Diary
The sixth series.. Primary education 1-7 Ahmed Seif Hashed
My memoirs.. from the details of my life
Sixth series
Primary education
Ahmed Seif Hashed
(1)
Al-Wehda School
My first education was in the “Al-Wehda” school in “Sharar” in “Al-Qubeita”.. This school started with only one teacher for all subjects. He was born in “Abyssinia” to a Yemeni father from the village, who was chosen to teach reading and writing to the children of the region who are deprived of education, reading and writing, and something from Basic knowledge and education in a pattern that was modern and advanced in our regions, in which the notebook and pen are used, and different from what was customary and existed before.. Education in our villages in our days was dear, and it is acquired with strenuous effort and great perseverance.
In return for a modest monetary fee, and the parents can afford it.. This mighty professor who is condemned for him in our first education, and perhaps in our entire education is Professor Ali Ahmed Saad and no one else.
Education before him in our areas was scarce and scarce, and took the form of reading the Qur’an, writing it with tablets, medicine and potions.. I remember hearing about a purified sword who used to teach children to read and write on the board that boys carry on their backs, and they used to go to what was called the “Ma’alama”, going And I came to it.. That study was very traditional, and relied on memorization, and collective repetition of what the jurist read, and began to read the letters in the manner of “A” that had nothing and “B” a point from the bottom.
As for the method adopted by our teacher Ali Ahmed Saad, it was in a modern style, and it begins with spelling the letters in addition, opening and breaking, and teaching reading, calligraphy and spelling, then the materials increase as the student progresses in his studies, until it includes some activities such as sports, drawing, and some other technical skills such as Sculpting and making models of houses out of cardboard, reed pulp, or other things.
Overall, this professor was well-educated, an excellent teacher, strict and caring, and at the same time he was also harsh in his dealings with us just for the slightest shortcoming or negligence, or a delay in attending the morning assembly time.
Al-Wahda School began with this lonely professor, and with a modest village mosque, called “Abdul Wali Mosque” in reference to “Abdul Wali” who is one of the righteous parents, and his grave is still remarkable and prominent in the center of the mosque.
There is a room next to the mosque called “Al-Shamra”, and a room for the administration was built next to it, and three or four other chapters were built from the donations of citizens from the people of the area, and some of those chapters were built on the edge of an old cemetery. The fatwa on the permissibility of building prevailed over the fatwa prohibiting construction, and the cemetery became a schoolyard.
We studied and alternated places at first between the roof of the mosque and its interior, and under the Sidr tree in front of the mosque, and perhaps also in a room that was called “Al Shamsra” and it was adjacent to the mosque..
Al-Wahda School is my first school in which I studied until the fourth grade of primary school, and perhaps a little from the beginning of the fifth grade before I left it to study the fifth grade in another school in the southern part of the country in the “Shaab” area of the Tur Al Baha Center..
Calling the school “unity” for me was attractive, and I was happy and proud of it, even after I completed my university studies, especially when I talk about my first studies. Yemeni and even Arab unity, which we have always dreamed of, and was at the head of our broad and big dreams even when we were children..
The bamboo stick that apparently (Professor) Ali Ahmed Saad brought with him from Abyssinia to punish his students was the most widely used method of education by inflicting his punishments on his students when they neglected, neglected or were late in line..
(Falakah) is one of his severe punishments that he inflicts on some of his disciples, which is whipping or beating on the bottom of the feet, and it increases or sometimes reaches the number of twenty. Perhaps I thought under its pressure and from my position as a student that the teacher takes pleasure in that cruelty, while the professor and from his position have justifications for such a punishment that he inflicts on us, perhaps the most important of which is that it is of benefit and benefit to us, and made us not neglect and slacken in learning.
In order to carry out the penalty of peril against a shortened pupil, he needed four of his thick-bodied peers to help him in carrying out his punishment, laying him on the ground and holding two of them with his hands and chest, and likewise, they raised his feet and prevented him from moving…
Among his common punishments that are frequently used are the beating with canes on the belly of the palm, in a sequence in which the number of lashes sometimes reaches ten for each hand, and if he wanted to stress the punishment of beating on the hands of his student more, he could hit him in the back of the palms with canes, and the pain was more severe and painful for us..
Sometimes we found ourselves unable to extend the hand due to the severity of the pain resulting from this beating.. We feel that our palms are about to rupture with blood, and sometimes we feel that we are unable to carry it, and we may also sometimes feel that it is paralyzed or paralyzed.. We feel very cruel By the professor and he uses it without taking into account a stinging pain, the sparks of which sometimes reach the skull.. On cold days, our sense of pain intensifies and doubles, even if the number of strokes with cane is reduced so that we do not overflow or the pain kills us..
