My memoirs..

What was written here is still under review.. under correction, deletion, modification and addition.. and it was published to document the intellectual right only.

part One

Ahmed Seif Hashed

Dedication:

I dedicate what I wrote to the tired, tired, thirsty for freedom.

And those who belong to the future we seek.

Some details of my life

initiation and beginning

What prompted me to write “Some of the Details of My Life” is an attempt and a look at an era we lived through with its hardships and pleasures..with its hopes and disappointments..with its space and its guest..with its various experiences and its winding paths, trying to cross into the future we seek, in a very difficult and complex reality, and a society that oppresses the mind and oppresses The question.. longs for the past and loves DJs..

We swam against the current.. We sailed against the wind.. We lived with endurance and challenge.. We did not despair and did not give up hope.. We tried to turn on the light in an ocean crowded with thick darkness.. We lit our lives in an attempt to remove some of this darkness that overwhelms life in its dark and crowded blackness..

We made a lot of great effort to move a reality greater than our destiny.. we were right here and we erred there.. so let those who come after us be warned.. benefit from what we hit, and learn from the mistakes and sins we have fallen into, some of which were contributed to by the unfortunate and the upturned fate.

In our battle, we tried to persevere in the face of the setbacks and setbacks of time.. We rebelled against the monotony of the ordinary and the boredom and boredom that weighs life.. We belonged to the future and adored it with passion.. We rejected oppression and rebelled against it.. We resisted oppression and refused to submit to it..

We resisted and rebelled against all the authorities that wanted to domesticate us and subjugate us in their flocks, until we made the impossible possible after our struggle and despair. We stop dreaming and trying, and searching for the future tirelessly, despite the weight of despair and the weight of frustrations.

In the same place, we call and urge those after us to be better than us in creating and accumulating awareness, insisting on trying and succeeding, and more capable of changing reality, no matter how severe it is, and transforming what is possible from the impossible into the possible..and urging them to be more deserving of life, dignity and humanity..

And we say to the simple, depressed, and those crushed by oppression, do not surrender.. Rebellion and revolt as much as you can against your heavy reality, and try to break the restrictions that bind your feet, and the authorities that hide your statement, and fetter tongues.. I appreciated it..

Resist those who want you to be domesticated herds, or submissive, submissive human beings, robbery of consciousness, will and action.. dead, robbery of humanity and conscience.. Suppressed and forbidden from exercising the right to doubt, question and knowledge.. search for freedom, a future, and a life that befits you as free men, worthy of life, love, dignity and justice…

Say to those who once lived on your blood, stole your rights and confiscated your dreams: History we are not you.. in history you are just tyrants, murderers, robbers and thieves who passed from here without glory or dignity..!!

Tell them: You are just tyrants and corrupt people who will eventually settle in the stinking dunghills of history and its deep bottoms, accursed the remembrance at all times, while we simple, toiled people deserve all life, dignity and glory.. We are the ones who build and you are the ones who destroy.. You are all ruin..

There is nothing wrong with some narcissism and arrogance in front of the hollowness and claims of all narcissists and their blasphemers and preachers, who tamper with the mind and poison consciousness, falsify history, arrest the future and assassinate life..

 

What I wrote in this part I was keen on its essence and general content, and as for the facts and most of them, I tried to remember what I could remember, and neglected some of the facts leaving them for automatic memory, or perhaps I will mention them on other occasions coming in a place in the next part or after it, without On the other hand, I forget from time to time to go through other occasions, and with a greater presence to the present or near present, so as not to remain trapped in the past and its singularity.

I turn to the present or what is close to it according to the motives and the link of the connection, and the importance of recalling what I am about.. In some facts that are difficult to recall their details, I tried to find an approach to the possible and the reality that I experienced..

This part is only the beginning of a project that may grow and expand in the future, according to the necessities of the need and the situation, the reasons for its importance, and what is sufficient for me of time and age, or what is left of it.

I tried to publish most of what I wrote on social media before publishing it in a book, perhaps to arrive at the approach I am looking for, and to re-evaluate and review what was published two and three times, in the hope that this book will come with fewer errors, perhaps to be corrected or mostly, and enrich it with further study. revision and analysis in a later edition.

***

first series

(1)

Confusion and existential questions!

I do not know how I came to this world crowded and raging with conflict, anger and madness…full of killing, injustice and atrocities…a world in which the right to life is sacrificed in the name of life, and where justice is hardened in the name of justice, and where equality of opportunity is often absent to the point of nothingness!!

Tyrants and tyrants ruled the world, and they are still ruling it in one way or another to this day.. They built their glory, which they sing, praise and glorify, at the expense of the plundered peoples’ blood, the violation of human dignity, his hunger and pain, and the dissipation of his dreams and hopes..

Poor, lost and deprived.. deceived to death.. afflicted with the curses of fates that do not leave them and do not stop following them without leaving them a space or respite.. miserable people with bad luck and bad luck.. they pay others from their poverty, want and misery to a life of luxury, extravagance and frivolity.. doomed In reality, they did not make it..A greater number of them forced them to be forced without any advice or question from them.

Life on land, sea, and air is cruel and savage..full of injustice, pain and madness..a world dominated mostly and mostly..a terrifying reality that succeeded in setting its example and described a feature of it by the German philosopher “Schopenhauer” by saying: “tortured and tormented beings.. can only live by devouring.” each other..every beast in it is a living tomb of thousands of beasts, and the way to survive in it is a series of painful death..

In the human world, we find this savagery present in multiple forms. Indeed, the American thinker and writer “Mark Twain” goes to the fact that man is more hideous and savage than animals, where he wrote under the title “The Cursed Humankind” that experiences convinced him that man is the only one who bears in his chest grudge. Harm, revenge, revenge and meanness.. He deals with his kind with healing, humiliation, humiliation and enslavement.. Animals are killed by unconscious motives such as hunger or fear, while man abandons his conscience, morals and human sense, and commits the greatest evil, which is the organized collective war..

A world that has been ruled and is still mostly ruled by worse than the law of the jungle, and the conditions for survival in it are still for the strongest, the most evil or the most cunning, and many who shed blood in the name of God and the Holy, or in the name of an idea or ideology, or fanaticism under any name, for the sake of power, or from Excessive selfishness and tyranny, greed that increases and continues and does not stop.

***

Were we found by chance or necessity, or is there another answer, or is the answer a secret unseen in the world of the unseen and the unknown?! How did we come to this life?! A question that has been a frequent source of confusion, which has troubled many philosophers, poets and thinkers, old and new.

The Persian astronomer, philosopher, and poet Omar Khayyam, the author of the Rubaiyat, died in 1124 AD. His bewilderment and doubt caused him to be accused of heresy and atheism. where he said:

“I was forced into the arena of life

 Visiting her only made me confused…

 And here I am, forcibly deserting her

 I wish I knew the purpose of my departure, my present and my stay!!”

***

It seems that the poet Elia Abu Madi in the poem (Incantations) derived the idea of ​​the beginning of his poem from that quartet.

Many existential questions were raised by the poet Elia Abu Madi in his long poem consisting of approximately 340 verses, which he began with:

“I came, I don’t know where, but I came

 I saw a way before me, and I walked

 I will stay walking whether I want this or not

 How did I come How did I see my way..

  I do not know”

Then the questions follow and reproduce and multiply and close each piece with an answer I don’t know, but this closing was filled with confusion that raises a lot of cognitive attraction, stimulates more curiosity and attempts to explore and probe the depths, and receives more questions that give birth to knowledge.. the questions that open the holes of doubt that It expands, and its hammers that knock on the doors of consciousness, and it keeps pressing on it until the doors and shutters are opened.

Elia Abu Madi, who titled his poem with “talismans,” tells and asks the mystery that calls for disclosure, the ambiguous that claims to be removed, and the mystery that seeks a solution.. He asks the sea, the monastery, and the tombs.. It raises anxious philosophical questions that try to restore the alienated consciousness, and remove false certainty..

“I don’t know” he was throwing at the end of the clip, as if asking for salvation after passing the bold question he wanted..or so I think.

Elijah Abu Madi delves into the questions, and asks himself philosophical questions that were previously raised by philosophers and theologians before eras and centuries ago. Is man in this existence free or guided, but he presented this problem in a beautiful poetic form:

“Am I free, free, or am I in chains?

  Am I a self-leader in my life, or a leash?

  I wish I knew but…

  I don’t know”

  In another stanza of the poem he says:

  You are a captive sea. Oh, how great is your family.

  You are like me, O mighty one, you do not have control over yourself.

  I liked your situation and my excuse told your excuse

  So when I escape from captivity and you survive..

  I don’t know

  And in a third stanza:

  “In you, O mighty one, shells and sand.”

  You are without a shade, and I have a shade on earth.

  You are without a mind, and I have no mind, O sea of ​​mind.

  So why did you go and stay..

  I don’t know”

***

How did we get here?! A question nearly a hundred years ago that sparked a lot of responses and controversy.. I continued.. Today, we are in a middle that seems darker and darker than that of yesterday.. A question that could cost you your life if you let your mind wander in search of an answer that flies far from what people are used to..

In the name of God and defending Him, your soul may be lost, and you will not find anything to defend yourself with at an alleged sheikh of knowledge, who only wants to hear his voice alone, or a religious group that does not accept discussion or controversy from you except in the space of its small bottle, its narrow hermitage and its strict fatwa, or An authority captivated or governed by the culture of the past, which facilitates death or without it just for the sake of opinion, diligence or thinking, and such ease may affect you even just by placing a question on the table, or raising a question in the circles of your society in which you live..

There are many logical and epistemological questions to announce or search for an answer to, in a rusty and backward midst, that may plunge you into a fierce clash with your heavy and harsh reality, or push you to the prison, or lead you to your certain death, and make you a sacrifice, and a bridge to cross for an ignorant person. Looking for heaven and forgiveness by taking your transparent soul?!

***

Some see that life is misery, unhappiness, and torment for the soul.. and that winning it is a victory with pain, regret and illusion, and what some people perceive as a loss, others see it as a pre-liberation from life’s pain, aches and hardships that only end with death.

The American novelist “Herman Melville” author of the white whale novel “Moby Dick” believes that “life is just a crude joke played by the gods on us, and the best we can do is join them and share the game and laughs with them.” Whereas the life of the English playwright William Shakespeare is nothing but a stage and a miserable actor who continues to feel anxious for his entire hour on stage, and a tale full of noise and fury but without meaning.

German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer believes that life is suffering, and that human existence is chaotic and meaningless. Nietzsche believes that life has never been just, and denies the existence of any divine providence over human affairs. The Russian novelist Dostoevsky sees life as hell. Socrates sees it as affliction, and Russell sees it as “nothing but a competition in which each of us wants to be the criminal, not the victim.” On the other hand, life for Picasso is art, for Gandhi is love, for Einstein is knowledge, and for Stephen Hopkins is hope.

***

In the race of 300 million sperm, only one fertilizes the egg, is created in the mother’s womb, and otherwise dies and dies. Which coincidence is this in which the ratio difference reaches 1-300 million, and which one is the lucky one?

The depressed Roman philosopher “Emil Cioran” believes that the lucky are those who did not reach the egg in the first place, and the unfortunate are those who did..

Some believe that raising your awareness and accumulating your knowledge increases your hell and your suffering in life.. “Schopenhauer” says: “Nature has shown that the more you understand, the greater your ability to feel pain, and the maximum degree of understanding does not reach, unless and up to The extreme degree of suffering. Kafka says: The first signs of the beginning of understanding are that you want to die, and that excessive awareness and awareness of things are more dangerous than drugs.. Cioran believes that consciousness is a chronic curse, and a colossal catastrophe. He even goes to say that ignorance is a homeland and awareness is an exile.. Dostoevsky confirms Excessive consciousness is a real and complete disease.

***

The success of one in the 300 million race, is the one that was the reason for the existence of each one of us?! An existence that if we were to simulate it, some might choose it with hope, and some might see the unknown as doubt, and there is no hope in a world full of illusion and lies.

Perhaps some would reject this existence if they were given the freedom and the will to make a choice.. the choice which, according to their philosophy and opinion, is based on deep awareness and extensive knowledge.

Dostoevsky said: “If my birth depended on my will, I would refuse to exist under such cynical conditions. And in another place he says: “Is it not madness to bring children under these despicable conditions?”

Emil Cioran says: “For an ecstasy that does not exceed nine seconds, a person is born suffering for seventy years.” “I have committed all the crimes except for being a father.” He also says in the same regard, “Those sons whom I did not want to come, I wish they would realize the happiness they owe me.”

Schopenhauer believes that “sacrificing pleasure in order to avoid pain is a clear gain” and says about life that it “swings like a pendulum between pain and boredom.”

The poet and philosopher Abu Al-Ala Al-Maari recommended that they write on his grave:

“This is what my father committed against me… and I did not harm anyone.”

For Franz Kafka, life seems to be a war: “A war with yourself… and a war with your circumstances… and a war with the fools who created these conditions.”

While Anton Chekhov believes that with death you will be the biggest winner, there is no need to chase after food or drink, no need to pay taxes, and no need at all to argue with others.. As for Emil Cioran in the tragedy of consciousness and existence, he believes that death is our last salvation..

The American writer and writer Mark Twain mocks life and death, saying: “People are born to hurt each other, and then die.” We know that whoever is born now will die later.. so why does nature allow us to continue committing this sin?!!..

***

How many coincidences have been produced or moved by necessities in a long and complex process, perhaps bewildering beyond imagination?!

A long chain of coincidences and necessities that does not stop and does not stop, we do not know its first beginning, we do not know where it is going, and we do not know where it will end if there is an end to the matter!

The place does not stop walking, time lasts forever, and the fates of the universe are mysterious and unknown.

But why does one of us who is stuck in the mother’s womb and conceived for nine months come out to the front of the universe crying out?! Is this crying or screaming a declaration of existence, or is it a rejection and protest against such an existence?! Is it fear of the world or fear of the unknown?!

Why don’t we go out to the front of the universe happy, giggling, or even smiling?! Why does a human-born begin his life only with a sharp weeping cry?! Is this crying cry an expression of rejection of a destiny that this newborn did not choose, or in which his will had no affair or choice?!

The English poet and playwright William Shakespeare tries to answer sarcastically: “At the moment of birth we cry; Because we are coming to a theater full of idiots.”

Between the cry of birth and the gasp of death or leaving in silence, Omar is burdened with suffering, and a world of troubles and sorrows, things, and details.

When your mistake always stumbles, and bad luck strikes your luck as a curse that does not leave you, and the wishes of your life are disappointed, and fates crush you right and left, and you become prey to deprivation and troubles.. Do you disbelieve in the blessing of the one who was a reason and a miracle in your existence, or do you curse that unfortunate coincidence that is what brought you And disappointed?!

***

My father and my mother… my grandfather and my grandmother… had it not been for these, I would not have come to this existence, and I would have been in nothingness… and this applies to all hierarchies… to all generations… to the first root… to the first primitive man in any way.

What if my mother aborted me in her womb, as soon as I was unaware, did not understand anything, and did not care about pain?!

What if I committed suicide one day, crushing my selfishness, and an instinct that clings to a life from hell, that kept me burdened with painful suffering, and the pain of a stressful life, which extended for a long time until I approached my old age?!!

And what do we say about what they called mercy killing out of pity for its owner, and deliverance from a disease that has reached despair, and pain that stings like fire, which can only be stopped by the liberation of the soul and its liberation from its narrow bodily prison, which is more than an iron cage..?!!

***

(2)

My mother’s marriage before my existence

Before my existence, my “mother” had married twice before my father.. I was at that time in nothingness, or so I imagine it.. When compared to my subsequent existence, it seems that nothingness is devoid of everything.. a great void, with no place or time.. a void that has no container and no There are no boundaries, no suffering, no hell..there is no aspect of feeling or existence of any kind in it.. a state that cannot be imagined or described by anything other than nothingness, or something similar to it, or something close to it..

