Connections Salma Shaka
Jiddo’s (my grandfather’s) sealed Zaatar jar stood you like those trees?” my mom’s cousin asked. in a cupboard under the television; a safe space “There’s plenty more in Palestine, even prettier than which only he would allow access to: a commodity the ones in Amman,” she echoed from the driver’s enjoyed under his permission. In his household, Zaaseat, and I anticipated the place everyone around me tar was divided into two: Zaatar from the supermarhas claimed to be my home. I had missed the desert, ket, and Zaatar from the the dirty beaches of Sharjah, homeland. The homeland, “Despite our differences, we still find and my mom’s family who back then a mystery, just like space for each other because Palestine still lived there. For an entire Jiddo’s numerous unspoken connects us through its anecdotes. We year, my Palestine was nothstories. The older he grew ing but a dull place I had onthe more you could see in are the constantly-moving Palestini- ly wanted to leave, but the the way he paces himself an; building homes and seeking spac- things we take for granted how much he resembled Pales where memory would flourish, often expose themselves as estine. My Jiddo is my Palespreventing it from dying out. Con- bitter-sweet memories. tine; the way he pressed olserving, restoring, seeking connec- Within a year of living there, ives and held onto his identiI had found the comfort of tions. ty no matter how much he adventure in Nablus’ old tried to hide it away in a souks and its mountains. I began to cherish the feelsealed jar in a cupboard under the television. Alting of familiarity through the strangers who knew hough my Jiddo was never much of a talker, he almy family and remembering my Jiddo’s pharmacy ways was and remains my association of home deon or how pretty my mother was. In Palestine, I was spite going to live there as a kid myself. At the age of grounded in the places my ancestors have left traces 10, my parents decided to move us there from the in: the old family house, the soap factory, the sofas UAE. I remember staring at the trees through the car my grandma once bought from Balata and refurwindow on our way to the Jordanian border. “Do
Artwork by Salma Shaka
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