Among his less severe physical punishments, is forcing the student to stand on one leg, or pressing the ear with three of his fingers after placing a pebble under one of the fingers to put pressure on the earlobe, while pressing the other two fingers on the opposite side to intensify the pain on us..
This excessive cruelty in punishment did not meet with reservation or objection from our parents, but rather find support from them, and some of them may be happy with what the teacher is doing with their children, as they see in those punishments that it is in the interest and interest of their children, or is against the negligence and neglect on our part of education.
***
(2)
A prank I did not forget
I was always feeling very anxious and terrified of punishment.. Fear gripped me.. The power of fear had taken its toll on me.. There was no place for making convictions established by awareness, neither at home nor in school.. The punishment school is the one that governs us, and it has the supreme say.
It was or was almost a “school” with the authority to punish parents and teachers feel that it is divorced..
The father could not tell the professor to attach to my son when punishing, rather the father was the one who urged and encouraged the professor to punish his son, and more than that he delegated him with more severity and authority.. It makes you feel as if a sadistic desire from both sides towards you meets.. and you find yourself squeezed between them in a narrow corner, with no escape in front of you and no escape from behind..
We were governed by the power of fear of the father at home, and of the teacher at school… I had a deep feeling that the punishments of the professor and father were cruel, repulsive, inhuman, and painful for the body and soul!
I was skinny and exhausted.. My face was pale and yellowish.. I still remember some of the cracks that invaded my face in my early childhood, which were supposed to come later in life.. The vertical lines that I saw between the eyes, preying on the face of my childhood, are still engraved and printed In my memory, it is like an old tattoo that will never go away or be forgotten.
***
I tried to pretend not to go to school.. For me, not going to school meant that a great worry would be lifted off my shoulders.. A day’s absence from school for any reason makes me happy, even if I suffer from illness, and I may wish this illness to last longer. A period of time available or possible.. I feel unparalleled comfort despite the weight of the disease.. I free myself from school worries for a day or two, which is the extent available to me to do.. The absence of any day for any reason meant for me a space that relieves my fears and escapes from the teacher, school and punishment..
One day I said with childish innocence to my older brother Ali Seif, whom I loved very much: “I will tell you a secret, but on the condition that you do not tell it to anyone.”
He agreed and gave me safety and confidence; I told him that tomorrow I would be sick so as not to go to school; So he agreed, and added to his approval, his advice to me to split an onion head, and put it under the armpits before bed, so that I would look feverish in the morning.. He told me that they used to do this when they wanted to pretend in the military..
I followed his brother’s advice and wisdom, and I slept little that night, to ensure that the two pieces of onions stuck between the armpits so that they would not slip out or fall out of place during sleep or movement.. The smell of onions was strong and unpleasant and bothered me very much, but it was in any case easier for me than school..
My brother, who was supposed to keep his promise, and keep the secret from my father, or at least he was supposed to not agree with what I intend to do, went to my father and told him secretly of my intention, and the prank was ready for me, and I fell into his trap How much a wild rabbit falls into a hunter’s trap, In general, it is a prank that I did not expect or expect.
And when my father called me in the morning to go to school, I acted on him and pretended that I was very ill, and tried to delude him that I could not get out of bed because of the severity of the disease..
I assumed or expected that my father would take care of me as soon as he saw me sick and unable to get up and carry myself.. I expected that he would put a heart in his palm on my forehead to make sure I was hot and overheated, or maybe he would not care and leave me sick in peace for a day or two, which is available that I can steal stealth From the school days, in appreciation of the sick condition that I claim, or appear in front of him.. I might have expected him to yell at me to go to school, without making me go to school by force, especially when he sees me wrecked and unable to get up let alone stand, so he leaves me that day Excuse the illness, but what happened was shocking to me and out of my possibilities..!
Instead of my father caring about my matter, or leaving me for my disease that I claim, I found him lightly a magician extending his hand to one of his shoes that he is wearing, and he fell on my face and head slapped and hit, to find myself getting up in terror and screaming at the top of my voice, and running like a thief pursued by a battalion of men to arrest him.. I realized from the first slap on my head that I had fallen victim to betrayal intended to educate, or to fall into the trap of a non-false report.
