we have in Al-Walajah village. The dream is getting closer everyday now! I was nine years old then, but I was excited enough to help them digging and constructing the house! When I get tired, I would sit on my grandparents’ porch to watch the construction with my grandma. I was so excited to become my grandma’s neighbor. She used to narrate a lot of stories and say: “when you move here, I’ll call you every morning to buy me bread”. My heart would dance out of happiness when she says things like that. I would imagine myself waking up in this beautiful place in the early morning to go to school. What amazing mornings will I have!
One day after school and while I was going up the grassy stairs of our old house, I heard strangers’ voices coming from the room! I felt something was wrong, but I did not get it! To be honest, I was scared and went in a rush to the other room. I found my sister there making tea for the guests. Her eyes were very red and brim with tears, I understood that she had been crying heavily. There was some bread from Jerusalem on the table. I loved it! But I was too terrified that I didn’t even think of tasting it. She didn’t talk to me. I put my school bag down and asked her: what’s wrong? She replied: eat some bread!!
This was her only reply. I felt she was suffocating and she couldn’t say anything else. I was afraid someone was hurt! But it doesn’t look like it! Then what is it?!
I tried to listen to what they were saying in the other room, but I still didn’t get it! Then I saw my mother breaking down in tears. Something big must have happened!! But no one is telling me.
A few hours later, my mother calmed down a bit and my family decided to go to Al-Walajah village to my grandmother's house because so many of our big family members are there. My parents told me on the way that I shouldn’t go to our new house when we get there because it's nighttime and they were afraid that “a stone would fill down” on me. As soon as we got there, I left them and went to check our new house and imagine my new room until those old people solve their issues. I ran until I got there as usual, and suddenly, I froze! Our roof is on the floor! Our house is destroyed! I couldn’t say a thing. I stood there in shock with tears all over my face.
I cried just like my mother and my sister. I understood now why they did not want me to come. I cried seeing my dream, my room, my bed and everything else under the rubble. Why? Because the occupation forces decided. From that moment onwards, I was no longer a 9 year old kid dreaming of her our bed and room. From that moment on, I became the 9 year old kid who’s dream house was demolished. I understood then that I was not the only child to go through this. I understood that we are under occupation. From that moment on, I was a grownup.
My parents were deeply broken. There was nothing to be done. They had no choices, so they decided to start saving money all over again to rebuild the house. This time, they worked day and night. They got very tired but at the end, they saved enough money to start the construction again! Of course it took many more years to do so. And instead of moving into my new room as a 9 year old, I moved in as a 17 year old. I lived there for one year only before I got married, one of the best years of my life! I enjoyed my own bed in our dream house! It is true that my dream did not come true as I expected or when I expected, but at the end, we lived in the beautiful village of Al-Walajah next to my grandma!
Today, I live in Al-Walajah village with my husband and children. I am a member of Al-Walajah village council and I do my best to help spreading the legal awareness among the villagers who are exposed to human rights violations by the occupation. I cry every time they demolish a house in the village. I cry the tears of the 9-year-old kid who had to go through this seeing her dream being demolished. But I get up again and I do my best to help my village. I try to share my story, and the story of Al-Walajah, all over the world. I want the whole world to know the truth. I want to stop this unfairness to protect my children from going through this tough experience.