PALESTINE Memories of 1948 - Photographs of Jerusalem | Page 198

Muslim cemetery of Bab Al Asbat, grave of the prophet’s companion Shadad ibn Aus
sought refuge on the east side of the Jordan River, at
Khirbet Abu Jaber. 13
In the aftermath of the war came a lack of food and
water. My father had heard talk of wheat cultivation
in the Hauran plain of Syria, 14 so he organized himself
to go there. He set off in a caravan with his six laden
camels and two mules, in company of a dozen men,
two of whom were armed in case the qutaa turuq, 15
bandits, had set up ambushes and to frighten away any
packs of hyenas with their sinister laugh. A few weeks
later, he returned to Khirbet Abu Jaber with his sacks
stuffed full. He immediately hid his precious merchan-
dise in some cool caves under two metres of straw: it
was the only way to prevent the Ottoman soldiers from
finding and appropriating it, for while they might not
miss an opportunity to stab their gun barrels into the
fodder, it would never have crossed their minds to dig
down deeper. The wheat’s journey did not end there: it
would then be taken on mule-back down to the Jordan
River where smugglers were waiting to take it across
into Palestine.
196
Memories of 1948
In 1918, when the war had ended, my father found
himself in possession of some savings, enough to buy
some dunums 16 of land around Jericho, 17 near Elisha’s
spring, 18 under the Mount of Temptation. 19 He planted
fruit trees and bred sheep. There were labourers for
the asking, so much manpower was flowing in from
everywhere, from Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. At that
time, landless farmers worked “for a quarter”, 20 but my
father, concerned about being fair, proposed dividing
the produce into two equal parts.
It was during this period of prosperity in Palestine that
my father met my mother, Fatima, who was from a farm-
ing family from Ramallah. In winter, they both lived in
Jericho, and in summer they moved to Jerusalem, where
they had a little house built of white stone leaning against
Al Aqsa Mosque, in Harat Al Maghariba, the Mughrabi
Quarter of Jerusalem, and another in Qatamun, 21 out-
side the old city. I am my mother’s first child: I saw the
light of day one Monday in spring 1926, in Jericho.
One of my strongest childhood memories is of
a family tragedy which plunged me into dreadful