This incident may have become a complex in my life, especially in what I often feel of doubt and suspicion towards the other, and perhaps it is the reason that made me repeatedly fail in any role that I pretend, even if it is under urgent need and necessity, as well as my abject failure to assume the role of any person other than my own. The truth and its stark nature, and even lying, I find it difficult or impossible to come by me, and perhaps specialists and psychiatrists have another opinion on this..
I remembered this story while listening to a read book, “The Preachers of the Sultans,” by the Iraqi sociologist Dr. Ali Al-Wardi, who talks about the cunning formula between what we announce to people and what we hide and conceal from them… The Sultan’s preachers, and the alliance of preachers with tyrants… The psychological crisis between the preacher who urges people to Leaving the world and its luxuries and arrogance and craving to splurge from its fountains with both hands.. Employing exemplary preaching in a blatant ideological, political and takfiri discourse.. the malicious thinking that we grew up in the arms of tyrants, and grew up on the leftovers of their tables.. clap for the oppressor, and spit in the face of the oppressed.. the relationship between the intensification of injustice And the increase in preaching more.. the exaggeration that characterizes preaching rhetoric, and what they are in the reality of reality..
My story that I remembered as I saw those who condemn the crimes that are taking place in Palestine – which are undoubtedly reprehensible crimes – and the more horrific and heinous crimes that our rulers are committing today against their people, and their use of what is happening abroad to bring legitimacy to their rule, consolidate their power and tyranny over their people, and compensate for their economic failure And their comprehensive and repeated failures with regard to the entitlements of their homelands and peoples at home, and their escape from them to Israel, America and other foreign issues.. Employing and exploiting political events abroad to serve their repressive regimes at home.. I felt that we needed a thousand shoes, and a million slaps would fix our affairs.
I remembered my story when I saw the stark contrast that we live in today between what is said and what is done… the paradox that I see between the truth and what is being claimed… between reality and illusion… marrying politics with religion or employing religion to serve politics, or to serve the agendas of power and the interests and ambitions of states. It has been said, “Politics has not entered into anything but corrupted it.”
I remembered my that story when I saw the pretending charlatans claiming for themselves righteousness, piety and piety, and benefiting people from it, justice and equity, and their affirmation of rejecting injustice, and even calling for resistance to it, but on the condition that this is far from the peoples they rule, while these authorities commit in our reality and in our right and the right of all our peoples Terrifying, horrific, and tyrannical…
They condemn the fanaticism of the other while they practice all the stinking fanaticism.. they imbibe it from their early childhood.. they drown in and around it, and they fall to its abyssal bottoms, or it sinks in them to the bottom of hell..
They call for knowledge and deep thinking, while in fact they are saturating our educational curricula with abhorrent fanaticism and heavy ignorance, and they intend to consecrate it in educational institutions from kindergarten to school and then to university.
and dullness, with which they extinguish the torches of the mind, promote free thinking in them, and bridle scientific research and its methods with a thousand chains and restrictions..
***
(3)
Leave the goats and tie the Gomaa!
One day at the beginning of my first period of study, I was late for the school queue, and I was afraid of the punishment that the school teacher would take against me, and instead of going to school, I went to a room above the cow corral of our neighbor, Mana Saeed..
This room was like an inn intended to receive strangers, who spend a day, or two if they stay long, and often remain empty for weeks without a guest..
I escaped from the penalty of being late in the morning queue to a more dilemma than it, which is to be absent from school for a whole day.. thus I found myself getting more involved in that dilemma, or moving from one dilemma to another greater than it..
On the second day, I went to the same room, and the scene was repeated on the third and fourth day, to find myself every day getting into a bigger and more severe trouble than before.
Every day that passes I feel that my predicament grows, and my expectation of punishment grows in parallel with my continued absence from school.. And the more my absence increased, the more fear and panic I became, and I became overwhelmed with great fear of a more painful punishment, until it seemed to me on the fourth day that it would be severe..
I lacked courage from the first day in assuming the responsibility and the result of the first mistake.
Six hours a day I spend in that dreary room.. The situation was difficult and the hours heavy, and I felt its deadly weight, crushing under its wheels, as if a train was passing through my exhausted body.. However, the courage continued to betray me in admitting mistakes and being ready to take responsibility..
The hours were passing slowly, slowly by the tortoise in a land that was not without roughness.. boring and monotonous hours.. I did not know beforehand that those hours would be the way I lived, or so slow and monotonous, even if I saw them at the same time as less stressful The punishment awaiting me kept getting more and more intense with each passing day, and perhaps it became more than I could bear.
