PALESTINE Memories of 1948 - Photographs of Jerusalem | Page 142

My father was a strict man who did not let his nine
daughters go out if they were not under his personal
protection: he always walked behind us, at a distance,
with his rifle slung across his shoulder, and he forbade
the boys to look at us. It has to be said that we were
rather beautiful. My skin was as pale as milk, my silken
hair reached down to my knees.
I was 14 when my mother sent me to deliver a dress
that she had just finished to the daughter of one of her
Lebanese customers. The father opened the door: jok-
ingly, he asked his son Ibrahim what he thought about
marrying a ‘moon like her’ (speaking of me). I blushed
scarlet… and the said Ibrahim looked as embarrassed
as me. As I left, though, he came up to me to ask me
what I thought about it.
‘I cannot say anything about it,’ I answered. ‘My
father must decide such things.’
Three days later he came to ask for my hand in mar-
riage, but my father refused: there was no question of
one of his daughters marrying a Lebanese. They all had
to return to Palestine, and for that to happen, they had
to marry Palestinians. Ibrahim’s pride took a blow, but
he armed himself with patience, waiting for my mother
to intervene in his favour… until my father accepted.
‘She can do what she wants, I’ve had enough!’ my
father finally expostulated.
And so the wedding took place.
Ten years later, having had four children together,
we separated, each going our own way, so, at 24, I went
back to live with my parents. Where else could I go!
My father often met Palestinian political figures to
discuss resistance, to imagine returning. One of them,
Yussef Obeid, belonged to the Fatah movement and
lived in Jordan, where he was already married. He often
came to Lebanon. He was a very close collaborator with
Khalil Al Wazir (Abu Jihad), one of the founders of
the PLO in 1964, 12 and he had taken part in the battle
of Al Karama in 1968, the only time that Palestinians
and Jordanians fought together against the Israelis! 13
His serious demeanour impressed me. He was about
ten years older than me. One evening, he had arrived
unexpectedly, and I quickly prepared something to eat.
Before sitting down at the table, he held out his pistol:
‘I am giving you my weapon to look after,’ he
declared, making good his word by his gesture.
I took it; it was heavy and I ran to put it away in
a cupboard that I locked. The next morning, Yussef
drank some coffee, then went to find my father. We
140
Memories of 1948
were married in 1969 and moved to Syria, to Damas-
cus, where I met up again with some of my sisters and
their families: many Palestinians had immigrated there
after Al Nakba, and had settled, some in town, oth-
ers in a camp. 14 Damascus, Beirut and Amman were