To find an approach to understanding your nothingness, you have to unleash your imagination, to visualize this nothingness.. you have to imagine your nothingness if you are drowning in imagination and deep thinking.. you have to launch questions in the spaces of exploration of existence and non-existence..

Ask your consciousness if you are conscious, or your imagination if you have imagination: What were you a thousand years ago?! What did this universe mean to you a million years ago?! What did you mean to this world before such a date?! Even zero if you compare it to you on that day, you’d be less than zero if zero had a minus.

And after your death, perhaps it will not mean existence in anything, even if your fingerprint remains in it, saying, “Pass through here,” nothing will remain but your short and fleeting passage in this life from which you passed at the speed of light, and what you were in it.

Your short life, which is like a blink of an eye, or a thousand and a million faster than it on the scale of time eternal. Before you turned or left him, and without knowing the end of it, maybe you and I – if not in a certain ruling – are a child of it, and each in his existence has a proportion of good and evil that may decrease or increase without pure..

My mother’s first husband:

My mother’s first husband was one of her relatives.. She was not more than twelve years old at the time of her marriage contract with him, and he is years older than her.. Their marriage lasted about four years, and she did not have children, perhaps because he came years before her first menstruation, yet I did not hear from my mother One day she denounced this marriage, or slandered it, either because of her ignorance or consent, or because of the remnants of beautiful memories and nostalgia she tends to.

Her husband wanted to take her with him to Aden, where he works and resides, but the husband’s father had the authority to decide the first in rejection or acceptance, and he prevented and refused was firm and resolute, and imposed on the spouses his choice and nothing else.. His paternal authority went beyond the most details .. He could have interfered and objected even to the gifts that his son sent from Aden to his wife in the village, which is what actually happened, and it was a door to a problem that one day collapsed..

The wife, despite her young age, had to do her best to serve the father’s family and obey him. As for the son, he must be submissive and obedient. He does not want the father to command an order, and he has no right to object or defeat the will of his father if he wants and wants..

It was shameful, and even disobedient, for a son to stand against his father’s desire and authority, even if the father crushed his son’s happiness and love for his wife.. On the other hand, the authority of the wife’s family interfered as well, under the pretext of protecting their daughter from the abuse of the husband’s family, so gambling began with her marital destiny, and many and the future of her This interference and contradiction led to divorce and great separation.

The authority of “my mother’s other” intervened, and the mother had a powerful personality and strong will.. She took her daughter to her home.. while the spouses were crying, not wanting a divorce or separation.. The two cried, and the bitterness of the situation increased, that they did not have the fate of their marriage and love. They have neither power nor power to stop the conflict, and what leads to the gambling of the heads of families, and the intensification of the dispute between the father of the husband and the mother of the wife, and the indifference and the preservation of what is possible, lost the love that was defeated by obedience and gambling, and it ended in dislocation, and separation forever..

***

My mother’s second husband:

“My mother” married for the second time from a relatively remote area, and without relatives.. But this marriage was short and fleeting.. “My mother” did not stay with this kind and generous husband, except for a few weeks, the love was incomplete, or one-sided, and he could not The generosity and generosity of the husband, to fill the missing half of the lost love.

My mother’s wedding took place in her second marriage, without any prior knowledge of who wanted her to marry, and without even seeing him or being consulted, and without her having a word in acceptance, rejection or choice.. My mother did not see her except on the wedding night.. The marriage was For “mom” and maybe for the husband as well, it’s like fortune-telling, fortune-telling, and the lottery..

It seems that the heart of “my mother” was not attracted to the one whom her family chose for her, or for the one who had the request of the hand and the choice.. Perhaps her luck failed, or the heart of “my mother” was frustrated, or suspended in hopeless hope, or perhaps some of the old love still beats secretly and discreetly. The things that we leave under compulsion, we remain attached to them, and we refuse to leave them, and they remain in the memory for a period that may extend to old age, and the nostalgia for the old continues to refuse to leave or die.

The contract of this marriage was soon dissolved and the separation took place early, and despite its short days, the pregnancy realized it, and “my mother” gave birth to a daughter from him, and the girl is a female in our male reality, she must pay a high cost, which continues from birth until the end of life .. a heavy and unjust social reality , causes her to pay the tax of her existence, pain and coercion, and a detraction that lasts from birth to the most despicable age, and even male racism pursues her to the shroud and the grave, and even after the dirt falls on her!

Why should a person continue to bear the consequences of the mistakes of others, and in this manner, the high cost that accompanies him until the last moment of his life, and even extends to the ground?! Why do human beings – if this is the case – continue to bear the consequences of a sin and mistakes that were not of their own making, or that they did not make themselves?!

Why do children and grandchildren bear the mistakes and sins of distant grandparents?!! Why should all human beings – if this is the case – bear the sin of our mother Eve and our father Adam until the end of time, if time has another and an end?!

This my sister, with the purity of crystal and the simplicity of good people… She submits to fates with the patience of those who have no power or strength.. She still pays the price for the mistakes of others.. She submits to fates that she did not create, and she did not participate in making, but she was her constant victim to this day. She lived a miserable childhood, and was married as a child to a man who is about thirty years her senior.. This sister is to this day being tossed by bad fates against what she wants… Her last calamity was the departure of her sick daughter, and before her a great affliction afflicted her, the killing of her son in this damned war, which deprived her even of her salary. Al-Shehri, which was seized by warlords, lords of corruption, and merchants of wars and homelands.. Even its name seems to be a deceptive fate..

Her name is not named, and Hana Al-Hana in her life did not find existence or traces of trace.. Even our beautiful names, mostly or some of them, we were deceived by them, they choose them for us; We discover at the end of life that it was just an illusion upon an illusion, and a mirage over a mirage.

***

My mother’s marriage to my father:

My “mom” did not want to marry a third time.. She wanted to be content with raising her daughter from the second husband.. But she was persuaded to marry for the third time by her brothers, and she was tempted by describing “my father” whom she does not know as chivalrous, chivalrous and honorable, and encouraged her to the next marriage. To give birth to a son.

They told her: The girl will not help you in your life, that she will grow up and marry, and she will cry and you will cry with her, while the boy will have a certain good and support in your life, and a guarantee for your future in the coming days, and the misfortunes and unknowns that you may carry for you..

Each has his own logic and arguments in the light of a mined reality that is not safe for women, and in which the man has deep and rooted authority over the woman, and in the end his word on it is the separation of the discourse.. and “Hatham” does not have a saying here, and “Juhayna” did not interrupt the saying of every preacher..

“My father” saw “my mother” on the way, so he decided to marry her.. “My father” married before “my mother” four women, they were divorced except for one who remained in his custody. She is the mother of my brother Ali.. Ali was the only surviving boy from the \ Death, and what was left for her, and she remained my father’s wife until her death, and “my mother” became the mother of seven survivors, daughters and sons, and in his marriage she held the conclusion..

When my mother married my father, one of the women called “Al-Baqta” commented on this marriage by saying: “Hanash with Mahnoush,” as if her tongue was saying: I disappointed her with his disappointment.. “My father” had four marriages before “my mother,” and “my mother” had two marriages before “my father,” followed by “my father” third.

Perhaps, in the eyes of some, it began with multiple failure experiences on both sides, and some may consider that both of them have become experts in failure.. Despite this and what was said, this marriage withstood the end of life, defying and overcoming great calamities and events..

And in her life, she chose to have her grave next to my father’s grave in the village, which preceded her leaving twenty years, and choosing her last shrine was her only and last will, and her body was transferred from Sana’a to the village to lie next to him in peace and stillness..

Their marriage lasted for a long time in a legendary steadfastness that is rare like it.. a marriage similar to the marriage of the sea and the mountain.. a constant struggle with ups and downs.. a continuous noise that does not acknowledge or calm down, but it did not give up or turn one of them back on the other in a rupture that lasts.. the greatness of this marriage is its legendary steadfastness. And its continuity, resisting all the factors of separation and separation, and without surrendering to any clash or escalation.. It did not surrender to a factor or emergency, even if it was the size of a disaster, and it was not shaken by panic or panic, or by cutting off a leg and hand, but only ended with death holding the conclusion..

As for me, I was the collector and the joint who continued to give patience and perseverance, and the number that refused to be taken out of the calculation of the equation between them.. I am the absent boy who came after waiting, and my uncles had already talked about him, before the marriage of “mother” to “father” .. I am the one who In my mother’s life, she will be a guarantee for her future in the coming days, and for the calamities and unknowns that she may bear.

***

(3)

My existence and my birth without my will

In the first half of a waning winter’s afternoon, my birth and existence were afflicted by my miserable fates.. my hometown was in a house dented on one side.. my hometown was in a room with no light, prone to darkness.. a window that hardly allowed a glimmer of faint light to pass, at an angle Broken, blocking the light.. the dim light is not enough, and you have to look closely.. your eyes are a little strained to see your things..

 

If the door is widened or opened to its fullest..a little dim light barely passes..it sneaks in from our upper floor.. it breaks in the stairs of the walkway down.. it vanishes in a crooked road on the pole of the house.. it reaches the room, pallor and tired..

 

At the bottom of the room there is a bowl filled with water and other things, and in the alcove are sweet talit, Arabic frankincense, and incense.. and a lamp whose burning humiliation is trying to spread exhausting light between the ceiling and the walls.. The ceiling is made of sticks from adobe trees, and Sidr wood laden with mud.. the rain if it falls on the roof becomes the bottom The room is containers and Unni receives sperm..

 

My mother is writhing in pain.. She lives in moments of labor.. A rope is tied to the stage of the room’s ceiling.. Her hands are firmly holding the knots of the rope, hoping to cross a wall of pain and childbirth.. Lol and the pain extends and increases, and the obsessive whispers, and the fear of death overtakes her as a nifas..

 

I came out of the mother’s womb to the back of the world, screaming and crying out in protest against the unknown, I came to him without will.

 

I have no power and no power.. Destinies imposed what I have no trick in.. The room received my frivolous existence with a dim light that almost shredded my screams.. If I had a choice before my existence and with this awareness of my existence, I would not have chosen my existence.. I mocked a life in which misery was overwhelming.. life Overcrowded with injustice and frivolity.

 

I was guided by the date of my birth with difficulty .. I was born on February 16, 1962 corresponding to Ramadan 12 and the year of the Hijri I lost my numbers .. They said your horoscope is Pisces and the sign is Aquarius .. And they said in calculating the letters the Leo Tower on the mother’s name, and they said Capricorn “Shawah Wawah” after the aging mother’s name Custody..

 

The hands of my aunt, my uncle’s wife, greeted my exhausted body from the first look with a bowed head.. They said the newborn takes some characteristics and qualities from the one I met.. This is what is usually told and rumored in our inhabited villages with grandmothers’ tales..

 

The news of my miserable existence is good news on the face of the parents.. joy rippled on the face of my father.. and the faces of the uncles were pulsing with joy.. my mother was overwhelmed with joy.. the next one was a male, not a female.. a male built for him a barricade.. masculine awareness and bruising if the newborn was female. We are still living in the old days..

 

The female is a reality, and in it she accepts the compelled.. reluctance at the first sight.. then they get used to it.. my mother used to distinguish me with an excess of abundance.. in love, food and drink.. she wants me quickly, a cockroach wind is bigger and stronger in the face of the world..

 

My uncle Saleh had a good deal in astrology and “sand” .. he searched for our horoscopes and horoscopes.. he named me Ahmed.. he said that my birthday is happy, and even more than that he said, but in reality he had the final say.. bad luck, misery and troubles.. my share of Happiness is little.. Misery befell me for six decades.. I became part of me or I became part of it.. Fate opposes me and sometimes be slack and deceive me.. My life is misery and misery.. My luck in the face of the wind is scattered, and I am fighting a sword..

 

Evil and misfortune follow.. Joy if it takes place, with hardship.. I work hard, assertive, and a harvest that does not satisfy hunger.. exhausting effort and the situation is intense.. the profit is little, and the few seize the abundance.. the abundance is taken over by the sword.. I am close to sixty and the situation is worse than yesterday Toil and toil.. unknown and narrow in life and you think life..

 

I am present without my consent.. I came to the belly of the snake.. The snake colored me in order to comfort me on a tree trunk that has dried up from a period of time, and it has become harder than flint.. mashing my skull and bones.. squeezing me with fiery acid.. it burns my hopes.. the reality is cruel and pestilent.. I was forcibly present.. I found and did not find a space for refusal before my presence.. and there was no time in which to consult myself.. They cut off the ways for me to return..

 

The fire in front of me engulfs my range, and the sea runs open after me.. I did not choose my name or my belief.. I did not choose my place of residence.. Not even the date of birth.. Alienation is chasing me and woe threatens me..

 

If I was aware of this and I had to choose.. I would have chosen my nothingness, and rejected my existence instead of the thousandth time.. My existence was forced against my will.. That is why I rebelled and revolted.. My hell would increase, and I would not surrender..

 

I was forced into this state.. I hated life and existence.. I am not satisfied with a life imposed by misery and generalized by tyranny.. I am not satisfied with a situation in which a human being exploits his fellow human being.. He sheds his blood and takes his soul in an absurdity that the beasts of the jungle do not dare.. Have you read the book “Humankind” Cursed” by Mark Twain.. I am the one who found himself in a saying by a philosopher who said: “From the day of my birth I found myself with the world at odds.”

 

Sometimes I celebrate my birthday as a break from the routine of the year.. Christmas I travel out of my consciousness.. I come out of my consciousness in protest. I relieve some of the suffering of my existence.. I snatch a happy moment from a coming year that is no less dark than the previous one.. the shoulders are burdened with sadness, and bad luck accompanies me throughout the year..

 

The reality is bad, and the truth is bitter.. Nawal al-Saadawi said.. the truth is “brutal and dangerous.” So I seek refuge with an imagination to compensate for my loss and a lot of my deprivation.. I rebel against the fates imposed by reality in a medium that is accepted by many with submissiveness and silence..

 

In the face of the oppressor, I say “no” and repeat it in a medium that enjoys “yes” throughout the year.. I remember the glory of hope exhausted by awareness, as he says: “Glory to those who said no in the face of those who said yes.” I pay its cost, no matter how big it is.. I pay its cost and go on.. I pay a cost and I do not give up.. This is my hell and the bleeding of the soul is some of it.

***

second series

My childhood in Aden… Did Satan wrong us?!

Part of my early childhood in Aden, I remembered some of them easily and easily, and some with great difficulty, and others that I drew from my mother’s novels in different stages of her life about that early stage of my life and my childhood, without this devoid of investigation and matching, burning conscience and refreshing memory; To draw what I could of the features of that stage..

After years of my father’s work in the clothing company, he brought us from the village to be with him and next to him.. That work provided him with a limited and stable income, to reunite us, and to provide a modest living stability for us, and some of this situation came at the expense of His health was in the first place, and this was altruism from him that we did not know until after repeated coughing fits that swept over him or overwhelmed him from time to time.. His cough was at its peak, his face swollen and reddened, and his veins and veins swelled up to the point that they seemed to almost explode from his face and neck, and he was about to Falls from his length to the ground, or fall out of his seat.

We lived in the area of (Dar Saad) and it was one of the suburbs of Aden at the time, and I was two years and a few months old at the time, and with me my mother and two twin sisters, Nour and Samia, who were less than a year old.. We lived in a small house that my father rented, consisting of a room, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a hall.

(1)

The fight against measles

My father wanted to unite us under one roof in Aden.. He wanted to gather the scattered pieces of our small and distant family, with a small dwelling on the outskirts of the city known as “Dar Saad,” surrounded by a measure of peace and comfort that we are looking for.. But the measles entered us with its bloody Its ugliness, and the ugliness and predation it bears, or so it became in the imagination.

I got sick with measles.. measles was spreading and killing children.. measles was an acute and contagious virus that infects children, sometimes causing serious complications.

