A
Boxing Tournament Episode #1
September 18th. 2011
September 18th. 2011
“The opposite of love is not hate, it is
indifference. The opposite of beauty is not ugliness, it is indifference. The
opposite of faith is not heresy, it is indifference. And the opposite of life
is not death, it is indifference.”
- Elie Wiesel-
On
September 18th.2011, I woke up a bit early and called my best friend
back then, who was more than just my best friend : ), to agree on how to go to the testing center
where we were supposed to take the IBT TOEFL test. It was the very first step
for us before trying to pursue our studies abroad. We were very excited and worried since we did
not really study, as usual! The fact that I was an English teacher for almost 5
years did not really help the butterflies in my tummy.. I was worried that if I
don’t score high due to the fact that I did not put enough effort into training
for the test, I won’t afford paying for another test. I did not even pay for
that one myself, my friend did. So, I took the exam and after very exhausting 3
and half hours, I went to work.
I went to teach the first English class for the first time in more than 6 months. When I took my first leave without pay, I thought that we’ll simply protest for a couple of months before Saleh leaves : ) I guess the Tunisian and Egyptian revolutions kind of participated in drawing that illusion in my brains! Months passed, and I finished the last penny of my savings while Saleh was still asking on T.V: “Leave? Who is leaving?” Therefore, I had to go back to work for the first time in months.
On September 18th.2011, the youth at the Change Square in Sana’a decided to march outside the square, which was a step that never ended without bloodshed. It was my first time to be away from the square, the field hospital and the morgue during a march. I thought they would avoid going further when the central security forces start shooting.
Around 3:40 p.m, my friend walked me from the testing center to the English Institute where I used to teach. At 4:20, the bell rang as I was fixing my eye makeup before walking to class. You see, walking into a new class was always like walking into class for the first time ever. I was a performer who feared the stage every time a performance began as if it was the first time. As I was organizing my students in groups of four so that they get to know each other, I kept on checking my phone. It was 5:30 when my phone rang. It was the field hospital nurse asking me for medical supplies…
It has always been difficult to describe Sana’a in 2011. Two separate parts where one half was decorated with blood, chants, blackouts and shelling while the other had fancy restaurants and malls, which were open to suburbia customers. Unfortunately, where I worked, people managed to live normally and away from what was happening a few kilometers away from them.
On that day, I was lost between the nurse’s voice and my students asking me to play a game before starting with the first grammar point while I heard three RPGs hitting somewhere not far. Around 6:00, I dismissed my class 20 minutes earlier and ran to the field hospital to give them the last 200$ I kept from my friends’ donations for medical supplies and there they were….
I walked between two bodies and tens of injured young men. One of the bodies did not have a head while the other did not have an arm. I pointed at the two bodies and told the nurse” Those can’t be caused by riffles or Kalashnikovs, can they?” She did not look at me, for she was too busy writing down the names of supplies she needed but answered me coldly: “Didn’t you hear the RPGs?” I thanked her, lifted my purse and walked my way through the crowds of paramedics, journalists and of course the injured. When I reached the main road, I took a tissue and wiped my silver ballerina shoes from the traces of blood, stopped a cab and went back to teach my 6:50 p.m class.
“Good evening guys and welcome to level 3A reading and writing course!”
Yes, this is all I remember saying between 6:50 and 8:50 p.m that night. I also remember that months later, my students said that I introduced them to the first steps of writing a paragraph. I know I taught and I know that I did it perfectly in a way that separated my soul from my body. I managed to escape the two explosions’ sounds that opened the class windows the same way I managed to ignore 36 missed calls on my cell phone. After all, I was one of the best writing teachers and one of the most professional ones.. That night turned out to be the first night of an armed conflict between the Republican guards and the army forces that joined the revolution. Also, it was the beginning of how I began to fear indifference.
Between the dismissal bell of my first and last class that term, me walking alone in the dark and watching the flames eating all the streets leading to my house…Between me walking back to my friend’s house as I found out that the 36 missed calls were from my father asking me not to come home because the shelling was not going to stop and my best friend finding out his friend was shot dead in the protest… Between a week and half that I spent two blocks away from my parents watching the buildings around our house burn gradually while my parents called every two hours to say goodbye “Just in case” and the bodies I wrapped in the flag everyday.. Between my parents giving up their national IDs to the republican guards to let them escape and the 4 months we spent in motels and friends’ houses…. Between all of this and that, I can only recall this conversation:
September 22nd
I went to teach the first English class for the first time in more than 6 months. When I took my first leave without pay, I thought that we’ll simply protest for a couple of months before Saleh leaves : ) I guess the Tunisian and Egyptian revolutions kind of participated in drawing that illusion in my brains! Months passed, and I finished the last penny of my savings while Saleh was still asking on T.V: “Leave? Who is leaving?” Therefore, I had to go back to work for the first time in months.
On September 18th.2011, the youth at the Change Square in Sana’a decided to march outside the square, which was a step that never ended without bloodshed. It was my first time to be away from the square, the field hospital and the morgue during a march. I thought they would avoid going further when the central security forces start shooting.