I was trying to relieve the monotony of those hours by looking at the opposite space confined to the corners of the small window from which my gaze peeked out cautiously and concealed.
Every day that passes in that room that I chose as a voluntary prison, I suffer from it and get exhausted for six hours of waiting and bleeding the soul..
I see a small part of the valley overlooked by that window.. I look closely at those who are going and those who come in it, and whenever I hear a sound in the near vicinity I rise suspiciously to watch through the cracks of the door what is happening outside it! I was apprehensive and worried that my secret and my secret would be exposed..!!
Perhaps also sometimes out of curiosity and curiosity towards the opposite side of the room made of boards and tin, my imprisoned gaze peeks out from the cracks in the door, and sometimes out of picnics and the relief of distress, I find my gaze wandering cautiously here and there, and my locks intensify with the slowly creeping time, and the time intensifies slowly the longer it takes. Waiting time.
On the fifth day, my case was revealed and the question exposed me, as I heard the professor asking my father about the reason for my frequent absence.. My father replied with shocked astonishment that I go to school every day, and as soon as this grew to my hearing, I rushed to school jogging, and I realized at that time that the ax had fallen into my head, and that My matter has been exposed and exposed, and I must be prepared to pay a heavy price of pain at once, whose amount I do not know, and I do not know the ability to bear it.
***
Perhaps I was excused at that time because I was still a child who did not guide, but I had not yet become a juvenile in a very harsh environment, which lacked the minimum educational culture and its accompanying means, but most of it was reversed, and its means were dry, distorted or not available at all..
Today the fugitives forward have become individuals, convoys and groups.. the situation has changed from yesterday and turned upside down.. escaping forward has become familiar and usual.. escaping from a dilemma to the most severe is not limited to a child like me, but extends to parties, political forces, revolutions, and even peoples as well…
It is not only my story, but the story of all of Yemen, and its people as a whole.. the story of the forces, elites and parties that fled forward from bad to worse, from worst to disaster, and from disaster to most catastrophic…from internal conflict, to regional, then to international Too complicated..!
What happened was a catastrophic throwback from the dream and entitlement of the state to the non-state… an escape to the extent of panic from the entitlement and dream of a modern civil state and democracy to a war that does not want to end, and we are living its seventh year of absurdity and bleeding..
The retreat and regression continued from the semi-state, to the failed state, then to the remnants of the state, and finally to no state..
We moved from disagreement to disagreement to conflict and recurring cycles of violence, then to a fierce war, intertwined with horrific and catastrophic internal and external wars.
We moved from peaceful protest to various battles, then to a long war, or from no war to a fierce war, then to multiple wars that do not remain or leave..
What happened and is happening reminds me of that Yemeni joke par excellence, which summed it up: “Leave the goats and tie the Gomaa:
Tess entered the room, and the father was having dinner with his children.
The father said to his eldest son: Gomaa, get up, tie the goat quickly, so that it does not run on us.
Gomaa got up in a hurry, hit his head with the bulb and broke it, and the house became dark, and Gomaa couldn’t see anything..!! One of his feet fell into the eating plate, and the plate turned over, and the food inside was scattered on the ground.. Gomaa jumped in panic, and his left leg came in the father’s belly, and the right in his forehead!!!
So the father shouted at his children: O children.. Leave the goats and tie the Gomaa!!
What is more Gomaa today..Gomaa, despite its badness, was better than it is..maybe it was not devoid of goodness, musk, and tolerance, and today it became bullets, death, and gunpowder.. And the most painful…
What has happened and is happening has become far beyond the endurance and patience of Yemen.
***
(4)
A Day in Hell
The absence of those few days made me feel alienated from school..the interruption despite its shortness made me feel that I was a stranger to my fellow students..maybe my situation was like the first day I attended this school..introverted and shy and I feel lonely, alienated and withdrawn..
The professor summoned me to come in front of him.. When I came, he got up standing and motivated.. He started in a show way, but I felt that inside a cauldron was boiling.. He started hovering over me and the bamboo stick vibrated in his hand, motivated to eat from the skin that covered my weary bones..
He was motivated like a police officer who found someone who was looking for him after a lifetime of searching and tracking, and in compensation for a disappointment that always extended and continued.. An officer who was witted with resourcefulness and the means failed to arrest those who searched for him for many years, and when he found him he wanted to avenge his previous catastrophic failure and great disappointment.. He shook the bamboo in my face as if he had won an ardent opponent waiting for a long time, and it was time for him to fight and crush him.. He wanted his challenge to win in a crushing and overwhelming way.. He wanted to challenge him to inflict a heavy defeat on me..
