In the bustling neighborhood of Khan Yunis, tucked away in the heart of Gaza, a little girl was born. She was raised amidst the doting love of her father (her baba), nurturing mother, and caring siblings – her universe, confined within the simplicity of their humble dwelling.
Each week, following the Friday prayer, they would journey together towards the Gaza sea, each step a cherished ritual. Their faith and love for one another resonating with each echo of the call to prayer.
The young girl had a strong and affectionate bond with her baba. She would often playfully act like she was drowning, enticing him to come into the water to save her, tapping into his natural instinct to protect her. Her tiny hands would then grip tightly onto her baba’s sturdy arms as he hoisted her high into the endless azure of the Gaza sky. She adored the feel of the grainy sand under her feet and the sea’s cool graze on her skin, dancing around and stirring ripples in the water that mirrored her happiness.
Little did she know that her beloved Gaza was an open-air prison, isolated and confined for over a decade. Beyond the imposing walls that marked its borders lay a world unseen and unknown to her – a world she was forcefully barred from ever discovering.
On weekdays, she proudly carried her pink school bag and walked with her siblings through the narrow alleys of Khan Yunis. She loved going to school and dreamed of becoming a teacher. She spent hours in front of the chalkboard, drawing big letters of the alphabet, flowers, and hearts delicately sketched in her favorite shades of pastel pink and blue.
On her way home, she often stopped by her favorite local candy store. The colorful array of sweets mesmerized her, but her eyes always turned toward the pastel-colored candy rolls. They reminded her of her dreams, her pastel-colored dreams.
With a one-shekel coin her baba had given her that morning, she asked the Ammo for two candy rolls, despite having only enough money for one.
Admiring her beautifully tressed hair and the pink and blue pastel hairclips adorning her curls, the candy shop owner offered her two candy rolls: one she could enjoy that day and the other, he said, she could save for a time when hunger struck, and there was nothing else to eat. The little girl looked at him with surprise but was overjoyed with the two candy rolls in her tiny hands.
Bouncing with happiness, she hurried back home and eagerly showed her baba the gift from the candy shop. Slowly unwrapping the candy roll, savoring each pink, green, and blue candy, admiring their colors before tasting them. As she finished, she carefully hid the second candy roll under her mattress, saving it for another day. That night, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a beautiful blue sky and a pastel-colored rainbow filled with butterflies.
But when morning came, she was abruptly awakened by thunder-like sounds that shook the air. She rushed to her baba, seeking comfort in his arms. Her father calmed her down and assured her that everything would be okay.
The loud sounds continued for days, and the vibrant colors outside began to fade into shades of gray. The blue sky of Gaza vanished, replaced by a somber and bleak atmosphere. The windows of their tiny house shattered and she could no longer see any beautiful colors outside.
It was Friday again; she could hear the call of the noon prayer. She ran to her baba, pleading to go to the sea once more. Her mum had given her a small portion of bread and two olives but she was still hungry.
Her baba told her: “Remember your candy roll? Go bring it. Maybe we could go to the sea in the afternoon when the loud sounds stop?”
Her baba knew the sounds would not stop. He knew he couldn’t take his little daughter to the Gaza sea again.
He wanted to tell her the story of Palestine, the story of Gaza: A story of resistance and liberation.
The little girl returned running to her father, proudly showing him the unopened candy roll in her hand. Her baba looked at her: “Eat the candy roll now before we head out to the sea.”
But the little girl refused. She wanted to open the candy roll by the Gaza sea. Her father nodded, promising to take her soon.
So she held tight to the candy roll and rolled in her baba’s arms. For a while, everything went quiet.
Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, still clutching the unopened candy roll, dreaming of the day when she would return to the sea.
(in memory of the Palestinian Girl who died with a Candy Roll in her hand killed by an Israeli strike on 20 December 2023 in Khan Younis. With thanks to the Original Artwork and Illustration by @fatima_illustrations @Fatima_khayyat )