Measles was the most prevalent disease in childhood in particular, and its symptoms include a rise in temperature accompanied by a runny nose, cough, conjunctivitis, and rashes all over the body.. Despite the discovery of the measles vaccine in the 1960s, it did not undermine this disease and make it rare except In the early nineties of the last century, according to some sources.

The first battle I might have fought as a child in Aden with this deadly virus for children.. It was a harbinger of death threatening my life, and waiting for me with determination and lust.. Every day that passed while I was still alive, it meant for my father and mother a miracle of stubborn steadfastness in the face of death, and perhaps it was The passing of the day, for me, means a heroism over a disease that expands and spreads.. that kills childhood without taking heed or care..A virus of death from which surviving seems to be a miracle, as it does not return from a poor house unless it has looted from its children the soul of the one who craves it..

I overcame measles, and strengthened my resistance and steadfastness, thanks to some advice given by our neighbor to my mother, who was still little experienced, or lacking in experience and knowledge in such matters.

My mother benefited from the advice of her neighbor, who had some knowledge of how to deal with such a situation, and knowledge of the means that could alleviate the brutality and effects of this disease. Take care… The causes of life combined and supported some of them, so I defeated the virus of death, recovered from it, and gained lifelong immunity from it.

***

(2)

sickness and emaciation

After months, I fell ill with a disease that I do not know.. I was emaciated and lost my appetite.. my body was so weak that it made me resemble the children of the famine of Africa whom we see in pictures and on TV screens.. Our childhood was miserable, we live in a struggle with death to survive.. Either disease  It beats you.. death hovers over you and lurks around you every day and when..

Our neighbor “Abdul Karim Fadel” was a friend of my father, when he saw me, he said to my father in astonishment and without introduction: “Your son will die and will not live.”  A short sentence might have come down on my father’s head like hitting a hammer.. It aroused his fears and galvanized his interest.. Perhaps this shocking sentence was a reason for me to overcome death and live.. This sentence filled with fears seemed to thunderbolt my father, and made him rush immediately and immediately to a hospital in Aden,  However, the doctor told him that my condition was difficult, and the hope that I could live was weak.

Our neighbor indicated to my father that he should take me to a skilled doctor in Lahj, perhaps there he will find a glimmer of hope.. My father is looking for a glimmer of hope, and he feels more panic..  His heart beats like a drum, his chest rose and fell, his breath swayed me, and the rumble of his panic shook his conscience and his being.

This is what I felt one day too, when I was racing to death, trying to save my son “Fadi” from an asthma attack, when he was about my age or a little older.. My father was trying to save me, accompanied by panic.. The feeling that you are racing against death and preventing him from snatching it  Your child is in your hands, a feeling of intense presence, and it cannot be forgotten no matter how old the years and how long you live.. I lived such a dense moment as a child as I lived it as a father..

In Lahj, the doctor said to my father, that my condition is very bad, and that I can no longer tolerate needles, and I will not be able to bear the disease any more, but “perhaps and perhaps” and decided for me a prescription for a treatment without needles..

My body responded to the treatment, and my condition slowly improved .. I began to eat more and more greedily every day, and for me, my father used to bring us a pound of meat a day, which I eat all on my own, and I do not let the rest of them eat anything of it.. This is what my mother used to tell me..  If they gave me a piece of it, I would not soon go back and ask for another, until I finished the last piece my father bought.. I can imagine the happiness of my father and my mother..  It covers him, and the secrets of his face bloom like lilies on the balconies of a groom’s house.. What a captivating and captivating feeling!..

I survived and recovered, and even became naughty and naughty.. I was destroying walls and scribbling them.. I break the water bell.. I throw eating boards at anything.. I break glass.. I throw food utensils.. I do all the foolishness and I throw everything I reach at what I lay my eyes on.  ..while my mother would cry because of my actions sometimes, and get angry at other times, and punish me harshly most of the time, my loud crying and noise filled the house every hour, until the neighbors and the landlord complained to my father because of my inconvenience and crying.. I was annoying to my family, the neighbors and the landlord.. I could not stop  About naughty, crying, noise and screaming.

***

(3)

Misery and misery!

My father used to spend about ten hours working hard and hard, in order to keep us alive, and to pay our modest livelihood, as well as the livelihood of his other family that he supported in the village, which is impatiently waiting for what comes from my father, who is burdened with the responsibility of subsisting us all..

Life was difficult, and our whole struggle for survival, for covering and continuing with life is the most we dream and want.

My mother used to ask my father to close the door for us from the outside, for fear of being affected by a statement or rumor, for she is the daughter of a “sheikh” as she used to describe and cherish herself, and my father would not refuse her request, so he closed the door on us from the outside until he returned from work at the end of the day.

My mother was very shy, conservative, and apprehensive to the point of locking herself between walls.. She did not open a window or a door.. My father was the only one who opened the door and he was the one who closed it, while my mother occupied her time with cleaning, washing clothes, cooking and doing all the housework..

But why am I also imprisoned and not allowed to go out to the street to play with children or to look at them from a window?!!  I want to see what happens outside the walls of the house!!  I want to see faces, people, movement, and with it the hustle and bustle of life.

All hours of the day and night – except for sleep – my eyes hit the walls and the roof of the house.. There is no crack in the window and no keyhole in the door..

I hear some of what is happening outside the house, but I do not see it.. My curiosity is suppressed by cement walls and teak wood, and there is no room and no hope to see what is happening in the street of noise, fights and giggles..

I want to know the world outside the walls of our house.. I want to see the neighbors’ children and the crazy (Shams) on her bed in the street, surrounded by sacks and earrings, and the empty boxes that I once saw when I went out with my sick father for treatment..

I want to see all the details outside the walls of the modest house we rent.. I have no way of seeing the world outside the walls of our house.. Everything is narrow in the house, like my narrow chest, and my small skull.. I feel like I spend my days in a small bottle sealed with iron, trapping me and surrounding me  , and stifles my breath.. It was natural for me to be naughty, and for this deprivation and suffering to find its reflection in my naughty and rebellious behavior between the walls and the roof of the house, and its siege.

***

(4)

Death invades us..questions and obsessions

Why do I die, my God?! I know you are wise, but the question also seeks wisdom and clarification?! We are craving for knowledge, and perhaps we have been set on this, and perhaps knowledge is an existential challenge for man.. We are trying to understand what cannot be understood, to unveil it, to reveal its mysteries and ignorance, and to know what we do not know, even if it is beyond understanding and knowledge from the beginning, or needs Answering the questions to their due time range, but the honor of trying is an existential practice that makes us deserve this existence in which we live.

Knowledge may not come by giving in, or by ignoring what should not be ignored, but it comes from the use of reason and experience, raising questions, discussing hypotheses and theories, or replacing or correcting them.. Emptiness does not provide knowledge, knowledge or understanding of anything.. Questions must do their work, be implemented. inward and delving into the depths, and the search for the answer is underway, and every effort and effort is made; To discover what is unknown and mysterious, and to remove all ambiguity or ambiguity.. The authority of knowledge is what we need to penetrate to the diameters of the lofty heavens, and great things, as they said, “start with a small question.”.. It was said in the hadith, “The cure for consciousness is a question.”

Questions are the gates to knowledge, and they are the way to what we seek for certainty, or they are a means that guides us in order to reach it.. We are here asking or asking in order to dispel confusion, to reveal something of knowledge, or a corner of knowledge, or a guide we are looking for, or a means in Serving people and their future.

What was in the paths of yesterday was difficult to understand and science, or impossible for it, today has become known or an understandable reality and present in front of the eyes, and the impossible becomes possible, and what was difficult to understand and science today, may become a cognitive axiom tomorrow, and what we do not long answer today, we will extend it tomorrow Tomorrow does not run out and does not end in the path of eternal or long time..

The future, which we seek and work for, will unravel many of the secrets of the universe and its ambiguities.. The universe is hoarded with endless secrets, and surpasses every imagination and imagination.. And knowledge has no limits.. As long as a human being remains in his existence, he will remain confused and questioning, and questioning until he reaches and is reassured about what It can be reached, or he continues to modify what he thought was certain, until he reaches it, or the minimum of it, and the accumulation of knowledge continues to discover more, and man continues to harvest knowledge, and in a range that may not end except with his annihilation..

Some ask: If death is a necessity and life is a necessity, then you, O God, have power over all things.. What would have happened if necessities were absent, and God did not create creatures, and the universes and worlds did not witness life or death?! Then he answers: Perhaps if this happened, the severe sadness that fills this existence on the vastness of what we imagine would not have disappeared.. That is how sometimes the question wanders and revolts against us in its prison, especially when the cost of the question or answer to it becomes the life of its owner..

The best was my nothingness, but when I was found, I hate death, O God, and I hate when those we cherish and love are snatched from us.. Staying is a strong instinct in us, or it came with us when we came, we have nothing to do with it, and there is no power or strength.. I hate death when a lover is snatched from us. Or dear, or intimate…

Death when we become attached to those we love is very terrible.. Death is a lonely stillness.. Perhaps nothingness and an emptiness that lasts.. Perhaps death is a separation for eternity, and an endless departure.. Perhaps it is ruin and sadness very heavy for human beings.. This is what I feel when every dear departs, While death for the dead may be something different and different..

Death is a condition that may be delayed, but its arrival is inevitable.. Great postulates may be under suspicion and doubt. As for death, it is a fact and certainty.. It is a law, as it was said, that accepts no doubt or negotiation.. But not everyone, many or some know with certainty what is happening to us. After death and a long absence.. no one came back from death to tell us with certainty what comes next..!

***

(5)

The death of the two sisters!! ..

Our small family in Aden – as I mentioned above – consisted of my father, mother, me and two twin sisters (Noor and Samia).. A small and simple family in which death awaited for a long time until the two roses bloomed.. Death came in a strange and mysterious way, the cause and explanation of which I still do not know until today.. Something was taken from our two sisters’ little family, and I would have been the third, had it not been for Al-Latif.

My sister (Noor) died, and she was not more than a year old.. She suddenly cried with a loud and strong scream, and as soon as she was carried, she fell silent, and when she was placed on the ground she would return with the same scream, until she almost stopped herself, so my father or mother rushed to carry her, so she stopped About screaming, and this situation continues for a long time until she falls asleep carried.. Suddenly she screamed and did not regain her breath, and she died instantly..

Her twin sister (Samiya) when she was more than a year old, the same condition and symptoms recur with her.. She suddenly screams for no known reason, then my father or mother rushes to carry her, but she is silent, and when she is lowered to the bottom or bed, she screams again and in an explosive voice, and she is He carried her quickly, and ended up falling asleep carried.

One day she screamed, so my father rushed to carry her, but her breath stopped, and she did not return, and we do not know the reason for her death to this day.. Some nonsense claimed that she died; Because the house in which we are is haunted by jinn, and others said, “Joy” died.. What joy, then, and the cry of her death slashes the wall.

I loved my sister Samia, she was beautiful and brilliant.. Her life was quick and quick.. A short life, like a lover’s moment.. Like a calf’s dream.. As for my sister Nour, her life was shorter and faster, and her details are unforgettable.

***

(6)

A lonely loss and an endlessabsence

I still remember Samia while she was lying on the bed.. I was overwhelmed with the desire to know what happened!! Mystery was as dense as a galaxy full of incomprehensible mysteries.

I was looking at her amazed as if I was watching her and discovering her for the first time.. Despite death, her face was pulsating with light, and her eyes were shining despite the silence. She was wearing a dress the color of deer blood.. This color is still a fondness for myself, even if it reminds me of a long separation.. I didn’t realize at the time that death had kidnapped her. And she was gone forever.. I didn’t realize that she is no longer between us and that she will not return..

I was always looking for her and crying and saying to my mother: Look for her in her sleeping place, I want my sister, I want to play with her.. My mother could not bear my painful words that bled blood and burning.. She was trying to swallow her stomach, and she was trying to control her deep grief, so her tears would expose her, and she would burst into tears I cry with her without knowing why.

I hated death since then, but my mother used to console me, relieve my pain and hers, and say: She is in the sky, and she is comfortable there, and happy among the poplar girls, and she eats apples, meat, and all kinds of fruits.. All that I am deprived of in the mortal world is Eat it, and enjoy it in the second life..

Perhaps after a while I thought of leaving this mortal world for the abode of the hereafter to enjoy that affluent life, and make up for every deprivation I lived in this world, but it was hard for me to leave my mother alone to mourn for the rest of her life.. I saw that leaving alone without her is selfishness that plagues me, and I saw that staying is an endless torture Except for my departure.. That’s how things became the same, as if I was spinning in an orbit of torment that does not want to end.. But my mother’s love was great.

My mother told me that I will meet my two sisters (Noor and Samia) on the Day of Resurrection… and when will the Day of Resurrection come?! I hate death and long separation?! The strange thing is that my mother – after a while – used to say to me: The brothers do not meet in the second house except on the Day of Resurrection, but after the Resurrection, there is no connection or meeting between brothers, sons or daughters.. Perhaps it was my mother or whoever brought her this saying, intended to deepen The bonds of brotherhood and the consolidation of love between brothers in this world, but for me it was a matter of deep sadness over a separation that is still far away, and a long heartbreak for the distant eternal separation that comes after the Day of Resurrection..

Because of my excessive attachment to my sister Samia, she was born later, so they called her Samiya, to compensate and alleviate the lonely void left by this death that misses our loved ones.. this cruel death and devoid of mercy and feelings.. The beautiful.

***

(7)

I almost died!

Noor and Samia died and I was almost the third of them.. I went through the same condition and symptoms.. I was suddenly screaming like a thunder rumble, while my father or mother rushes to carry me from the ground or the bottom of the place, and as soon as I return to the ground again until the screaming returns.. I sleep, and sometimes I wake up screaming, and the scene is repeated, and my father and mother’s fears and apprehension increase that I am separated from life.

Why am I screaming?! I still remember and do not know if they are symptoms and preparations or what?! .. I am talking here about “scenes” that may be unreal or unrealistic .. I cannot forget what I was “watching” .. the “scene” is still stuck in the memory, digging in it , and its interpretation and meaning is still vague and difficult to my understanding to this day, and perhaps science has said it in such a case for a long time, without my knowledge of it.

I was “watching” a white snake emerging from the bottom.. Its length is about a meter.. It has legs.. Its legs are spread on its edges, and its head is square in proportion to its body, except that it is distinguished by its round eyes, and the width of its head is slightly larger than the width of its body, and it has two hairs in the front of its head as if it were for sensing..

I watch it suddenly! Coming out of the bottom being; I screamed in great terror, as the sisters (Noor and Samia) were screaming, a fiery and explosive scream ripping the wall.. Like a rumble of thunder that comes suddenly in a shocking way in a moment of wandering and wandering.. A scream that does not have an appointment that cuts through the night or the day.. It indicates “watching” a shocking matter. , terrifying and horrible… something that makes me dread and dread split in two.

And when my father or mother was carrying me this snake disappeared at the bottom, I don’t know how it disappears, but it disappears, and when they throw me on the ground, I “see” it again coming out from the concrete bottom, and crawling quickly to the bottom of the room, and this scene is repeated, and with it the screaming is repeated.. They carry me or take turns carrying me until I sleep.. My father and mother do not see him, I was the only one who “see” him, and therefore they were unable to discover the reason for the screaming and what “I watch” if what I “watch” revealed a face, despite what seems to me today impossible. Realism..

On one occasion, the scene of screaming was repeated, and when my father spotted pen scribbles on my hand, he erased them, so my screaming ended and I no longer saw him.. He understood the matter according to the prevailing awareness and culture, and it seemed to him that I wrote on my hand the name “Devil” .. But this interpretation It is not convincing, and it is not correct, because many cases have been repeated with me and with Samia and Nour, without there being writing or scribbles.. So did Satan wrong us?!