I was exhausted, skinny, and weak in strength.. I have no power in front of an unknown awaiting me. I do not know its fate, and how it will be!! The more I hope in my secret and my secrecy that it will be less than what is fatal and fatal, while the teacher appears to me to be suppressed by intense rage, and the hatred that eats its owner.. is very motivated, and does not know where to start crushing me..
He thought for a moment, then carefully selected four of his most staunch and strong disciples, and commanded them to catch me and drop me to the ground, and raise my feet clenched to the top, and prevent me from moving.
They pulled me off the ground like a weary little plant.. My head was pressed down on it, and my feet were raised up.. I felt that the difference in mass between us breaks the comparison.. They use force to an extent that I did not imagine.. an absurd, exaggerated and overwhelming exaggeration.. My diminutiveness and four seemed to me to be absurd, and I became fading among them, or I almost vanished between them by piling and pressure.. I vanished with their crowded crowding..
They paralyzed my hands and the movements of my body with their many hands, and their weight rested on my small and exhausted shoulders.. Some of them put their stone knees on my empty stomach, and my chest was stifled and suffocated.. They almost prevented me from breathing.. I felt that the air I was stealing from their crowd is hard and little.. the air I breath!! As if they are loan sharks, they give me the air in installments… A miserliness that has reached its peak…
Bamboo stings fell heavily on the bottoms of my feet, as if they were lava from Hell, poured by God on the soles of my feet, bloody nails.. It is not the usual punishment of “flakka”, but it is a “falk” from hell.. Its intensity exceeded all reasonable, and even times the length of the most neglectful and shortcoming of the students. Stupidity in school.. I named that day after a long time “a day in hell”..
They finished their terrifying feast on my tiny body.. My feet were swollen.. Red congestion almost spurted out with blood.. White oil formed on their bottom and sides.. My feet that were supposed to carry me home, I became the one carrying them, as if I was carrying a mountain heavier than Mount Uhud. .
I walk stumbling..Sometimes I pull my body like a cripple..I walk twenty steps or less and then rest a little to go back for another twenty..My journey was like a journey in hell..A meter and two became meaningful in this heavy walk..twenty by twenty and so forth, to To reach home after the rise of the soul..
I thought that the punishment had ended at this point, especially since the professor had informed my father that he had punished me as I deserved and enough, but my father, who I hoped would lighten the punishment inflicted by the teacher, I found him to be more punishing than the professor.. My father (like the one who seeks protection from the blaze of fire).
***
I arrived at the door of our house, and my father was waiting.. He approached me with faltering steps.. I thought that God had mercy on me, and he made in my father a miracle different from what he was accustomed to, or perhaps I thought that some pity had invaded him or exploded inside him, especially since he watched me fall asleep, or a prisoner I stumbled with my crippled steps, I could not carry my feet except with great difficulty and hardship, but he surprised me with a movement that was not on my mind and my mind..
He spread his legs and lowered them a lot.. He bent his stature below my stature.. He put his right shoulder at the top of the middle of my stature, and got up to find myself crouched, bent on his back like an inverted waw, his hands holding the legs, and my feet spearing like a slaughtered bird in front of his face, upturned and slightly raised. Of his stature, with my head hanging on his back like a slaughtered sheep.
My father’s movement for me was surprising and shocking… I was in a panic attack, especially since I don’t know what he will do to me?! And what was his intention?! The angle of rotation that I witnessed seemed to me to be a cosmic rotation of all that is around me.. I started to see things from my position upside down, and different from what people used to see!! I realized that a new, more brutal punishment awaits me, but I don’t know what it is!!
I was screaming in horrific and successive panic without a break, while my father took me towards the Sidr tree near the door of our house, and the rope on it was prepared and ready to hang me.. He tied my feet with the rope, and lifted me to the branch of the tree, with my head hanging down.. My body was like a slaughtered lamb that was suspended for skinning or stealth..
I was screaming and crying loudly, tearing up the stones. Perhaps a nearby rescuer would rush to my father and help me from what I was in, but no rescuer was found, and no rescuer rushed.. The adults were watching what was happening from the rooftops and doors of their homes in the silence of the graves, and perhaps some of them had lowered their heads from the ropes and the sockets, while My father surprised me with more..a violent beating with a stick on my back, stomach, and legs, and no one rushes to save me..My mother was in the mountain, and my screams were ripping through the sky, and the stings of the stick slashed my body like a hungry hyena eating its prey..
