Young Writers Society

Hashim entered the house to see Mama bowed in prayer, head turned toward Mecca, and Aisha asleep in her bed, too young to pray.He dropped the sack he was carrying by the entrance and knelt beside his mother, murmuring his own prayers.As he continued to mouth his prayers, Mama stood, fabric swishing around her feet.Imagining the holy city, a flush of animosity ran through him. When would he get to travel to Mecca? Never. Not in this wretched camp. He would have to make do with the memories of his parents who had gone as children with their own families. There was nothing here for him, nothing but squalor and depression. He finished his prayers and stood also, stretching his arms. He cleared the thoughts from his mind with a long exhale.

Mama looked at Hashim and smiled gently. “Did you find any work?” she asked.

Hashim tore at his already chapped, ragged lips. “Yes,” he lied. “And I bought some flour.”

“Is there any money left over?” she asked, bending over to pick up Aisha who blinked with bleary eyes.

“No,” Hashim said. “I used it all for the flour.”

Mama nodded, and Hashim went to fetch the sack he had dropped by the door. He held it out to his mother, a pit of guilt twisting his stomach. She inspected the bag, Aisha still held in her other arm. Mama nodded and went to set the bag down in the cupboard. After she set it down Aisha raised her head. “Mama,” she rasped, “head hurts.”

Mama put a dark hand on the girl’s forehead, eyes widening in shock. “She has a fever. A bad one. Fetch some water and a cloth; you’re going to have to help me until Fatimah and Isra come home.” Hashim nodded gravely and began to wet a cloth. Quickly, he wrung it out and handed it to Mama who put it on Aisha’s face. It didn’t take long for Hashim’s sisters to arrive home, but by then Aisha was shivering and vomiting bile.

While his sisters watched over Aisha, Mama and Baba went outside, murmuring to each other in worried voices. Finally, they came back in, but they refused to tell Hashim anything.

The next morning, Hashim rose before the sun. Fatimah was already awake, gazing at their youngest sister with concern. “Mama and Baba wouldn’t tell me what was wrong with Aisha. I know you know. Tell me, please.”

Fatimah peered from her hijab with serious eyes. “Malaria. She needs the hospital.”

“What if she can’t go,” Hashim whispered. “What then?”

“Then she will surely die,” Fatimah said, voice breaking off into a sob.

Hashim took a shuddering breath and stood up. Aisha needed the hospital, but the hospital for the camp was full to bursting. At the very least, he would try to get medicine for her. He left quietly, hushing his sister as she began to protest. Outside, the camp was just beginning to wake. Old men were just starting to gather to talk of the old days and politics, what they’d like to do to the Jewish dogs who had taken Palestine away from them. Any other day he would have joined them, he would have shared their rage and indignation that all they were now was a ‘refugee problem.’ He ignored them today, though. He had a mission.

For three days, he tried unsuccessfully to get a job somewhere. Stealing rations from the UNWRA station would not buy medicine. Getting a job was the only chance he had.

With great reluctance, he began the trek to the ration station. As always, the red-haired man was working there, handing out food with a sour expression on his sunburned, peeling face. Tentatively, Hashim crept up. All of the guilt from stealing rations bubbled up inside him. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have taken-”

“No, you shouldn’t have. Those rations were meant for other families, but instead, you were selfish and took more than you should have.”

“I didn’t want my family to starve,” Hashim whispered. “But now there’s something even worse. My sister has malaria. There’s no room for her in the hospital. We need to buy medicine.”

“I have nothing for you,” the foreign man said. “There’s no medicine here.”

“Please,” Hashim begged, running a hand through his hair, his breathing beginning to turn ragged. “I know you have money. If you don’t, an innocent child will die! It will be your fault!”

“Leave!” the man roared. “I have nothing for you.”

“Please,” Hashim whispered.

“Go,” he said.

Hashim turned to go home, his legs leaden. As he walked, his feet dragged like wooden clubs, anything to avoid giving the news. Finally, he arrived home. Although every member of the family was huddled inside the tent, it was quiet. Isra met Hashim’s eyes, tears shining in her own brown orbs. “Hashim,” she sobbed, voice cracking. “Aisha’s gone.” A new wave of tears poured down her face, and Hashim could hear the stifled cries coming from Fatimah, Mama, and Baba.

Mechanically, he walked over to where his family was huddled, Isra and Fatimah parted, and he could see Aisha. Her normally dark skin was pale and waxy from the pallor of death. It was like he was seeing her for the first time. She had looked perfect, but now he could see her true state. Arms and legs too thin, her cheeks were sunken from sickness and hunger. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were glassy and unseeing.

Hashim felt nothing. It was as if his nerves had stopped working. Numb to the world, he left the house: the place where Aisha had died. Until the sun went down, Hashim drifted, ignoring any call of greeting or invitation to talk. That is, until Ebrahim ran into him. A smile cut across his face, and Hashim could almost see the blood dripping down his chin. Any sort of happiness now looked garish and grotesque. He took Hashim by the shoulders. “I’m joining al-Fatah! We’re going to take back Palestine. You should too. It would be doing your duty as a Palestinian man.”

Hashim was silent for a long moment. “I think I will. Yes. I will. I will join with you.”

“Are you sure,” he asked.” You don’t look like you should be making decisions right now.”

“Aisha is dead,” Hashim mumbled, hands trembling. “Aisha is dead, and she wouldn’t be if we weren’t here in this wretched camp! No child should die like that. They deserve better!”

Ebrahim looked at the ground, “You’d better go tell your parents.”

Hashim nodded, “I will. See you tomorrow?”

Ebrahim dipped his head and spoke softly. “Tomorrow.”

Please tell me what you think of the title and if there are any words that can be shaved off in addition to your normal review.