***

The third series

the reality that was

(1)

Returning from Aden to the village

On our way back to the village and leaving Aden, I used to watch the British soldiers at the security points wearing khaki shirts, shorts, and military headgear, but what caught my attention and interest was that at every military point in the direction of departure, we find one of the soldiers bidding farewell to us with veneration of peace.  His hand is firmly on his face, to greet us with a solemn salute that raises our destiny and our standing, as if we are leaders and not ordinary and simple people.. He greets us as we pass in front of him and he is in a position of readiness, attention and steadfastness, and he continues to perform the salutation that he singled out for us “in honor and loftiness”, while my little head asks with enthusiasm and passion..

I used to ask myself with the innocence of a child: Do they move?!  Do they stay the same for a long time?!  Do they eat and drink like us?!  Why are they doing this?!  I wished that the Land Rover that used us for a long time would stop in front of each one of them, to see them carefully, and see how long they continue to put (maximizing peace), I want to fill my eyes from each of them for many hours.. Maybe the paradox today seems to me like aliens came  From the sky, it raises a lot of strangeness, wonder and questions in us.

***

But history also reveals to us another face of the occupation other than what was mentioned in these scenes that I went through.. the occupation occupied Aden with a justification uglier than guilt.. a ploy greater than the deception of a fox.. and it continues with several excuses, proliferating tricks, and cunning imbued with malice and cunning..

The occupation did not come for our sake, but for the interests and ambitions of his country’s politicians.. The true face of the occupation can be seen in the essence of this occupation, its expansionist ambitions, and the policy of subjugation it follows, and resorting to the use of force, cruelty and brutality towards those who oppose it or resist it, especially when it fails  His soft policies.. It is the policy of sticks and carrots.. It is a policy that I have always lived through in a similar or similar situation, but I am still living it today.. A policy that is not free of blackmail and coercion.

But why this unusual greeting.. It is a greeting that exudes appreciation, respect and greatness.. Why do you give such a greeting to us when we are simple and ordinary people..?!  Perhaps he wants with this remarkable and attractive farewell to the conscience to leave a good impression on those departing to the land of the North.. It is a message that breaks the solid rock.. Perhaps it is intended to prepare for the possibility of northward expansion in the future, and to create a measure of satisfaction there by spreading this captivating impression.. An impression that creates a degree of  Welcoming and accepting the occupation in the coming days, but the revolution had another word in which it was the decision and the decision.

And between yesterday and today there are worlds and transformations that were not unimaginable, and more than that we found in later stages an occupation steeped in backwardness, nomadism and barbarism.. and we found from our people policies more ruthless, brutal and cruel, and this also does not mean that the hopes and policies of those countries are far from what is happening today, if not  Be his shepherd, and manage the scene from afar with more malicious, mean and despicable hands..

***

We returned from Aden to our village (Sharar) in (Al-Qubeita), burdened with grief and long separation.. We chewed our misery like salt and pus chewed, our wounds were open and deep in our souls..

It is unfortunate that we return, and we have reduced the number of our small families by two “light and sublime” who are the flowers of our existence.. What a terrible loss!..  And expensive.

***

(2)

Sharar, my hometown, looks like me

Our village, like other villages in Wadi Sharar in Qabita, chews its poverty every day, night and day.. Dry bread with tea and milk if many, and porridge and “wazef” are the most important meals that our stomachs are accustomed to, and kept us alive.. “Wozef” is a high protein The benefit he has upon us is beautiful and a great favor that only one of us can deny.. to how much do we owe him survival and life!!

“Sharar” may be a valley or its locality or tired villages on the banks of the swept valley, and scattered houses on the edges and backs of the mountains, and terraces that lack a stream or gale, and depend on the rain that has always let them down in many seasons..

“Sharar” when the rain stops, the money is collected from need and want for the “rain-changer” .. “Sharar” has always been let down by the seasons, and the destinies have turned him crazy.. You have betrayed him, and betrayal and slander return to him, and hope has faded away, so he sought help from “Nama” Rain, after despair and blockage..

A wretched valley is like the misery of its children.. It searches for glory amidst sadness, politics, and devastation.. It is full of poverty and the breath of rebellion.. (Sharar) is like the east looking for a sunrise, and the sunrise is still far away from it.. I do not know why the name of the valley was (Sharar), is there any The spark of the valley, or from the sparks of fire, or from misery mixed with misery..

There is a story told that he was unlucky and a lot of contentment.. How “sinister” I am!!

His story says: When God divided the orchards and gardens among the valleys, he asked (Wadi Sharar) if he wanted a garden or a garden, and he answered him with a contented answer: (If it increases, otherwise I will not wander) he did not add to Wadi Sharar a garden or garden, or so it came in the story.. Sharar “has always suffered from distress and deprivation, and he lacked a garden and an orchard, and hemorrhage doubled his ordeal and disappointment, and perhaps it is not all that bad.

(Sharar) the contentment that some believe has failed our hope before we came, and he is still content to this day, and we are still haunted by the curse of his conviction that we adored, and we did not abandon her love even if we were hungry and our bones were innocent and the body was sick..

We are still proud and proud of contentment, and it did not lose sight of us and did not end, and we are still haunted by the same: “Contentment is an inexhaustible treasure.” Contentment is a treasure that lasts.. “Sharar” is a valley and villages, and my hometown, which I am unable to carry, or help alleviate it.. “Sharar” resembles me or resembles him in some of these and those.

***

(3)

From this reality I came .. poverty and misery!

The inhabitants of our countryside are poor in general, and some of them are destitute, living in hardship and misery and in many places… They toil and toil from the dawn of God until sunset, for a decent living that they earn with their hard work and sweat.. The hard-to-find livelihood in our mountains is hard to come by, and it bleeds hearts and nails.

Our mountains are rugged and lofty, and their mud is few and dear.. Trees overcome thirst and thirst, and the roots of sidr, bramble and “also” make a patient and defiant path to rock and mountain.. It is the struggle with their destiny and their desperate and victorious challenge.

Agriculture is seasonal, and most of the seasons are “disappointing and unaffected.” Many of the clouds are false, even if they appear to be heavy with heavy rain, then discover after a short period that they are deceptive, bearing neither rain nor rain.. The dumps of fates are many; Few are the seasons that have fulfilled and produced abundant rain, from the time of sowing until the time of harvest.

In the days of bleeding, water is scarce.. Women fight fierce battles for long hours; In order to fetch water from distant places.. a woman spends – sometimes – a third of the day or a quarter of the night; To obtain one bear of water whose capacity does not exceed twenty liters.

Hunger was squeezing the stomachs, and the belt of poverty placed a stone under it, and malnutrition was a close companion, and death was a free man who snatched away those who craved, and most of those who were kidnapped by death and lusted for by children and boys, and young men of the age of flowers .. In our regions, the three fears have always united us; Poverty, disease, ignorance, and an addition to them anguish.

The days of Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha are the days of joy of the year, and joy rarely finds room in others.. Most people buy new clothes, once a year, wear them during Eid al-Fitr and then keep them for Eid al-Adha; To shoot “two birds with one stone”, as mentioned in the proverb.. Few are those who are able to buy clothes twice a year.. The clothes purchased are modest in price and quality, and we do not follow a type or “brand”..

In our countryside, the struggle was bitter for life.. Deprivation is similar to us, and it is our home and in it we live. It is neither absent nor backbited, nor parted, as if it is a close companion. to eat lamb twice a year; And they may taste it at birth, death, or birth.. and if you are thrown to eat chicken breast on days other than happy days, you only have to stay sick, and affectionate and love you and take care of you.

***

As for me, I did not like that a rooster or a chicken should be slaughtered for me, and perhaps one day I grew old and refrained and took up the challenge, and I said even if the “bile” reached my head, and tuberculosis reached the bone marrow. Life or death..

I have always refrained from what I like; To prolong the life of a rooster or a chicken, and to feel the happiness of this survival, which I refrained as much as I could from getting involved in putting an end to a life that could be long, and I have always felt this intense feeling..

But my mother devised a method, or perhaps she transmitted it, or remembered it, or tempted and persuaded me to resist my refusal to slaughter a rooster or a chicken, so she tells me that if she slaughters a rooster or a chicken, you can see who will die soon, by examining a hole in the breastbone of a rooster or a chicken. Which will tell us if the next dead person is young or old.. so we keep waiting for who will die soon.

Also, my mother used to examine the breastbone, and if it tended to turn red, she would say that there would be rain in the next few days.. She used to do the same thing when the carcass was “cattle” through a bone in the carcass, we called it “the rib.” I remember that one day she told us that one is big and great. He will die. President Gamal Abdel Nasser died after a few days or weeks, and we loved him very much.

Our family was large, so the meat of a rooster or chicken was distributed between my brothers and my father, and it belonged to me with a chicken breast or most of it.. My mother said, “The stinger is for the shriveled gray hair, the neck is for the owner of the threshold, and the wing is for the ambitious boy. My dad is blushing, and maybe you could add something else to it.

***

 When I grew up, grew up and thought, I realized that changing consciousness is a difficult and complex matter that requires a lot, and that changing a reality like this is beyond my ability, and I cannot establish my laws in a world full of chaos and absurdity, and heavy customs, norms and traditions that have been rooted in a society for thousands of years..

From this society and from this difficult reality I came.. a society to which I came under compulsion or doubtful without choosing.. a society that needs a thousand miracles and a thousand years to be the way I dreamed.. I dream of another world that is unfulfilled, and unable to exist..

***

The inhabitants of our countryside are poor in general, and some of them are destitute, living in hardship and misery and in many places… They toil and toil from the dawn of God until sunset, for a decent living that they earn with their hard work and sweat.. The hard-to-find livelihood in our mountains is hard to come by, and it bleeds hearts and nails.

Our mountains are rugged and lofty, and their mud is few and dear.. Trees overcome thirst and thirst, and the roots of sidr, bramble and “also” make a patient and defiant path to rock and mountain.. It is the struggle with their destiny and their desperate and victorious challenge.

Agriculture is seasonal, and most of the seasons are “disappointing and unaffected.” Many of the clouds are false, even if they appear to be heavy with heavy rain, then discover after a short period that they are deceptive, bearing neither rain nor rain.. The dumps of fates are many; Few are the seasons that have fulfilled and produced abundant rain, from the time of sowing until the time of harvest.

In the days of bleeding, water is scarce.. Women fight fierce battles for long hours; In order to fetch water from distant places.. a woman spends – sometimes – a third of the day or a quarter of the night; To obtain one bear of water whose capacity does not exceed twenty liters.

Hunger was squeezing the stomachs, and the belt of poverty placed a stone under it, and malnutrition was a close companion, and death was a free man who snatched away those who craved, and most of those who were kidnapped by death and lusted for by children and boys, and young men of the age of flowers .. In our regions, the three fears have always united us; Poverty, disease, ignorance, and an addition to them anguish.

The days of Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha are the days of joy of the year, and joy rarely finds room in others.. Most people buy new clothes, once a year, wear them during Eid al-Fitr and then keep them for Eid al-Adha; To shoot “two birds with one stone”, as mentioned in the proverb.. Few are those who are able to buy clothes twice a year.. The clothes purchased are modest in price and quality, and we do not follow a type or “brand”..

In our countryside, the struggle was bitter for life.. Deprivation is similar to us, and it is our home and in it we live. It is neither absent nor backbited, nor parted, as if it is a close companion. to eat lamb twice a year; And they may taste it at birth, death, or birth.. and if you are thrown to eat chicken breast on days other than happy days, you only have to stay sick, and affectionate and love you and take care of you.

***

As for me, I did not like that a rooster or a chicken should be slaughtered for me, and perhaps one day I grew old and refrained and took up the challenge, and I said even if the “bile” reached my head, and tuberculosis reached the bone marrow. Life or death..

I have always refrained from what I like; To prolong the life of a rooster or a chicken, and to feel the happiness of this survival, which I refrained as much as I could from getting involved in putting an end to a life that could be long, and I have always felt this intense feeling..

But my mother devised a method, or perhaps she transmitted it, or remembered it, or tempted and persuaded me to resist my refusal to slaughter a rooster or a chicken, so she tells me that if she slaughters a rooster or a chicken, you can see who will die soon, by examining a hole in the breastbone of a rooster or a chicken. Which will tell us if the next dead person is young or old.. so we keep waiting for who will die soon.

Also, my mother used to examine the breastbone, and if it tended to turn red, she would say that there would be rain in the next few days.. She used to do the same thing when the carcass was “cattle” through a bone in the carcass, we called it “the rib.” I remember that one day she told us that one is big and great. He will die. President Gamal Abdel Nasser died after a few days or weeks, and we loved him very much.

Our family was large, so the meat of a rooster or chicken was distributed between my brothers and my father, and it belonged to me with a chicken breast or most of it.. My mother said, “The stinger is for the shriveled gray hair, the neck is for the owner of the threshold, and the wing is for the ambitious boy. My dad is blushing, and maybe you could add something else to it.

***

When I grew up, grew up and thought, I realized that changing consciousness is a difficult and complex matter that requires a lot, and that changing a reality like this is beyond my ability, and I cannot establish my laws in a world full of chaos and absurdity, and heavy customs, norms and traditions that have been rooted in a society for thousands of years..

From this society and from this difficult reality I came.. a society to which I came under compulsion or doubtful without choosing.. a society that needs a thousand miracles and a thousand years to be the way I dreamed.. I dream of another world that is unfulfilled, and unable to exist..

***

(4)

The day I pooped a snake

Our villages lacked much of what we need or resort to..there are no health clinics or medical facilities..there are no laboratories that can detect our ailments and diagnose our diseases, even minor ones..there is no such thing as health awareness, and we have no such thing as a doctor’s instructions..it was often Reliance on health in God, and health often deteriorated and our tricks were guided from disease.. The possible was few and not extensive, or it is in the rule of less and less for those who have some space and ability..

The treatments available in the “shops” were no more than the number of fingers on one hand; These are “Aspirin”, “Aspirin”, “Abu Fez”, “Al-Mustalitam” and “Sunnah Drink”. This is all we know about the treatment that is sold, and we were familiar with it in those days.. This was all our pharmacy that we resort to and resort to whenever the cold strikes us. Or cold, fever, headache, joint pain and squeaking bones.

As for cautery, or what we call “stigmata,” it is used to treat some diseases that did not respond to the usual treatment, or were intractable at that time and place… if the patient was unable to obtain a doctor and appropriate medication; Ironing is the last treatment, and perhaps not the last, and there are preferred ones.. Perhaps there are multiple and “stigmata” moving around in the same body in search of healing, even if body deformities are left accompanying their owners until the end of life. Or waiting for the sick person to die.

As for what we call “yolk” and jaundice, one of the blood vessels under the tongue was cut.. As for the surgeon, we used trees to heal through a resinous substance found in the “apky” tree.. And there are some plants and other trees that can be resorted to for other diseases he is accustomed to. People are like “sutures”, for example, to break up or stop the growth of kidney stones or help them out.

We did not know the vaccine or the vaccine except once, it came to us through the school, and it was against smallpox.. I still carry a “mechanism” on my forearm to this day.. We used to feel that we were living in a remote part of this world that is difficult even to our imagination in those days..

The doctor, whom my father used to call “the wise,” is only found in a remote area. We did not resort to him unless the disease reached its level, and the symptoms became so severe that we were afflicted by him.. But we often did not resort to him unless the situation allowed and the disease had afflicted us.. We were resisting. Our diseases, or we often live with them until necessity calms us down or motivates us, if there is enough time to go to the doctor who is miles and leagues away from us..

The two times I was taken to the doctor in the village; The first was to the “Thabab” area and the second to a clinic in the Shaab area of southern Yemen.. This was when I suddenly had shortness of breath late at night in a condition that resembled “asthma” or was so.. In both cases, my ambulance was carried out on the back of a donkey..

In our villages, we used to live with our diseases or they coexist with us, and as soon as the disease calms us down, we can look for a trick or a doctor, or we go to the city for someone who has the ability and capacity.. Most people did not reach a doctor or a city.. We used to live with all the “fears.” Poverty and disease used to burden us, and they took us every way.