Perhaps my screaming sounded like a free advertisement, and an invitation to children and women to watch a scene that they were not familiar with and were not accustomed to seeing, even at the beginning of the year or two. Rather, they had never seen anything like it in their lives before. For a moment from him.. a scene that our Qur’an is not used to, no matter how rebellious, disobedient or even crazy the son is..
Some children rushed to a nearby place to see more details about this strange scene that they are watching for the first time.. The children were watching the scene as if they were attending a cinema for the first time, and they did not watch it for the first time, and for free without charge.. As for me, the scene is still stuck in my memory to this day, However, today I bring nothing but much forgiveness to my father.
After my father emptied his anger, I kept hanging on the tree until my mother rushed from the mountain to help me, untied me, and came after a short time.
***
(5)
Despite the cruelty.. A capable professor
My first teacher is Professor Al-Mohab Ali Ahmed Saad, who planted me in Khaizana until I bled and my feet were sore from him.. We may take it from him that his educational methods in punishing his students were wrong or excessively severe and harsh, but on the other hand we can say: “If it was not him, he would not have We were.” He was firm and strict.. He was good at teaching and understanding.. He did not compromise the lesson and did not detract from it.. He was the teacher who taught us all the subjects on his own.. And more than that, he started teaching us before the “school” existed, whose classes began to be formed with his steadfastness. He continues to teach us without hesitation or interruption.
The beginnings are arduous, and with difficulty he was able to establish the course of an educational edifice almost out of nowhere.. He has the first credit for saving us from horrible ignorance, we would not have been able to get out of his caves and basements without him.. Ignorance perched on our people and villages for a long time.. For us, this professor was a fortune teller. Happiness and good fortune that showed us the light, and guided us to the doorstep of the gate of knowledge and knowledge.
Professor Ali Ahmed Saad continued to teach us until about 1970 before he left us after years of giving work and residence in the city of Taiz.. He left a great void that was filled by some of his first intelligent students who took over our teaching after him.. He planted and the harvest was deserved..
He left us and established an educational edifice that cherished us from absolute and certain ignorance.. He established an integrated curriculum from the first to the third grade of primary school.. We learned the foundations of reading, writing, arithmetic, social sciences and sciences.. A large number of students studied under him from the people of villages and nearby and neighboring regions and even some Remote areas and villages.. It was like a bird that nursed its young until they became able to fly and fly high..
It is interesting that he left for most of us nicknames that have dominated our names for many years, and we still mention some of them, and some of them are still alive today, such as: Al-Tunaiz, Hofer, Al-Ma’ard, Kabrit, Al-Bulbul, Qardi, Al-Matit, Al-Zanat, Al-Najashi, Al-Maqroor, Al-Malhous, Al-Tabilah, Al-Zaidi, and Malit.. We forget the names and remember the nicknames.. What is the reason for those labels that he gave, and on what basis did he choose them and give them to us, but the funniest thing is that some of them lived with us, and some of us left, and their nicknames remained alive and distinct even after the departure…
Despite the cruelty of this able professor, he is credited with our first education, and in the modern method whose mainstay was the notebook and the pen.. reading, dictation, arithmetic, science and literature.. we came to us at a moment when we were in dire need of the education absent from us.. without him, perhaps ignorance would have been He afflicted us, and he clasped us with both his hands, and tyrannized us for a lifetime.. Without him, I might not have reached and evaded the simplest public job in the state.. Without him, many of us would have been unable to do more than heavy misery and herding sheep..
He went and left us a basis of knowledge on which to build knowledge in the coming years and days.. He went and his knowledge, his teaching and his beautiful favor.. He left us and left a small library and a black box that he was sitting behind with the giving of the teacher and the venerable professor..
We inherited some brochures that were stored in his cupboard.. I remember taking a brochure entitled “Dimensions of the Yemeni Revolution” by Abd al-Rahman al-Baydani.. I remember that I memorized a number of pages from it at that time despite my young age, and when I was reviewing what I had memorized from it, a teacher or a teacher heard me The old students who were studying and who was surprised that I memorized some paragraphs of its pages by memory..
This professor promised me that he would bring me the story (The Black Panther), a children’s story and I was eager to read it, until he brought it to me on the third day of his promise, perhaps the first gift I receive in my life..
I did not know that I had to read it to the end to be pained by its facts as a story.. I thought that what was required of me to memorize it by heart as I did in some pages of Al-Baydani’s book, it was difficult for me to memorize them, and I failed to memorize some of its pages, and my joy turned into failure and some misery.. I evade the teacher who gave it to me so that I do not appear to be unworthy of what he gave me, and I did not realize that memorizing it was not required.
