Memories of an Insignificant Man

Palestinian who lived through the Nakba

Author's name: Muhyiddin Abdul Rahman

Birth was in the midst of the World War, while our fathers were fighting their battles against the British and the Jews. Childhood was in the hell of the Nakba. They woke up to the fire of bullets and we breathed the smell of gunpowder. We were scattered throughout the Arab neighborhood in camps labeled "Tomorrow We Will Return" and on the river was the "Bridge of Return." Our youth was in the nation's setback. We never imagined that the morning of June 5, 1967, while we were taking exams at Cairo University, would carry all this suffering. Our hearts were broken, we tasted bitterness, we lost our feet and the hurricane winds blew us away like harvest straw. Palestine was closed in our faces, so we carried our certificates and memories to our Arab capitals; one eye on life and the other on the homeland, a smile for those of our sons who had settled there, and a tear for those of our fathers who had departed in our absence. We practiced our Arabism, we expressed gratitude and rebuked, we grew our trees and saw our fruits, our heads were ablaze with gray hair, but our eyes are still on the homeland.