***

We went to Al-Khamis market, me and my cousin Salem.. We resolved to escape, and we actually fled to the “Al-Rama” area to seek refuge with some of his relatives there.. Our action was like a humanitarian asylum we sought.. On the way to our escape in the “Ataba” I saw the mountains moving quickly.. I tried I rubbed my eyes and looked closely at what I saw, and I found that it seemed certain, and I even saw it running at an amazing speed..

I asked my comrade Salem, who is fugitive with me, does he see what I see; He answered me that he also sees what I see and all the mountains around us are moving fast.. We talked and agreed that what we are seeing is reality and not imagination.. It seemed to us as a heavenly revelation and a great revelation that God gave us.. Dizzy and we live in moments of dizziness.. We arrived at Al Rama. Some of his family greeted us with dread and fears about the reactions of our people.

During my childhood I suffered from dizziness, fatigue and loss of appetite.. I suffered from weakness, exhaustion, exhaustion, and malnutrition.. Abdominal pains that were severe at times, colic and some intestinal disorders that plagued me from time to time..

Sometimes I suffer from vomiting, diarrhea and flatulence..Sometimes I feel the need to defecate for a long time or return to defecate after a short time, and then I see nothing but a little abscess that oozes and a little stool that looks moldy and mucus and smells bad and penetrating, and we called this case “Uzz,” I’ve always had, and I’ve also had itching around the rectum and anus, and I’ve always found worms running on the edge.

I looked exhausted and suffered from my diseases and tried to live with them, and most of them were due to the lack of healthy food and before that clean water.. During bleeding seasons, especially severe ones, the water that we brought from wells and drank was mostly sour and smelled bad, and we have no alternative or inevitable to drink it…

We were living in a struggle for life and survival, and some of what kept us alive was at the same time bringing disease or causing it… Destinies that imposed their will on us without question, forced living, and the absence of an alternative.. “Your brother is forced, not hero.”

Anemia was inherent in my childhood, or this is what I learned later.. and more than that, we were settlements of creatures living in us against our will.. I felt that my stomach and intestines had turned into a settlement of many and varied worms.. I saw worms in my stools of more than one type and Faisal, but that On one occasion, the surprise was so great that it exceeded my imagination and endurance, and even my imagination.

***

My father was getting wet in an amphitheater in the mountain, and my aunt Umm Abdo Farid was not far away, and I was peeing nearby.. I went to defecate and instead of faeces I saw something coming out of my intestines through the anus..a white object that looked like a snake.. I asked myself A moment of confusion and confusion: a snake lives in my stomach… What does it do and how does it live?! I am now in a moment vulnerable to being stung.. I have experienced moments of confusion that are beyond my imagination!! I struggled with myself, and my shyness tried to help me be patient…but what happened was bigger than me and my imagination!

I lived moments of ordeal, confusion and great panic.. I continued with my dysentery to get it out, but it seemed to me that the snake was getting longer, and my patience was running out, while that stuck organism continued to expand.. Its end reached the ground while it was still hanging from the anus, expanding and lengthening, and I do not know its other end where it extends. I imagined that it was bigger than my intestines.. I felt more fear, panic and turmoil..

I tried to bear it, so that this strange creature might come out without happening what seemed to me like a scandal.. If I screamed and people knew my story, it might follow me for the rest of my life. To know the end!!

My patience ran out and the matter exceeded my endurance and imagination and the experience of a child who is still not aware of a situation like this, but I did not know anything of this that affected others, whether old or young.. I had never before experienced a similar experience and in this way of gravity that seemed to be greater than me.. The experience and the moments were The confusion is awful for a child like me.

I was terrified before the sound.. I ran out screaming flying in every direction, “Hanash.. Hanash.. Hanash…” and panic was sweeping me from my head to my five feet.. My screaming preceded my running with the range of the sound..

My aunt hurriedly rushed towards me, and tried to find out, and as soon as she knew my story, she pulled that creature out, saying, “Qalalit.. Qalalit.” I did not know this name. And Makhbour.. I continued to calm down from my panic and panic, and my shyness and my great shyness that overwhelmed me and was intensifying with my passing moments..

I saw the worm from my height as a snake on the ground, perhaps breathing or showing slight movements, my fear calmed and in return I became more ashamed of myself than ever before.. I felt that my shyness swallowed me.. I wished for a moment that the ground on which I was standing would swallow me so that no one would see me, and I knew That I needed a little patience to be able to get rid of that creature that terrified me, then I ask about him and what happened to me, and I know everything by answering a question..

What happened exceeded my years and my experience, and it was the first time that I fell in this way that made me feel that the mountain had monitored everything that happened to me and saw it with its own eyes, while my father knew the matter and was laughing in a voice that increased my shame and embarrassment even more.. Moments of shame are like scandal..

Fortunately, my peers, children, did not know my story, otherwise my scandal would have been on everyone’s lips, and it might have prompted me to commit suicide or to flee away from my village to a remote place where I live far from what I lived and saw. I laugh at him, and more than that, I realized that the extent of awareness or its growth can change our view of many things and concepts, including the “flaw” that we have always lived with.

These various worms, small and large, were subsisting on my food and what was in my stomach.. They shared my right to live and life, and even felt that they were feeding me.. When I grew up and read, I knew that that snake was the “Ascaris” worm, and it is also called the “belly snake.” Its length is approximately 27 cm, and the height of its life for him ranges from two to six years.

***

(5)

My mother and she shapes our conscience

My mother used to tell us – me and my brothers – captivating tales.. We used to follow her narration word by word. We were led after her speech as bewitched.. We were tied to her without bonds.. In every plot and twist in the story we looked forward to our passion to learn more, until she reached her story. The last, and the desired end.

Our attachment to her never ceased before the story gave its happy ending, in which truth triumphs over falsehood, and justice over injustice.. We follow its rhythm and hold our breath until we reach the climax. Goodness and with it we mobilize our passionate emotions throughout its narration until it ends with its joyful and joyful victory after fight, flight and defeat.. These are stories that deserve our follow-up, taste and integration..

Our consciences were delicate, our minds tender, and the receptors of our consciousness sensitive and captivating.. Those stories made good bright and captivating, so they developed it in our conscience, and called us to siding with it, urging us to do it, and on the other hand, growing our hatred against injustice, falsehood and evil, and confronting them without urging us to resist them. despair or surrender…

She refined and nurtured our morals day by day.. Developed our emotions and our equilibrium.. made us human and developed our beautiful feelings and delicate feelings.. I am part of you, mother. I am still to this day as you used to hope and wish.. What do I think I’m doing, Mama?

What my mother told us was to a large extent together..attractive to us, affecting our conscience, and deeply felt in our souls..she was excavating her tales from the circulated heritage and popular awareness transmitted and transmitted on his lips..

Among the tales that she told us more than fifty years ago in our dark evenings and nights: Al-Hamid bin Mansour, Abd al-Rahim, Hamamat al-Maramid, the old woman the priest, “Al Jarjof”, the wolf, Abu Nawas, and the Seven Brothers..

We listened and stood in front of her while she was speaking, as if she was Buddha and we are his students.. I often lived the scene that she was telling as it is.. I took in myself while listening to the character of one of the good heroes of the story.. I live the role until it reaches its climax.. I interact with his emotions and rhythms.. I follow them as the schedule follows its course.. I yearn for the end to relax myself, and rejoice, and then sleep quietly and calmly..

Tears streamed from my eyes, and rolled silently down my cheeks, some stuck to my lips, I felt their hotness and fed their saltiness, I know my tears as I know myself, and the night had its virtue; Because he covers her and hides her from my mother and my brothers, just as my mother’s attractive narration style had another advantage, as it drew my brothers’ attention so as to prevent their intrusion into my eyes, my tears, and my restrained emotions.

Then, in my youth, I was surprised that some of these tales were recorded in the book “Yemeni Tales and Legends” by the writer “Ali Muhammad Abdo”, and when compared, I found in my mother’s story some additions and additions, perhaps she came from her imagination, or added by the imagination of those she received from before her..

***

As my mother used to talk to us about God, Muhammad, Ali and the angels, and everything she received from her ascetic father and fondness for reading the Qur’an.. He would tell her about the stories of the Qur’an and some of its teachings and interpretations.. I was fascinated by the story of Mary and her son Isa, and the miracles of this prophet, which stuck some of his influential biography in my mind. To today..

When I grew up, I understood why Christ said – while suffering from the throes of death at his crucifixion – “My Lord, why did you forsake me?!” I was touched by that immortal phrase to him “He who has no sin, let him throw a stone at her.” I sympathized with the one who lost his father.. I have compassion for foundlings who do not It is their fault..I side with the victims, whoever they are..I understand the mistakes and what life brings to the human being..

I understood what it means for a person to live and die unjustly, or resisting oppression and tyrannical authority.. I knew what glory and immortality reached Christ after his death or after “his lameness.” However, I was more saddened when his name was exploited and his blood was exploited by some tyrannical kingdoms and empires, And the miscreants who ruled it, and how the peoples were subjugated, occupied, and exploited under its name, and how Christianity became a hell and burning in which free-thinkers, scholars, and the enlightened were thrown!!

***

My mother also used to tell us that God sees us wherever we are, and that each of us has two angels, one on your right writes your good deeds and the other on your left writes down the bad… From her, and she tells me that my hand will come pregnant and swollen with her pregnancy on the Day of Resurrection.. and this matter remained in my mind, very present even after puberty..

Despite my mother’s warnings, I did not increase, as I went too far in her and abused her and maybe addicted her for a long time.. Whenever I decided after committing her that I would quit her forever, I found myself returning to her not long after with a longing and craving greater and more than the previous one.

“Something with something is mentioned.” I remembered this while reading Milan Kundera’s novel “Immortality,” in which a believing mother was urging her daughter to break some of the habits that had stuck to her, as the mother would say to her daughter: “God sees you.” He hoped by this that she would get rid of the habit of lying, and usually Biting her nails, and inserting her fingers into her nostrils, while the opposite happened, which is what was happening.. She did not imagine the Lord in particular, except in these moments when she was practicing her bad habit, or in moments of her shame..

I also used to remember the Lord as soon as I did what you warned me about.. I would practice the habit and repeat it despite His control and feel the most disappointment and remorse after it.

***

My mother also used to warn us a lot against drinking wine, and slandered him, the one who drinks it, the one who wears it, and the one who pledges allegiance to him, an angry campaign more than the wrath of the Lord.. a hatred that I do not know from where it crept in, and she did not know that after fifty years her son would “rattle” “the group of people who are not Drunken by blood” in response to targeting him and his companions, and protesting against the bad conditions, and against the blood that is shed and shed with unprecedented madness, after we found the life that was supposed to be better has become more than miserable, and the head that we were keen on from cold and headache, has become the other Underestimated or worthless, he will be bored or exploded by a bullet that may come to you from a miserable illiterate person in thought and culture, and perhaps from those who cannot read and write, while the miscreants run the scene from their safe and fortified dimension..

***

(6)

Our ancestors are from Hadhramaut

Our villages are scattered around the valleys and on the backs of high mountains..some tried to climb higher, and some tended to approach the valleys..our villages are as tired as their men, women and children..how did we come here?! Where did we come from?! And how did our ancestors reach it, hundreds of years ago?!

They said that our grandfather came from Hadhramaut to these areas from “Al-Qubaita” more than three hundred years ago, and they call him “Sheikh Hayya”, and his uncle “Sheikh Ahmed” accompanied him and with them a slave or more, and we do not know if there were other men in their company, and we do not know if he Eve had a presence with them, or she was among the arrivals.

The two names are associated with the title Sheikh, and it seems that the reason for this is due to their social and religious status.. My mother was affiliated with “Sheikh Hayy”, while my father was affiliated with Sheikh Ahmed.. It is noticeable that the attention to the shrine of “Sheikh Hayy” is more than to the shrine of “Sheikh Haiyi.” By order of my mother and her encouragement, I spread from the dirt of her grandfather’s grave, and I did not spread from the dirt from my grandfather’s grave from my father.

However, the question is: What prompted those grandparents to leave the glory of Hadhramaut and its good people, and come to this remote, difficult region, or one that is not without visible ruggedness, and perhaps also empty or sparsely populated?! How do they leave Hadhramaut, bypassing hundreds of places, on a road that extends nearly a thousand miles, to settle down and travel in a remote and unknown area, where there is nothing that attracts or tempts, or deserves adventure..?!

What prompted those ancestors to leave Hadhramaut, land and sea, plains and beaches, and people, and to cross in their long journey many diverse environmental and population diversity, some of which are more attractive than these areas in which they landed?! How did they cross a distance that may take many months to cross, to end up in remote areas very far from their families and families, and it is the stable in which they landed, and built their homes on the backs of its high mountains, then they tended to decline?!

I asked my mom one day why! She answered me by hearing that they came from Hadhramaut to this region, looking for a fatwa!! And it made me wonder!! Our regions do not have sheikhs, and they are not famous for their knowledge or fatwas, and there are not many people in them in those days, but perhaps their monkeys were more than their people, or those who lived in them.. And inheritances?!! Maybe.

Are there political and social reasons, or acts of repression and persecution of authorities, or the presence of unrest and instability, or the like that made them leave Hadramawt, and go away from them to remote and fortified areas, or difficult for those who thought of persecution or imposing his authority on them? !! Was he behind the selection of these areas; To be a home for those coming to it, because of the security, peace, and protection it provides for them?!! Or was it that our areas 300 years ago were green meadows, bushes, gorges, and abundant water that attracted those looking for a better life and livelihood in choosing those who traveled there..?!!

They are questions that need research to reach the truth, the answer, or an approach to what happened.

***

(7)

shrine of the two sheikhs

Sheikh Hayy” or Sheikh “Yahya” has a shrine on a hill or a small mountain in Wadi Sabih, and the shrine is guarded by a room and two domes that are painted with white light days before the date of the “birth,” and the paint of the domes and the shrine room is renewed on the scheduled date of the following year. The paint of the light made the place majesty and prestige, and the brightness of its whiteness could comfort you and make you feel that you are not alone.. you look forward to the shrine in your panzers, so the shrine appears majestic and captivating, day or night.. you hear someone saying to your sight in a loud voice: Stand a little.. there is what deserves stand up.

When the birthday of “Sheikh Hayya” approaches, a call is made to him, and it is called “al-Tatrib” which is the announcement of its date, which takes place on the Thursday market day, and takes place from a high place in the market, and the announcement begins with the phrase “the present knows the absent..” What I remember from my childhood time was that I was I wait for the year to pass for a long time.. I yearn to attend this birthday with the warmth of all my souls.. The longing of my childhood is burning in an unparalleled way.. My presence for what I long for showers me with a waterfall of indescribable and unparalleled happiness..

The birthday was like a festive carnival, attended by a large crowd of people, and happiness reserved for the children the place worthy of happiness and unforgettable memories.. On the birthday the mountain in which the saint or the shrine appeared to me like a Christmas tree colored by bright lights.. you see the mountain as if it was covered And shells, pearls, and sea stars.. Bright in attendance and colorful clothes.. The banners flutter high in more than one gathering and place, and some of them are carried when ascending the corner to the hall of the place in the mountain.. And the banners cover the shrine, so it appears crowned with solemnity and reverence on the day of its completion. And you see the delights on the faces of everyone who attended.

At the bottom of the mountain the people gather, and the huge and lush red tree casts its shadow over everyone.. There is the shrine of “Sheikh Ahmed” in the immediate vicinity, and the hustle and bustle of life and buying and buying are at his help.. Life here is bright and flowing.. Noisy after a year of stillness.. That this day is celebrated by everyone, both dead and alive.. sacrifices are slaughtered, people eat their lunch, and they do not leave before the crowd breaks up to leave..

In the afternoon or shortly before, the crowd gathers at the bottom of the mountain; To establish the corner, and start walking and ascending towards the shrine of “Sheikh Hayy” on the hill of the mountain.. The crowd moves little by little while pulsing and overflowing with light.