***
(6)
Fifth grade in the south
In Al-Wahda School, I completed the fourth grade. At the beginning of the fifth grade, I left Al-Wahda School in the northern villages of Sharar, and moved to study in what we used to call the southern part of the beloved homeland, in a school open to students coming from the neighboring areas in the north.
“Shaab” school was many times better than ours, and in almost every respect.. The problem we had was only in the long distance between our village and this school..
I had to cross every school day a distance of up to ten kilometers in going and the same way in the return.. I had to get up before dawn, and I traveled every school day on foot until I reached school, and in the return also my travel was hard and hard.. daily hardship Heavy comes at the expense of diligence, perseverance, and the general result..the daily exhaustion was killing me, and taking what it was capable of of body, soul and memory..
My toenails always complained of hitting stones every morning and evening when I travel.. The situation is repeated at noon when returning.. I drag my feet in them when the exhausting fatigue weighs them, or the severe fatigue realizes them..
Sometimes hitting the stones causes blood to ooze from the front of the fingers and under the nails.. oozes in the cold morning from their tops and edges.. and sometimes you, who is trying to recover, and others lead to the nails coming off because of the force and frequency of hitting the stones.. I feel a whirlpool of torment. The pain is every day that I travel to study, and sometimes I rebel and do not reach school, and at other times I leave school one or two hours before the end of the school day.
I felt that the distance to school was getting longer, and I took road breaks while I was exhausted to the point of fatigue.. I felt that the hardship was more than my exhausted body and tired soul could bear.. This suffering made me feel that the stones were lurking in me, not I who collide with it.. I would avoid her as much as possible, and she would get me as much as she could, and she left me with a lot of pain and aches.. The toenails of the two big toes are still deformed to this day due to the frequent hitting of stones.
Some days I rebel against the school, and I do not reach it..Sometimes one of my peers proposes what we call “Hafsana” or “Nahfsan,” by which we mean not to go to school, then we support it, and we did not reach the school.. We used to reach Ras Shaab, and some days To the health clinic in the Shaab area, then we return slowly until the time runs out, and we return to our family at the usual time for our return, and in a few days we did not go beyond the “Sahbi’s party,” but we did this in hiding and cautiously, for fear of exposure to our people..
Sometimes we buy “Marib”, “Saba” and “Yemen” cigarettes from the Muhammad Seif shop located near the Al-Khamis market.. Those cigarettes were cheap and bad at the same time, then we take distant stops on the long road, and we drink cigarettes hidden. And we rebel against the parents and the school, or we practice some experimentation and “disobedience” in secret from our parents and relatives..
English was always the last subject in the weekly class schedule.. the teacher who taught it was very kind, and at the same time glorified for his subject, and we were able to teach it, but the school’s distance from our homes was a reason that most of the time made us return without attending the last class, which is English class..
The daily exhaustion accompanied by some rebellion and rebellion led to my failure in three subjects at the end of the year, the most important of which was of course the English language.. Such failure was unprecedented in my previous studies; And because failure in three subjects or less of them gives the school system the opportunity for the student to re-exam, I was re-examed for those subjects at the available opportunity at the end of the year, and I managed to succeed with difficulty, and I would not have succeeded without the good man, Hajj Mahmoud, who is from the middle people.
In Sha’ab, my father’s friends were Haji Mahmoud Hassan and his brothers Ali Hassan and Saleh Hassan.. Three brothers living in one house, with more than thirty people.. They were an example of brotherhood, kindness, affection, openness of heart and peace of mind.. They were extremely harmony and tolerance, and their hearts were white. From the whiteness of the clouds..
I was studying with some of their children in the same school.. I remember that I spent a month or two staying with them after the three brothers insisted on my father that I reside with them and pass the exam at the end of the year. Every day.. my soul has always drained the distance going back and forth.. had it not been for Hajj Mahmoud and his brothers, I would not have passed that school year successfully..
Oh God, how good are these people..After my brother Ali was killed and my father was made homeless, the father stayed with them for years in their shop, which was along the road.. During them they embraced him without hurting him for a day or getting bored of a long-stay guest, but they were overflowing with medicine and affection enough to dictate this The world is increasing and increasing.. How good they are, O God.. They have done for us the kindness and favor that we owe to them for a lifetime, children and grandchildren..