Around 3:40 p.m, my friend walked me from the testing center to the English Institute where I used to teach. At 4:20, the bell rang as I was fixing my eye makeup before walking to class. You see, walking into a new class was always like walking into class for the first time ever. I was a performer who feared the stage every time a performance began as if it was the first time. As I was organizing my students in groups of four so that they get to know each other, I kept on checking my phone. It was 5:30 when my phone rang. It was the field hospital nurse asking me for medical supplies…
It has always been difficult to describe Sana’a in 2011. Two separate parts where one half was decorated with blood, chants, blackouts and shelling while the other had fancy restaurants and malls, which were open to suburbia customers. Unfortunately, where I worked, people managed to live normally and away from what was happening a few kilometers away from them.
On that day, I was lost between the nurse’s voice and my students asking me to play a game before starting with the first grammar point while I heard three RPGs hitting somewhere not far. Around 6:00, I dismissed my class 20 minutes earlier and ran to the field hospital to give them the last 200$ I kept from my friends’ donations for medical supplies and there they were….
I walked between two bodies and tens of injured young men. One of the bodies did not have a head while the other did not have an arm. I pointed at the two bodies and told the nurse” Those can’t be caused by riffles or Kalashnikovs, can they?” She did not look at me, for she was too busy writing down the names of supplies she needed but answered me coldly: “Didn’t you hear the RPGs?” I thanked her, lifted my purse and walked my way through the crowds of paramedics, journalists and of course the injured. When I reached the main road, I took a tissue and wiped my silver ballerina shoes from the traces of blood, stopped a cab and went back to teach my 6:50 p.m class.
“Good evening guys and welcome to level 3A reading and writing course!”
Yes, this is all I remember saying between 6:50 and 8:50 p.m that night. I also remember that months later, my students said that I introduced them to the first steps of writing a paragraph. I know I taught and I know that I did it perfectly in a way that separated my soul from my body. I managed to escape the two explosions’ sounds that opened the class windows the same way I managed to ignore 36 missed calls on my cell phone. After all, I was one of the best writing teachers and one of the most professional ones.. That night turned out to be the first night of an armed conflict between the Republican guards and the army forces that joined the revolution. Also, it was the beginning of how I began to fear indifference.
Between the dismissal bell of my first and last class that term, me walking alone in the dark and watching the flames eating all the streets leading to my house…Between me walking back to my friend’s house as I found out that the 36 missed calls were from my father asking me not to come home because the shelling was not going to stop and my best friend finding out his friend was shot dead in the protest… Between a week and half that I spent two blocks away from my parents watching the buildings around our house burn gradually while my parents called every two hours to say goodbye “Just in case” and the bodies I wrapped in the flag everyday.. Between my parents giving up their national IDs to the republican guards to let them escape and the 4 months we spent in motels and friends’ houses…. Between all of this and that, I can only recall this conversation:
September 22nd
Mont Carlo Radio: So Ms. Ahmed are you at the
field hospital right now?
Me: Yes, Sir.
Mont Carlo Radio: Can you describe what you see now?
Me: An RPG just fell on a Café near here and we have three bodies so far.
Mont Carlo Radio: Can you describe the bodies?
Me: Yes, two are burned and the third only has the second half below the chest.
Mont Carlo Radio: Aren’t you afraid things will get worse?
Me: No Sir, I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of getting used to it…
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Today, I recall my memories from last September and they are still blurry and not very clear. It seems that It will take me a while to remember the details of that month or maybe that whole year. Yet, the only thing I still carry from that Mont Carlo interview is my fear of indifference.
Me: Yes, Sir.
Mont Carlo Radio: Can you describe what you see now?
Me: An RPG just fell on a Café near here and we have three bodies so far.
Mont Carlo Radio: Can you describe the bodies?
Me: Yes, two are burned and the third only has the second half below the chest.
Mont Carlo Radio: Aren’t you afraid things will get worse?
Me: No Sir, I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of getting used to it…
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Today, I recall my memories from last September and they are still blurry and not very clear. It seems that It will take me a while to remember the details of that month or maybe that whole year. Yet, the only thing I still carry from that Mont Carlo interview is my fear of indifference.
I will receive my signed IBT TOEFL certificate
in two months, and I managed to score really high… My best friend gave up on
the –more than friends- as well as the friendship and left me one week after my
24th. Birthday three months ago. And studying abroad? I am still
looking for a school to take me….
You see, trauma can destroy a person’s life. However, several traumas can turn what is not normal to very normal. And this is where my greatest fear comes from. Almost nine months have passed since September 18th. 2011 and I can only now tell it almost made me get used to death.
I am not afraid of death, I am only afraid of getting used to it…
You see, trauma can destroy a person’s life. However, several traumas can turn what is not normal to very normal. And this is where my greatest fear comes from. Almost nine months have passed since September 18th. 2011 and I can only now tell it almost made me get used to death.
I am not afraid of death, I am only afraid of getting used to it…
June 28th , 2012
12:25 a.m
Damn that's some pretty deep shi*..erm, excuse my french...you need to lighten up for fu* sake...
ReplyDeletewell written and beautifully articulated. I just have one favor to ask, can you please change the background its blinding!
ReplyDelete