I still remember the Majzoub here, starting to shiver.. He pulled his side out of its sheath, and began to place her head in the palm of his left hand and his right hand clutching its handle.. He tilted it and tilted his hands two and three times on the corner of his eyes, as if he was searching in its brilliance for a code or a secret waiting for its time. or its flow.

They said: He is looking and waiting for the sign that would allow him to enter the midst of the “attraction.” He began to shake like a branch in the face of the wind, or a camphor tree in the face of a storm.. Then he would get down on his knees and hit the edge of the side on his right and left shoulders, without seeing blood or blood. A trace.. he repositions his body on the tips of his toes, stimulated, and strikes on his shoulders.. he stabs his stomach with successive blows, and leaves no trace on his body despite everything he did.. he leaves no trace but bewilderment and astonishment on the faces of our early childhood.. then he comes back and surpasses those I drenched him, and he came out of his condition, and returned to normal, and it was not as if something extraordinary had happened.. How beautiful those few days! What a beautiful childhood! And they will definitely not come back.

***

(8)

Eating dirt..

He used to eat dirt with me when I was younger, my cousin (Salem Ahmed Muhammad Hashem), who is about ten months older than me.. Our appetite for eating dirt is due to the malnutrition we lived together.. Bad nutrition was some of us.. I accompanied our miserable childhood day by day, and I realized some of my adolescence And my first youth.. It always made me tired, burdened me, and kept me until the beginning of my enrollment in the military college..

Decades passed without knowing the truth of my motive for eating dirt in my early childhood, other than its palatable and delicious taste, and my enjoyment of it when I used it.. Perhaps I attributed this condition or some of it to my young age and lack of understanding of the harm, or the inability to distinguish.. and perhaps I attributed some of it to The stubbornness of boys and their reactions to punishment, or out of ignorance and curiosity, which prohibition turned into rumination and habit that is not without pleasure and enjoyment.

My seclusion with dirt was very enjoyable, but it was not without a certain punishment, even if it was delayed sometimes.. The remnants of dirt paste with my saliva in my mouth and its surroundings exposed my action without equivocation.. After more than fifty years, I read that the reason why a child eats dirt is due to the lack of iron. In his body..

You eat dirt because of malnutrition, and a lack of the iron element that your body needs, then you are punished by beatings for a reason beyond your control, and you may be beaten with iron because your body lacks the element of iron, and you will be subjected to more torment, and knots will live in you, and you will continue to witness growing inside you and in the depths of your awareness and consciousness. Subsequent disturbances and behavioral deviations that harm you and others, and the justice of the earth will be absent from you, and the justice of heaven will be delayed until the “day of judgment.”

I ate dirt in the age of my first childhood.. I was a victim of my circumstances since my childhood.. a victim of authority, ignorance, oppression, and wrong upbringing.. a victim of poverty, need and destitution.. a victim of the reality that many factors participated in its production and manufacture..

However, what is unfortunate today, when I live in my fifth decade or leave it towards my sixty, is that there are those who want and even insist to keep me captive to my want and need.. Who wants me to eat dirt for the rest of my life.. Who wants to live as a victim to the end of life, concerned about myself, Drenched in the details of my daily life, burdened with my heavy suffering.

Here are those who want me and others to remain preoccupied with the corruption and violations of the authority, and to prevent people from defending the rights and freedoms of people, but also trying to pull out the bloody nails that are trying to dig into the rock, and more than he who wishes that we could not even breathe, which they envy us and comfort us for.. It is a covenant Brutal was not calculated..

***

In my early childhood, my mother used to beat me to eat dirt, I find her on another occasion she insistently calls me to eat dirt… Amazement, paradox and confusion, and among them a tortured and miserable childhood, burdened with ignorance and severe deprivation..

My mother would accompany me with her on some days, and she would visit the grave of her grandfather “Sheikh Hayya”, and the place included his shrine, his room, two domes, and some annexes.. employed in the alcove of the chamber or at the edge of the tomb; Whoever comes on another day to light the darkness of our grandfather “Sheikh is alive” and my mother does the same, with the grave and shrine of our grandfather Sheikh Ahmed near him, whose grave was perhaps an arm’s length in a modest room, and a flat roof not crowned with a dome..

I saw my mother lighting the shrine of our grandfather “Sheikh Hayy” with candles and light, and she was feeling overjoyed, and a great happiness that could not contain her.. Then she would put her hand in a niche on the wall of the tomb inside, and take out some crumbs of dirt, eat a little of it, and give me a little of it to eat. She was urging and encouraging me to devour it, because – as you think – it is hidden in the secret of her grandfather who came from Hadramout to land here, perhaps a jurist, a scholar, and the owner of “dignities”.

I still remember my mother encouraging me and urging me to eat dirt, and she even begins to devour some of it.. She insists that I devour my share of it.. She mimics me doing the same to her.. She asks me to do what she does.. She does to me as a mother does to her child while she feeds him. After weaning, she was trying hard to make me understand – while I was raking in the dirt – that I would get out of the place and had been provided with something that was not there when I entered it..

Although I lost the pleasure of the soil that I was accustomed to, and suffer from the punishment of devouring it, and despite this soil losing its softness, the spirituality of the place, its prestige, the majesty of the station, and the “dignities” of its owner, according to my mother’s narrations, and the praises and honors of her grandfather, and the secrets it carries. It is worthwhile, or this is what my mother used to teach me at the time, and she narrated it to me with high confidence and unwavering certainty.

If I was exposed to a disease or something bad, she would call her grandfather “Sheikh Hayy” and her grandmother “Janoub” on her mother’s side, and with them was my father’s grandfather “Sheikh Ahmed”, and sometimes she added “Ahmed Ibn Alwan” and “Shagheth” to heal me, revive me, and spare me all evil, and remove all harm from me…

I used to think as a child that this dirt that I devoured was one of the remains of the bones and remains of my mother’s grandfather, but at a late stage I realized that it was from above the grave, not from its inside, and that the remains and remains of my mother’s grandfather are still buried deep in the grave and the place .. Despite my mother’s belief in the magical effect of her grandfather’s soil However, I did not taste the deliciousness of the dirt that I used to eat or got used to, and I used to devour it secretly and hidden from my mother’s eyes.

And just as my mother insists on eating her grandfather’s dirt, she also does with me drinking milk.. As soon as I finish drinking a quantity of it, she begs me urgently and in a low voice to add “drink.. zaid drink.. zaid drink..drink salty..drink is healthy.” Your body.”. Her low voice was as if she did not want anyone to hear between us, and she kept trying and trying to drink more until I despaired that I would return.. She loved me more than my father, and they influenced him in everything, even the milk he drank every evening..

My mother used to insist, and make me drink more cow’s milk, I feel that she wants me bigger and stronger quickly.. She wants me older and grow up prematurely.. Maybe I felt while she was pressing that she wanted me to grow up at once.. As for eating dirt from the grave, she thought that she She entrusts me with the secret of her grandfather, and protects me from every disease, evil, and dislike.

I wasn’t tempted by cow’s milk, but Nido’s milk was what I liked and liked; Perhaps because it was part of me, and it used to meet my need, when my mother’s udder was not enough for me, who was suffering, and I am still less than two years old.. I still desire to this day to pour it into my mouth in large quantities, as I used to do in my childhood and school years, but rather And adolescence as well, so that I appear before myself as an unnatural person, and I give in to him with greed.

As soon as I was a child in the first year of school, most likely, I saw a dream, in which I led the people in prayer in the shrine, and I saw “Sheikh is alive” and other things, I forgot their details, even though the vision was – on that day – like the dawn in terms of clarity and details, but as if it was true. No vision..

My mother and father were unusually interested in this vision, and they asked me to re-tell it to their ears, and I watched an outpouring of joy and a remarkable interest from them in what I narrate. …and most importantly, throughout this long life, I remained coherent, warn of falling, and warn of horrific falls twice and a thousand..

***

(9)

Mystery and beliefs!

My mother’s relationship with her great-grandfathers is close, and her belief in them is a certainty. She supplicates to God and seeks help from Him, without forgetting her grandfathers whom she has repeatedly told, and she trusts in them, and firmly believes that they help her.. Cattle are slaughtered if the matter allows, or there is a great deal that deserves the sacrifice.. This belief continued for her until her death in 2017, and perhaps some of us attributed the reason to the so-called “law of attraction”, or something from it or something like it..

In dreams, my mother used to say that she sees her grandfathers coming to her in a dream, and they tell her about things that will come true, or that will happen in the coming days, whether they are joyful or tragic.. A great matter) and what she said came true within a few days, and as she described it with full meaning without ambiguity or ambiguity.. It was a dream similar to the truth, or a bullet that hit the target in the head or the middle, without deviating the size of a hair..

When I was on a sit-down and hunger strike with the wounded in the vicinity of the wall of the Council of Ministers, in early 2013 my mother was praying to God to support me, to stand with me, and to stand with those who stand with me.. She was calling her grandparents, the guardians, to be by my side in the dangers, and to save me from dangers. And they would come with me at every gathering and deputation.. She would take some banknotes (a denomination of one thousand riyals), dip them in water, recite the Qur’an on them, and warn them to the poor and needy, and she is reassured about what she thinks, and she claims that what she does is enough to protect me from the evils of humans, which You think their evils, perhaps, outweigh the demons.

My mother, according to what she also tells, when the world narrows her down and intensifies, or there is a great thing, or an act or saying that severely hurts her feelings, or something similar that may happen, so she feels something starts to form in her chest, then it grows like a ball, and keeps growing The extent of fullness and overflow, then she feels a beam coming out of her head, and her body trembles like a “drum” of the pullers, or as if something is wearing it and what is taking it out of its phase, and it does not calm down and does not calm down until after it has emptied the energy in its head and chest by butting the wall.. Surprisingly, it makes those who watch it look dumbfounded and dumbfounded.. What she does is greater than suicide and madness, as if she takes her right from the wall two and three times.

Once, during my visit to the village from Aden, and I began to deny many things, I intervened boldly, grabbed her forcefully, and pushed her away from the wall, to prevent her from continuing to gore, out of my fears, and after I thought I would witness the wreckage of her head scattered on the ground, or shattered like glass, while she was living. In the midst of what you’re doing, and in the moment of its climax…

The wall was made of hard mountain stone, very hard and challenging, and in a way that terrified me, until I feared for my mother’s head, and I did not know that preventing her from continuing her action, would harm her in a way I did not imagine.. I had never met him in her life before, and she said to me: (You tripped me. You tripped me. You tripped me) .. Then she got sick for several days.. And after that I let her perform her ritual with the wall as she wanted, and in the way that she liked, until she finished it and calmed down. A balloon opened, blocking its door.

Going to the wall kept happening with my mother until the last month of her life, and she was probably about eighty years old.. And in the last years of her life, as soon as something like this happened to her, we expected something bad to come.. We read it as a feeling from her, she cannot express. About him, except in this strange way..

One day danger surrounded me, and my mother had a panic attack, and she stopped the wall more than once, and she did not finish what she is in except by my urgent phone call, which calmed her and stopped her crazy fit.. I felt that day that our intimacy there is greater than a strong spiritual connection between us, and that Or something exceptional and different, and perhaps it is a strong instinctive feeling from the mother about the danger threatening her son, whom she loves very much, even more than herself, and perhaps from his brothers..

She used to say to me: I ask God to take what is left of my years, and to prolong your life.. She never said something like this to one of my brothers, so both of us lived long.. She approached the age of eighty, and I am close to sixty.. Before she died, she did not hear Other than me, and only fulfill my requests, even if they are against them.

When the disease of death intensified, she would prefer death to eat anything.. If I asked her to eat, she responded and forced herself on him, and in a way I feel that what she does, to implement what I ask, is the cruelty and taste of death, then I am surprised that what she ate comes back after an hour , as if he was hiding somewhere in her mouth, or her mouth, or her pharynx.. It comes back and comes out of her mouth as it entered, without changing, after I thought it had settled in her stomach, or went beyond.. I later learned that such was a harbinger. bad luck.

I was attached – as a child – to my mother until the last day of her life, and I approached the steps of about sixty.. I influenced her on all those who lived with me, and even on myself, and I sided with her victory, not caring about what happens to others..

My mother was always the first option, which I prefer and prefer over all options.. If I reacted to her in a rare and extreme moment of tension, I would soon apologize to her with great remorse, and she made me feel that the space of her heart was a paradise like no other in its capacity, and forgiveness.

As soon as my mother finished butting the wall, she would calm down and rest.. If she did not calm down, it would start again, and she would calm down and rest.. Only when danger surrounded me, it was like a seizure that she did not calm down from or from her terror except with a call from me and talking to her.. She was asserting and insisting that I was in a moment of imminent and sure danger, and it was like that, and the danger was about to fall, and she did not save me from it except for a few minutes.

Scattered and many scenes, countless and endless, I watched her butt the wall.. She was preparing and jogging and butting him three, four and ten.. This matter I did not find a scientific explanation for until today, and I only understood it that it is extraordinary, and for sure.. She is not good at lying. And deception and agility, and she had never worked in a theater, circus or acrobat.

This always reminded me of other scenes that I saw with my own eyes when I was a child… I watched strange people walking around the houses, doing “attractions”, in exchange for some simple gifts, most of which were grains of smoke, corn, barley or the like… We used to call them “magazeb” Ahmed Ibn Alwan “I saw among them someone who takes out his eye from its socket in the jambiya, and keeps it hanging for a while, then puts it back in its place, and someone who repeatedly stabs his stomach and other places of his body with a dagger or a knife or a “strip” which is smaller than a sword..

The most exciting and memorable scene in my memory to this day was that man, probably in his forties, slightly tanned, and his baldness was very clear, extending from the front of his head to some of the back of his head.. He would start banging what we call the “Tableh” in preparation for what was to come. His body trembles as if something had worn him.. Then he stabbed separate parts of his body with a jabiya.

However, the most surprising and memorable thing is that he used to strike the center of his head with a baldness once, a second and a third time, and in the last blow he left it with a bulging baldness on his head, and he removed it from its handle with both hands. We have the certainty of what we see with our own eyes..and you can look closely, to make sure that what you see is a clear reality in which there is no lightness or an acrobat..and our eyes remain dumbfounded and suspended in amazement at what we see, then the scene is stuck in memory until the end of life, without any doubt or doubt about what we saw Prospect..

There are many mysterious beliefs that I still remember to this day.. If my father went out at night and was hit by a thorn, he would return from the road, thinking that evil would happen to him if he ignored it or neglected it.. It seems that he learned this after a long experience.. Perhaps it is in implementation of the proverb that he used to repeat. He said: “If you stumble, be alarmed, and if you become anxious, return.” He applies it if this happens to him at night, and perhaps also during the day, according to what I learned later..

I and my maternal aunt (Sa’ida) my father’s wife used to, if one of us happened to twirl, or rather “walk” the stomach or bottom of one of us’s feet, my brother Ali would arrive from Sana’a, or a guest we loved would greet us, and if one of us “swept” the hand of one of us, we would receive money, or something that would make us happy, or We shake hands with a generous person, or a guest who makes us happy.. This still happens to me sometimes to this day.. We had intuitions and alert senses, and today nothing of them is left but ruins, or less than a few remains.

***

(10)

Obstinacy and authority!

When I was young, I was fond of eating dirt.. Oh my God, how delicious and delicious dirt was!!  And the most pleasant thing is to do this in secret and hidden, away from my mother’s eyes.. As soon as my mother discovered the matter, she would hurry to hit me even before she took the dirt out of my mouth, and sometimes the punishment was delayed until the moment of my exposure after a short time.. However, as soon as I find  A second chance to repeat the stubborn act.. and the beating is repeated, and stubbornness is repeated and I do not repent..

The “political authority” certainly does not resemble my mother.. What my mother did was undoubtedly out of the great love for her torment, which she loves more than herself, and out of fear of panic for his health, which definitely affected her health.. As for what the “political authority” does, it has nothing to do with anything.  Love, and it has nothing to do with health, or perhaps with what is benign, rather it takes place with motives of subjugation, domestication, and perhaps enslavement.. Comparing sometimes is unjust, and it may seem in its silliness to waste the mind, especially when the difference between them is superstitious and horrific..