***
(7)
sixth primary
You have been transferred from the fifth grade to the sixth.. your studies do not make sense if you do not pass the sixth grade.. passing the sixth grade is the most important in the first six years of primary education.. your success in the sixth primary means the culmination of the outcome of the effort of six years of study..
The sixth grade has a ministerial exam.. Preparing and correcting exam questions or deciding on their answers has nothing to do with the school, its teachers or its director.. The questions come from the Ministry of Education in Sana’a in its envelop and sealed and no one knows it except for those who prepare it in the ministry, as well as correcting the answers. A monopoly on corrections specialists in the ministry as well, or those who represent it in the governorates.
Passing the sixth grade means that you have completed the primary stage, and moved to the beginning of the preparatory stage.. Completing primary means that you make the first difference in the course of your studies.. It is the difference of moving from a lower stage without which you cannot enter another, more important and important stage.. Completing the primary stage It means that you record your first victory over your ignorance in your first battle, which takes six long years of your life, and then prepare for another stage of victory that will last three years, which is the preparatory stage.
A sixth-grade certificate means to me the most important certificate in the six years of education, and without it, there will be disappointment that threatens my educational future with loss and loss.. But there is no sixth grade in Al-Wahda School, and there is no sixth grade in a people’s school, and there is no water or provision for a trip and travel to China. There is no way or trick to get there.. This time my destination was to the “Al-Marefa” school in “Thawjan”, the birthplace of the Brotherhood’s mentor Yassin Abdel Aziz.
I had to travel a distance of about three kilometers to reach the bottom of the mountain which I have to cross by climbing to its height, and then descending from it from the other direction, and then traveling a few more kilometers to reach that school in “Thujan”, after hardship and hardship, then the return will be exhausting. More, and more painful..
I was at the first climb of the mountain. I looked like a child who wants to ride a camel standing on its legs.. The difference between my height and stature seems almost impossible, but if I want to complete the stage, I have no choice but to break the challenge of this mountain every day back and forth.. I have to get to school. Coming home six days a week.
I was overwhelmed by exhaustion every day, going up and down.. the length and breadth of fatigue overwhelmed me with each school day.. the exam is ministerial, the year is pivotal, and there is no room for complacency.
I have to settle myself with a stubborn determination in the face of all frustrations.. Five long years of study and effort will seem to be wasted despair.. I will not allow despair to undermine my resolve, and with it five years without effort and the greatest suffering.. I will not allow frustration to infiltrate my tired soul. .. You have to be flogged.. Fatigue takes precedence over the choice when the alternative is to overwhelm you with ignorance, and miss a future you seek.. Perhaps in this sense I spoke to myself..
When I reached the height of the mountain, I used to see the distant views that transform the obstacles of the terrain from seeing it from below or from the valleys that I started to see from the heights of the cliffs and the deep bottoms.. From the top you see nature in the east and west in a different way.. you see what you do not see from below.. it was Crossing the mountain simulates the school transition that I sing every day..
Things on the back of a camel you see are different than what you see when you walk on your feet with worn shoes, and perhaps without shoes.. Rest in Najd the mountain, enjoyment after the fatigue of climbing.. In the far and near, and in the details that are under your stature.. at the top you seem crowned with your excellency, the majesty of your destiny, and the splendor of your prestige..
The feeling that the summit gives you is captivating and beautiful.. looking from the top is fabulous and enjoyable, even if you reach it while you are under the sway of tricks..a little space will return you a lot of your activity, energy and strength as long as what you want is worth going up and reaching..
The school administration asked each student in the sixth grade to take a personal photo of the file, the form, and the certificate, and the request was difficult for us, as there are no photo labs in our villages and areas, not even in “Shaab” and “Tur al-Baha” .. The closest place with a photo lab was in “Al Rahda “..
My father was worried that I would go for filming in “Al-Rahda.” My brother’s flight from Sana’a following the events of August at the end of the sixties, when he was probably in the rank of captain, made my father fear that I would be kidnapped if I went to “Al Rahda” despite my young age..
After a long thought and coordination, my father allowed me with some of the students, and after the guardianship and care assigned by my father to Professor Abdo Ahmed Talib (Al-Talbi), he allowed me to go to “Al Rahda” for filming and return quickly without delay, and it was done without anything happening to us..
All in all, it was a strenuous year, during which I passed the primary stage, and got a score of 302 out of 500.. On that day, I saw in this result that it was good and satisfactory.. Then I continued my preparatory studies for three years at the Martyr Najeeb School in Tor Al Baha..
***
Seventh series follows..
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