Traditions

Marah Siyam

Tradition, the thread cutting the lines on my palm the way wire cuts through clay. Whether my legs forget the way home or not, my Grandmother's tea leaves have already seeped enough in the water. Tradition, not the music at weddings but the tears of a mother watching her eldest leave. Whether she is leaving for school or for marriage, the house of her parents is more than a street address, but a plot of land thousands of miles away stained with her dusty footsteps. Tradition, is universal but the universe I’ve been born into welcomes me with pages filled on how to love and respect my elders. Whether the words slip off my tongue or not, the consistency of hospitality hangs around my wrist like a pair of keys. Although time may strip me of these customs, some needed to be buried with the generations that have gone astray before me. Tradition, the gold coins imprinting on my forehead as I jump up and down in celebration. Whether these coins are seen as greed or not, they are another girl’s security fund, college fund, security blanket. Let the girls have the gold, they might need it one day to match the gold in their souls. Tradition cannot be explained, written down, or studied. It is learned through warm embraces, neighbors offering breakfast to the travelling family next door, mothers telling stories of their fathers to their sons, fathers telling the stories of their mothers to their daughters. The flavors of your childhood are not accidental, the familiar scent you cannot name is not your mind playing tricks, the heat you feel on the side of your face is the sun from your homeland trying to reach you. Tradition can be explained, written down, and studied, if done so through love and time, organically, naturally, and with respect.

A Dream Deferred, Then Found Again

Israa Mohammed Jamal

This is a story of grinding poverty, the strangling confines of rigid patriarchy and narrowed options due to lack of education. This also is a story of a dream stolen, then pursued and achieved 31 years later.

Nahla Abu Dagga is now 47 years old, with eight children, two daughters and six sons, ranging in age from 10 to 30. But this story starts when Nahla was just 16. It was 1987 and the First Intifada was raging across the Palestinian territories, including Gaza. Nahla’s older sister secured a job in Saudi Arabia and their father was in a quandary: he wanted to protect his older daughter by traveling with her to her new home, but how could he leave Nahla without the supervision of a man? His solution became pushing Nahla into marriage, thus having her dropout of high school to become a wife. Her husband, four years older, had at least finished secondary school, but his own family’s need for financial support meant university was not an option. Instead, he found manual-labor work in Israel, the land of his occupier. The work paid better than what could be found at home; however, that option has since been foreclosed by the ever-tightening Israeli blockade.

Nahla was a clever and distinguished student, and she tried several times to persuade her husband to let her return to school. Instead, he believed her focus should be on home and family: her life thus revolved around cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry and raising her children.

“This is the society in which I was raised,” shrugged Nahla. “I had to put my dreams behind me and focus on my children. But I always paid attention to who received the best tawjihi results each year, and when top students lived near me, I made it a point to congratulate them. I lived vicariously through them.”

Despite Nahla’s belief in the importance of education and her own regrets, she watched as her husband pushed their oldest daughter, Abeer, in the same direction. Before she could finish high school, Abeer married into a family in which her father-inlaw insisted she stay at home instead of pursuing her education. A girl going out of the home alone is not “appropriate,” said her husband.

In Abeer’s case, however, her husband was abusive in other ways as well. This is when her father’s attitude about education and marriage began to change. He joined Nahla in supporting Abeer when she left her husband and moved back home. When their youngest daughter, Zohoor, was ready to complete high school, her parents united in supporting her desire for further education.

This time, however, it was Nahla’s turn too. Thirty years after Nahla was forced to leave high school before completing the final tawjihi exam, she joined Zohoor so they could take it together. For Zohoor, the exam determined the subject she would study in university. For Nahla, it’s a dream fulfilled. “We all worked to persuade our dad that Mom should take the exam with me,” says Zohoor. “We said we would help her at home and my brothers would help pay the expenses. When he finally agreed, I was over the moon with happiness for her—and for me. The final year of high school is really hard and it was so great to have my mom truly by my side.”

Nahla’s children did their best to support their mother and help her as she studied. Abeer, who had studied to complete her own tawjihi in secret and then went on to university, coached her in English along with her brother Anas. Another son, Ismail, who completed a university degree in computer science, helped her study technology. This was particularly needed, since it wasn’t a subject when she was still in high school. Zohoor studied everything with her mom, saying she felt like they had become

On each day of studying, the two would complete their household chores then retreat to Zohoor’s bedroom. If Nahla left for any reason, Zohoor called her back; she found that she could concentrate the best with her mother in the room. When Zohoor was confused about a subject or problem, Nahla explained it to her and vice versa.

“Everyone got involved!” laughs Zohoor. “My friends loved her a lot and my teachers encouraged her too. Everyone who knows her cheered her on.”

And then came the day when the results were announced: Nahla, 95%; Zohoor, 91%. Many hugs, dancing and singing were shared among Nahla’s children, daughters-in-law and grandchildren.

Now what? Nahla isn’t done. Both she and Zohoor have registered to attend Gaza’s Al-Aqsa University—with the daughter choosing interior design and the mother pursuing Islamic studies. In fact, Nahla is already thinking about getting her Master’s degree and Ph.D.!

With Zohoor’s friends saying “My mother should complete her studies too!” Nahla is encouraging them to do so as well. In Nahla’s words, “It is never too late to achieve your dreams. You just must have determination and persistence. I hope I can be a good role model for every woman who has left her dream of education behind. We can challenge our circumstances! We can do it!”

This story was republished and edited with permission from We Are Not Numbers, a Gaza based non profit dedicated to sharing the stories of Gazans to audiences all over the world. To read more of Israa’s work and other We Are Not Numbers writers visit www.wearenotnumbers.org

Nahla (Left) and Zohoor (Right) graduate high school together

(Continued from page 18)

awareness on Native American suppression of freedom?

For starters, we cannot move and adapt as a society if people do not learn about what is happening to minority-groups. Stay connected with the news! Actively post your voice and use your platform of privilege to bring attention to Native tribes who need our support. Make sure you elect people in our government that have openly spoken out about Native American freedom and hold them accountable for the promises they make. It’s important we make sure their voices are heard and they receive an equal amount of treatment and benefits. Remember, silence is compliance.