Perhaps the similarity between my mother and “political authority” is in the use of repression.. but the right prevents even scorn from the mother, no matter how old she is, and no matter how much authority we have attained, and indeed we must respect and honor her with great morals.. while the “authority” oppresses and tyrannizes the people.  .. It is true that both of them are suppressed within the framework of their jurisdiction, but the “political authority” that has no legitimacy came through domination and rape, or by deception and deception.. As for my mother, her legitimacy is from the legitimacy of my existence in the first place.. However, the most important question: Why do we rebel against  The mother, who is the most deserving of obedience and submission, and we do not rebel against “authority” – that is, “authority” – as long as it is unjust and tyrannical?!!

It is true that my mother and “authority” share a facet of ignorance, which is an analogy with the difference, but my mother’s ignorance is justified, and it is part of a reality, the responsibility for changing it rests with the “authority” first;  Which must oppose and undermine ignorance, so what about the mind and “authority” that it intends to devote, not only in nursery and initial upbringing, but also in schools and universities, and relies on it in its policies to a large extent..

The “authority” believes that repression is the only option, or the first option, to obtain immediate results, but the results often come as shocking, or disappointing, and the worst is that the “authority” is stubborn and intransigent towards its people, and does not recognize or acknowledge the mistakes it commits  Only after she has paid a cost greater than the mistake by her stubbornness, and the victim has inflicted something worse than him.

***

The “political authority” and its religious group, which has a deep mind in the past, exaggerate their fanaticism in favor of the closed society, strict in its customs, traditions and culture. Rather, it displays its pride in this closedness, and deliberately imposes and devote it, under the title of preserving the customs and traditions of the authentic community, and in the name of authenticity and defect, immunization and emphasis on the past,  And on everything that is obsolete, backward and worn out, and this is at the expense of the future that we seek.

The “authority” and its religious group live in a state of contradiction and complete schizophrenia, and a blatant lack of reconciliation with themselves, as they are strict in their morals, and exercise their contracts on society, and are strict about small details, oppressing women who do not wear a veil, dealing strictly with those who wear a waist belt, and assaulting advertisements  The hairdresser, which it considers to be a deep outburst, and a terrible moral fall, and thus turns the authority in one of its faces into a strict morality police regarding the issues it adopts, such as its position on women’s rights and freedoms, mixing, fashion, youth clothes, and shaving their heads, and adds to that what is loose  Such as the “soft war” in which it lists everything that it likes, or that it wants to suppress, prohibit and criminalize under that uncontrolled heading.

On the other hand, this “authority” blatantly abandons its responsibilities towards its citizens in what is more important, such as giving up the responsibility to pay the salaries of employees, failing to secure health for its citizens, and abandoning its obligations towards most services or rights, including education as well as its advancement, after being  I messed up most of it..

Modesty in the authority of the religious community is not an industry of consciousness, but rather formalities that it consecrates and deals with strictly.. a black, heavy and blind tent, various social contracts, repression and narrowing, the reproduction of the waste of thought, outdated perceptions, the printing of books and yellow publications, and other loads that carry burdens.  On the shoulders of the woman and besieged her..

The power is considered by the heavy dark reality, the guardianship of the morals of society, and the restriction of personal and public liberties among its priorities and justifications for its existence, while it abandons, in return and in installments or the payment system, all the responsibilities that it had to carry out its work and its duties, which are from the core.

Thus, you find the “authority” and its group transform into a morality police, protecting “morals” and imposing its guardianship on people in the name of the sacred, instead of serving its people, and improving their economic, social, cultural, and scientific level..

***

Reality is distorted and plagued by our diseases, our complexes, and our destructive stubbornness to the other and the self.. Stubbornness began with us from our early childhood, grew up with us, and may remain stuck in our depths until we reach the lowest age – if we reach it – just as the abnormal education in our society begins with us from the nursery, and the care continues with us.  Distortions during the period of upbringing and adolescence, until they reach the bone and the core, and their harm extends from the person to the society.. The authority of a group that despises song and accuses poetry, even if the person reconciles with himself, and even turns him by accusing it into a demon, its duty to eradicate it with awareness and practice, even if it is  ascetic..

The “authority” became obstinate when all of it, with its equipment, money, influence, media, and means of repression, rallied in the practice of subjugating a simple family like the family of “Iqbal al-Hakimi”, just because “Iqbal” and her family decided – one day – to demand an end to the crimes that are being committed against them.  By the men of the “authority”, exposing the tyranny practiced by them, and asking them to stop these crimes, and to resist the injustice that befalls them and the people.. The authority infiltrates with more stubbornness and fabricates charges against the “Iqbal” family and throws it into its prisons, and even transgresses against anyone who helps them as well.  ;  To administer her outrageous crimes and prevent them from being revealed, which is a clumsy and irresponsible stubbornness from her.

The stubbornness that we acquire, or that we impress upon, can turn into a destructive force that destroys the stubborn one himself, and destroys those around him, and its effects may extend to society.  The policy of oppression, tyranny and stubbornness in it, will only bring about everything that is obsolete, distorted and abnormal.

If you make a mistake at home, you will be beaten, and if you make a mistake in school, you will be beaten. In fact, beating is one of the important punishments even in our legislation. More than this, the punitive policy in our legislation, which is heavy with pain and rubble, is not based on reforming and rehabilitating the offender;  To integrate into society, but mostly based on revenge by punishing the offender.

It is more useful and beneficial to turn our stubbornness into a challenge that produces a great creative energy that enriches science and knowledge, in a manner that serves people and the world for good, virtue and prosperity.. Many scientists, inventors and discoverers, and the greats of history worked to adapt their stubbornness and direct it in a creative manner in the service of people and humanity.  So they gained greatness and immortality, while there are many criminals and butchers of history – because of their stubbornness and hardening of their opinion – they destroyed the offspring and the litter with their wars.. they destroyed themselves and their peoples..

As for me, I am trying to transform the affliction with stubbornness, which makes some of its presence in me, into a creative energy and a supportive stance for the oppressed, defending their violated rights, and standing up to the authority that intends to subjugate, humiliate them, domesticate them, and subject them to it and its might.

***

The fourth series

Cruelty and Childhood with a Taste of Rebellion

(1)

Suffering in childhood

In my childhood I did what my male peers do not do.. I always swept the house, and cleaned all its annexes and facilities.. I tended the sheep, and carried cow dung on my head.. I grappled and harvested.. I helped my mother in what she could not do, especially during pregnancy and childbirth.. and because of Sweeping, smoking, and experiencing misery, I stopped breathing, developed asthma, and almost died twice.

In the fifth and sixth grade, I used to travel more than ten kilometers every day until I reached school, and ten like it when coming back.. I also lived later while studying in the boarding department, suffering from hunger, destitution and malnutrition..

I still remember my father’s cruelty at a stage in his life, which exceeded what was familiar and usual.. I rebelled against my father, and his excessive authority.. I resisted more than one injustice that weighed more than my shoulders.. I felt that violent injustice was preying on me and crushing my bones.. I saw death more than once, and I defied Predestination, and I raised a thousand questions in her face.. In a very stressful moment, I thought of storming death and fulfilling the term, I did not play with Hell, and according to my mother’s sayings that the suicide would go to Hell.

My sense of injustice reached such an extent that I saw life and death as the same..I tried to commit suicide in protest against a bitter reality, and a dignity that seemed to be wasted to me, however, turning away from this foolishness was a victory for life, love and human being..and perhaps also for the survival instinct..

My father had a wrong policy in education, different from what is found in the general public, or is common among them.. His policy was based on severity, cruelty and violence, and I even consider it tested and its results are certain, and not subject to discussion or observation, as well as reconsideration, especially that it was applied Some of them were on my brother Ali, and the result, in his estimation, came as he wanted and desired, so he was honored by him, and he was proud of his name and that he is his son.

My father used to beat me a lot on a journey of hardship and torment and work that begins with dawn until evening, and may reach some days up to nine and ten nights in domesticated animals.. that I get beaten a lot has become a normal thing and does not raise any wonder or question.. but what is unnatural and surprising is that he hits me on my day Less than two or three times.. If something like this happened, for me it is a distinct and different day.. It is a feast day, and it may not be repeated except in the following year.. A day like this deserved my celebration.

I lived through the reality with all its bitterness and its cruelty.. I felt a great humiliation and intolerable humiliation.. I refused to get used to it or reconcile with it, and I expressed my refusal in many cases of rebellion, some of which were passing through death and the unknown, or it was almost the case sometimes..

This beating often took place in front of a scene of people, and some of this beating was done with shoes.. I felt that even pitiful eyes were eating me.. Boys from my peers would return to their homes and tell their families what happened to me and what happened from my father.. I was some of their conversations on which they feed, or that is what I think.. I used to feel that insult was crushing my bones.. I was swallowing my thorns as if I were swallowing a butcher’s cleaver.

This experience generated in me an experience of testing and overcoming oppression, and a great sensitivity in introspecting the pain of the oppressed. I created – along with other accumulations – a positive value that I later realized, which is victory for the oppressed, and confronting all that produces injustice, cruelty and broken spirit.. I defend the victims with dedication, and in some of them. If it cost me my life twice, or this is how I feel when challenged, or what I think and think..

***

(2)

Fatiha, prayer and punishment

I want the “ship of salvation” .. the ship of the Lord to what He wants and is pleased with.. I want to pray to enter Paradise and abide in it forever.. There is no sadness or death there.. There is no hunger or want.. In Paradise there are apples, grapes and fruits, and rivers of honey and ghee. And Laban.. I was imagining the matter and seeking it with all my soul and soul.. What comfort, luxury and a joyful life that does not end..

All that I desire will be present and present.. All that you wish for in Heaven will come sooner or later before your end returns to you..

I used to ask my mother more and more questions, and she was happily recounting and prolonging about Paradise and its details.. She explains with joy as if she is living it.. She tells her scenes in a way that captivates the soul, tempts the winged imagination, enchants the ears, and the hearts are passionate..

In this bright frame and high-flying imagination, I have always talked to myself, but simply without condescension..

I want a “life ark” that saves me from the fire, and teaches me ablution and prayer, with captivating and captivating illustrations.. “The ark of salvation” is a brochure that I have been waiting for so long and longed for, and a series of promises have gone unfulfilled.. it was forgetting that delays the implementation Those promises, and he postpones them from time to time.. After a long and patient wait that almost ran out, and promises that were disappointed, my father fulfilled his last promise, and I seemed on that day as if I owned the entire universe..

When my father handed me the brochure “The Ark of Salvation,” my surprise was greater than my world, and my happiness was greater than the happiness of a thousand worshipers.. A happiness that accommodates every prayer, provides relief to a thousand desperate, and saves every penitent.. My heart is full of joy.. It dances, sings and flies like a butterfly.. I live Astonishment in all senses, and I repeat my archives:

“I am a brave hero kid *** and everyone loves me

I pray early in the morning *** and I pray to God to guide me.”

But joy was killed at its peak, happiness faded, the range shrunk, and they cut the connection as a fool cuts his artery, and the situation changed to the misery of existence, and a beating that I still hear its hum to this day..

“Teach them by seven and multiply them by ten.” This hadith, which I do not know how true and reliable it is, made me miserable, and it took me a lot, even when I was close to sixty, I did not do well for what I was struck for; The only thing I learned very well is that I have become very sympathetic to donkeys..

***

I fought a fierce battle in order to memorize Surat Al-Fatihah.. I was beaten for it until the heart was stirred.. I was composing in it until my father’s hand and shoes intervened, my mind flew and his senses flew, and I found myself hurriedly reading like prey running after hyenas and lions.. my voice rumbled, and my thinking was disturbed like a sea And a storm… My soul was scattered like sand in a rumbling hurricane, and I flew like sparks of iron fire under a blacksmith’s hammer…

I forgot to form, adjust and stop, and my tears fell profusely without a season.

A hurricane of confusion overwhelms me because of hitting and slapping, and my discrimination fades, and everything overlaps with each other, and I see the lines chatting to each other like crocodile teeth. Hear me what to say!!

My father’s pressure rises, and I press under it like a piece of paper that cannot be resisted, and there is nothing left for you to understand, except with the running of my jammed tongue waiting in my mouth full and crowded with it.

I was certain that my memorization of Surat Al-Fatihah had become complicated, rather more than impossible, and if I continued to recite it and give it a fatwa until the Day of Resurrection.. I thought that my prayer would not be accepted by my Lord from me as long as my father did not accept it, because of my melodies and my mistakes in reciting it, and I seemed to myself that I would not escape from it even by a miracle, Or so I understood from my father, who received some of the teachings of Islam and memorized the Qur’an and Hadith at the hands of Al-Bayhani in the Crater of Aden.

***

My older brother, Ali Saif Hashid, also fought a battle with my father and praying, as soon as they were together in Aden, and my brother’s rebellion went beyond prayer and his father, until the muezzin of the nearby mosque was long, who threw in his mouth what was blocking while he was opening his mouth while he was calling at dawn..

Then my brother Aden left, and fled from my father, the prayer, and the muezzin to Sana’a, and he was still under fifteen years old at that time. When he wanted to join the Military College upon his arrival in Sana’a in 1963, most likely.. the Egyptian officer asked him about his age, and he answered him 15 years; The Egyptian officer said to him: One of the conditions for joining the college is that the applicant be at least 16 years old.. My brother replied to him: “Record 16 years.” The Egyptian officer sobbed, and recorded that my brother’s age was 16..

However, the most important thing is that my brother, with regard to prayer, exceeded his rebellion against it to more than boycotting it, just as his revolution went beyond my father’s postulates from A to Z..

***

My story with the “life ship” is similar to what happened to the “Titanic” ship.. The Titanic had the highest protection, safety and safety standards, and my ship was in it that was stronger and greater, and “God is the best protector and keeper.”

The “life ship”, I found it, but I did not find salvation in it, rather I found my disappointment that swallows the ocean.. And the “Titanic” ship, which was believed at that time to be anti-sink, sank deep at the bottom of the ocean..

“Titanic” four days after its first sailing, collided with a mountain of ice, and it sank to the deep bottom, while I slapped my father’s palm, it was enough to drown me and my ship to the bottom of Hell.

***

My aunt Saeeda, the mother of my brother Ali, was keen to perform the obligatory prayers, and when my curiosity asked her at the end of her life about her reading “Al-Fatihah” during prayer, it became clear to me that she did not read Surat Al-Fatihah, nor any other surahs and verses of the Qur’an, and was satisfied with the remembrance of God for the length of her prayers. With the reading of the tashahhud..

My aunt “happy” was pious and good in work and dealing, and her heart was full of faith, and she knew our Lord in a way that many of those who pray do not know, while they steal, corrupt, loot, and kill the homelands and with it the forbidden soul, without the slightest concern or reprimand of conscience..

***

(3)

My goat does not kill nor pray

Our sheep were few, then their number increased, halal and still.. I nurtured the sheep, and I was a juvenile, or still a child touching with his dewy fingers the thresholds of life.. I have many stories with the sheep, and intimate relationships.. My mother and father’s sheep had a kingdom that filled my little world. Memories and details that have been proven more than fifty years ago, that they are impossible to fade and disappear, were not erased by sunset or forgotten..

Perhaps you find in some details of your life strange paradoxes that make those who hear you deny their existence.. but it is the truth that sometimes takes you by surprise, or we find it standing in front of us in the middle of the road, telling us to slow down.. in front of you is a slope..

I still remember to this day the names of the sheep that I nurtured – during different stages – I still remember their shapes and their stories and many details.. I remember “Hajab”, “Bayraq”, “Khars”, “Anab”, “Ghubra”, “Marsh” and “Sawad”. And “Hanna”, “Hamra”, “Nashm”, “Bahriya” and “Qadriya”.

How rich is the memory with some details, and how often it narrows so that it does not have the capacity to know the age of your son!!

