A tale I found here in Ramallah.
It's Alice writing
Yaffa, my love
What would you say if you were to stand
upon the shores of Yaffa? Would you have the proper words to unveil all the
longing in your soul?
How would you Yaffa feel with you on her
land? Would she receive you with open arms or reject you like she tries to
reject the waste dispersed in her sea?
Would she mean to you, blame you for such a
long absence? Or would she see in you a resemblance to your grandfather?
But I do not have my grandfather’s
grey-blue eyes - those coloured like the sea of Yaffa.
Nor do I have my grandfather’s smile,
bright like its oranges. I only have his memories and his key.
It should be enough: you also have his
heart, remember?
But I could have had his Yaffa!
Silence…
I rehearsed and rehearsed; ran the thoughts
over and over in my head.
How would I introduce my best friend or
even myself to Yaffa?
I figured I’d say:
I am the granddaughter of a long lost lover
Yaffa.
A restless warrior who buried his heart
under a lemon tree near his old house,
a dreamer who died longing for your salty
seas and orange-scented summer nights.
How could you be so far?
I would dare to pick up all the seashells
on the shore and wear them in all shades; necklaces, earrings, and even
tattoos.
I would take point of the soft sand
tickling between my fingers and throw it over my bedroom threshold so I could
step into home even when I am far away. I would take many pictures and save
them in my memory for life, like a strange tourist who vows to act like a local
- the local I am.
I would take all the chances, for this is
Yaffa not Jaffa I am talking about.
The land beyond time, my roots, forever my
home.
I believe I spent too much time thinking
about how I’d meet Yaffa, and when I finally did, I was happy to be on her soil
but a sense of gloom swept over me and left me broken-hearted.
Yaffa smiled back at me. Welcome, she said.
I entered Yaffa with a camera on my
shoulder, hoping to see her take me into her arms.
Hoping to rescue my grandfather’s heart
from under the lemon tree.
I entered Yaffa and stood on its shore.
I thought I’d have so much to tell her too
much to give her: old letters, pictures, memories and greetings of loved ones.
I couldn’t, I choked, crashed like a wave
on its shore. I only had tears for her that I dropped in her grey seawater.
Yaffa answered with the most tranquil
sunset and a roar of high waves murmuring:
"You are home, my daughter".
She threw me a seashell,
I picked it up and said:
"I’ll take this to my late grandfather.
Shukran Yaffa, my love."
Alice S. Yousef
Alice S. Yousef is a 21years-old writer from Palestine.
She is interested in literature, culture, and photography.
She hopes to take a Master degree in literature, one day
She hopes to become a novelist, one day
(from "This week in Palestine, Issue No 177, January 2013)
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