The memory is still ignited with details of fifty years ago..some of them have become dark and hard to remember despite their recent era, although their distance from today is no more than a stone’s throw away..

In 2009, when the Swiss immigration and asylum judge asked me, in the “interview” interview, about the names and ages of my children, the question confused me as to what the answer is supposed to be obvious and known.. I fail to mention the names of my seven children, and I feel that some of them are flying like strays, so I return them, and others escape from my hands Like birds, some of them fall to the ground without I hear their sound or buzzing, and some of them swoop in and I remember them twice..

I further failed to determine the age of any of them, amid the astonishment of the judge, who likened us to a rabbit farm, when I resorted to a trick of sequencing them with a general difference between each one and the other… While the Palestinian translator was looking at me, pointing out that my face resembled that of President Saleh, And I did not see one of us having forty resemblances.. But I realized that the Yemenis are also similar in the eyes of the distant people, just like the Koreans, the Chinese and others..

 ***

I still remember the goat “Hijab” the Laboon, and its body is larger than what is familiar and usual, and its origin is from an ancient Indian dynasty, or so it was said.. One day, she was hit by an “eye” and she died, or rather, so they claimed..!

I still remember “Kharas” or “Bayraq” and the rebellion of “Anab” and “Hanna” to which it applies, such as “Wherever Batteh puts him in”, Nashm “The Smart”, the blackness of the good, “Marsh” and “Bahriya” My poor mother’s sheep.. This was some of my little world that I live and belong to.

I remember the goat “Kharas”, which my mother gave me what was in its womb, in return for my interest in the family’s sheep, and my efforts in herding them.

The blind poet Bashar bin Burd said at the beginning of one of his poems: “O people, my ears for some neighborhood are in love… and the ear loves before the eye sometimes.” Captivating and captivating, from a child who wants his dream to have an existence that accommodates him and his great love..

I fell in love with “Bayraq” while she was still in her mother’s womb, in the process of formation, growing and growing little by little, and I watched her mother’s swollen belly every day, as a farmer waiting for the harvest, or as a child watching the dawn break on the night of Eid, and he hurried to darken him, to rejoice, to wear the new, and to be released Joy has its space and help it..

“Bayraq” came out of her mother’s womb to the front of the universe, as bright as the dewy morning.. Beautiful as a dull eye, black and white.. Her birth overwhelmed me with a joy that cannot accommodate all of existence.. The wretched “Bayraq” grew up without horns.. “Bayrak” does not like wars.. She is not tempted by a bully or a military parade.. Peaceful as a dove.. Her whiteness is as white as snow.. And when she grieves, her sadness is as black as a mourning garment.

I kept raising her and taking care of her.. I take care of her day by day.. I earned her from my perseverance, and I watered her from the sweat of the brow.. There is no suspicion of one king over another, no corruption is tainted by her, and there is no piety with the head of a devil.. Every day “Biraq” grew and grew, but it did not It burns a stage, it does not return us to the age of dinosaurs, it does not extend its hand to a murderer, it does not rob a suffering people, and it does not take the rights of a needy and needy.

Perhaps “Biraq” does not pray or hypocrisy, but it has the chastity that irrigates a country and its people with pure water.. It grows as God wanted it without making our days and months arbitrary, or using poison and drugs to enlarge it.. It grows slowly, and not as quickly as corruption in the states and provinces of princes’ militias. Wars.. just say without slandering or pretending, or make out of the grasshopper’s back feathers of pigeons and silk, and do not make art from the croaking of frogs..

 ***

(4)

Bans and bans!

The heartbreak was engulfing me like a snake folds its prey.. the ban bared its fangs in the face of my tired childhood.. the reality frowned in the face of my small world whose rights to play, have fun and be happy like other children.. Or life tells us that it is worth living..a lot of sadness surrounds me and a lot of pain weighs me down..

I used to see my peers, children having fun and playing and living a normal life that I had always desired, while I am forbidden from any play and amusement except for the small limit fenced by prohibition and the time that oppresses its owner, oppressed by orders and with an authority similar to the fate that cannot be answered..

After the rain or in the days that followed, my peers used to go swimming in what is called “Qalt” in “Mainat Sharar”, while I am forbidden to go to it with a matter that cannot be disputed or discussed.. I may have been able to go to it twice, almost miraculously, and I almost drowned, and drank from it. Water and algae.. They beat me to pray and did not teach me to swim.. A paradox that I lived through in a childhood devoted to prevention and deprivation..

My peers go to wedding parties.. they dance on the drums, sing and the flute.. the children get high and enjoy while I hear from afar the sound of drums and the singing of prostitutes.

My wishes for attending wedding parties are crucified with prohibitions and precautions.. I am forbidden to go to wedding parties except in a rare and small amount in a close marriage I attend and I am burdened with my great shyness..

Even attending my relative’s wedding was not free of vexation and annoyance.. I remember attending the first wedding of my cousin Abdo Farid when one of them exposed me and was shy and sassy and revealed to the audience that I do not go to school but go to the bottom of “Mogran” Amore; He means we drink cheap “Marib” cigarettes and then come back as if we came back from school, while we don’t reach it.. We used to call what my colleagues and I were doing that day as “Hafsana.” When my father learned about the matter, I was beaten and punished.

My peers play football games from the foot to “Al-Basiyyah” and other games such as “Aman and Habes”, “Al Duwais” and “Ghimaah” and other popular games nowadays, while I am being restricted and my freedom to play seems to be in a small cell space trying to breathe from a window small in it..

I would take advantage of any negligence of my father, to escape his control, stray from him, and indulge in playing until the ears, but it was an immersion that did not last long, and my father’s omission was only short, and my space in it was like a beautiful dream, but it was cut off by a thunderbolt that resembled my father’s voice.. My father was quickly He misses me, and screams at my call, so as soon as I return to him, he calls me with a complete punishment at once, in which there is no installment or delay, as a punishment for my little rebellion from his obedience, and the stray from his authority and mandate..

Sometimes I took advantage of my father’s going to the market, or to any other distant destination, and played and played without getting tired or hopeful, while my good grandmother, my father’s mother, who had a disease in her legs, was locked in her house at the top of the mountain, and her release overlooking the valley, and as soon as she saw my father at the beginning the valley back to our house, until you call me and tell me the code of my name; This is enough for me to run back to our house, and look like a child who carries out his father’s orders not to go out and play in his absence.

Thus, the stifling orders made me lie, hide, and rebel against them within the limits of what is possible and available; If my case was exposed for any reason, I endured the harsh results with patience and struggle, and this may push me to another rebellion that differs, in which I express to myself my refusal to submit to a patriarchal authority that seemed to me a tyrant..

I used to envy my fellow children, and I saw their parents treating them as if they were adults like them, and overflowing with love on them, while I was chewing my wounds, suffocating with lessons, and being slaughtered with a stinger like knives.

I used to ask my Lord: Why is my father not like these?! Why did they not create this Lord in another place in the universe, and in the universe there is more than my father’s house? The important thing is for my mother to be with me, as I cannot leave her.

I used to ask myself: Why does my father treat me so harshly, while other fathers treat their children with all kindness and gentleness, and even respect and high esteem as well, as if they were old at the age of their fathers!

My father used to treat me in accordance with the harsh proverb: “Strike your son and give him the best manners. He only dies for his sake.” My father’s idea of education was that “beating is a waste” and makes men more virtuous.. My father believed that it was a proven education, and it came to fruition before, And what Ram and I want..

My father and I – perhaps – each of us used to read things in our own way, and each of us saw the truth with him.. Despite my rebellion, I never thought to record a heroism against him, but perhaps he sought an excuse as well.. The reality is bitter, the robbery is obscene, the upbringing is distorted, and awareness is damaged. A reality that generates a great deal of cruelty, violence and alienation.

Perhaps one of the reasons for my father’s restriction on my life, some of it is due to fears and some of it is that he lives in crowded preoccupations, tension, and responsibilities that exceed his energy and my mother’s.. Hardships and responsibilities were many.. A shop, buying and selling throughout the day and even entering the night while taking care of my younger brothers needed Also for a lot of interest, making and selling sweets, cultivating the land, and the multiplicity of business in it according to the seasons, from seed to harvest, and I also do not forget that we have a cow, a donkey, an ox and sheep, and many responsibilities and details, which burden my tired father and mother..

They were drowning in work a lot, from dawn until nine o’clock at night and sometimes after… I knew that they were burdened with many tasks and those details of daily life, and I found myself with them in bearing some of that responsibility, and my space was little, and playing with my peers was little, or not available. And many times I find an effective Ottoman firma from its high door saying “It is forbidden to play,” so it is from me to commit, and from me to rebellion as well, no matter what the cost..

Despite everything, I loved my father, and I feared if he fell ill, or threatened with death because of… He also loved me, and he might see what he was doing for me and out of love and fears as well.. Maybe we both came out a little angry about this and that..

I felt that my father’s death would burden me with a responsibility heavier than a mountain, and I was still young and could not bear it, not even to try, because I am at an age that I cannot take responsibility for myself, so what about the responsibility of my mother and my brothers.. I used to see orphans and the suffering and deprivation they endured And torment.

***

(5)

Where were you born, “mother”?!!

I used to wonder about paradoxes spontaneously, and sometimes out of curiosity of knowledge, about a world that is still completely unknown to me, or immersed in extreme ambiguity, and difficult to understand its alphabets and axioms, for a young child like me, who is still trying to touch the threshold of first knowledge, and knock on closed doors with as many questions as possible Looking for answers, despite the impediments of shame and the taboo that address the existential worrying questions, and in areas that are still prohibited, mined or not allowed.

Questions to which the answer has become, a catalyst for more frequent or proliferating questions, which reveal more intractable knowledge for like me, and sometimes I find myself drowning in confusion, perhaps sleeping or resting for a while and then re-posing itself again in the first similar event or occasion, because of my dissatisfaction and my conviction in the answers Which seems ready, or is wrong, or I have doubts about it, or about the prevailing concepts that I think are wrong or false..

My mother may be smart and I seem convinced for some time in the answer, but as soon as the incident is repeated, the question comes back more urgent than before, and the previous answer seems to have become in my consciousness fragile or more weak than it was..

Sometimes I rebelled by asking about what is usual and familiar, knocking on the door of the silent, and passing what is forbidden, in a heavy reality with the rubble of the past, the burdens of shame, the power of fear, and the declared rebuke of those who transgress what is forbidden.

I used to ask my mother questions without knowing that she would have to lie in answering them with the name and justification of the fault?! I used to ask my mother about my existence, and how did I get out of her womb to the face of the world, and from what outlet did I go out exactly?! And when my mother is born and I see my newborn brother or sister; I repeat the same persistent question.. while my mother at first answered me laughing or smiling that we got off her knees..then she aroused my curiosity more and I ask her how?! the newborn is larger than her knee; I may be confused and ask more!!

Perhaps my mother’s answer to the question seemed unconvincing or did not give me satisfaction, and it did not dispel my confusion, but rather I found it growing and expanding, and the question remains stuck in my mind, and my small mind remained motivated to find out the answer, but I found the brilliance of other questions, which reproduce like light from my mother’s dark answer..

My mother’s knee has no outlet for anything to come out of!! And there is no trace of it that can reveal something or something new from it that came out, in addition to the fact that my mother’s knee does not have bruising, tribulation or wound to support her claim.. There is no trace on my recovering mother’s knee of anything that supports her funny answer to my question!! Then how can something larger than the outlet below it come out, which does not have enough space for the head of the newborn to come out, so how about the whole newborn?!!

Many questions my mother did not answer, or answered them in a wrong way or deliberately lying about them, and the questions from the inside kept kicking me from time to time, without finding an answer that would cure my question, and dispel my expanding confusion..

My mother insisted on her answer, and did not give up on it until after a while, and until then I had to keep running with that question or those questions, which my mother’s answers gave birth to, and my little mind did not comprehend!! Today, many adults are deceived by their rulers’ fallacies more easily than my mother’s answers, which did not deceive my childhood.. The difference is different..

I used to hear my mother’s wailing and her torment while she was giving birth, but they would prevent me from entering her, or to the place where she was giving birth. Rather, I was forcibly removed from the nearby place, and this removal was mixed with sluggishness and redemption by some of the women present, in order to prevent me from hearing her tormented voice, tormented by childbirth. and I shall be prevented from knowing anything more than that my mother is now giving birth, and I shall be informed after the birth; Is the baby a brother or a sister?!

They would not allow me to enter the place until after everything was over.. When I entered, I could see the rope hanging to the ceiling stage, and my gills could receive the smells of incense, sweetness, myrrh, and other birth supplies that were burning, or my mother drank them to relieve pain and effects birth, but these things were unable to reveal or answer my question: Where did my born brother or sister come from?!! The truth is that the questions were multiplying, without finding an answer to them that would cure my curiosity, or even my innocent spontaneity.

The pressing questions and their answers are repeated, which may not do me more than the birth of other questions, even if after a while.. My mother tried to convince me that my brothers and I came out of her bed, an answer that probably kicked me more than the question! I was bewildered and not convinced of the answer.. Indeed, my doubts increased after I realized that she had lied in her previous answer, and her credibility declined in me.. I asked how her navel, which opened no more than the tip of her finger, could accept the passing of a child larger than my mother’s knee and navel combined..

After a while of my insistence on asking her questions, and her feeling that I was becoming more skeptical about her answer, my mother told her third lie, as she claimed that my brothers and I came out of her mouth.. But how can a mouth, no matter how wide, bring out a child larger than it!! Why didn’t you choke on him?! How can a child of a larger size come out of his mouth without him, or much smaller than him?!!

Perhaps these questions weighed in my head, and my mother’s most intentional wrong answers, through which she concealed the truth from me, sometimes ignored my questions, laughed at my questions, or sometimes answered her accompanied by a smile, confused me, and her insistence on an answer made me feel dissatisfied, or not convinced of what she was answering..

I knew the truth, but after a while I did not see it in my early life, other than these days when our children realize things that we were not aware of in those days.. and I discovered that we waste years of knowledge because of the defect that inhibits our minds motivated to fly, and I knew that the defect delays us a lot. It is one of the facts that are supposed to have become cognitive axioms in childhood, and I found that it is important to do as much as possible to free us from the defect that weighs us down, when we find this defect turns into an obstacle to knowledge, and to an extent that we should not take lightly..

My mother’s answer in those days, compared to the difference, was similar to the answers of those who govern us today here and there, and their responses to our questions. However, my mother’s wrong answer was motivated by the motive of staving off shame, and in order to preserve the water of modesty, and for reasons of modesty at that time.. As for today’s rulers, their motives are Defending their sick selves, their betrayals, corruption and looting, and their perpetration of all horrific crimes from impoverishment, corruption and killing the citizen, to impoverishing and killing the homeland..

***

(6)

Protest and questions that reproduce like light

As a child, I used to imagine God according to the state in which he is of anger, joy, rest and pleasure.. and he sees me in every case.. and I imagine the two angels accompany me at all times, and do not leave me even when I go to relieve myself..

I used to ask about God, and most of the time I imagined him as a huge man as tall as the sky resting on a huge sofa, or a smooth sky like a wide mirror the width of the sky, and he was comfortable looking at us and following our actions from his place, and sometimes I imagined him resting on a big bed, or sitting on a great stretcher and eight Of the great angels carrying it, or so I was told.. Then this image changes in my mind as I imagine God getting angry at my questions and threatening me with punishment and fire.

I used to ask my mother and ask God questions that I feel angered him.. I wonder spontaneously or out of curiosity of knowledge, and I am confused with every question that explodes inside me, and he does not find an answer for him, or I find an answer for him, but I doubt his correctness, and I tend to think that it is a wrong or baseless answer..

At first glance, some of the questions seem simple, but they look like the easy one.. My mother sometimes ignored my question, and sometimes answered in a way I could not imagine, and in some shocking questions, I saw my mother’s face dumbfounded with fear and panic.

Some of the questions were big, maybe small, but they knocked on big doors, and if some of them drowned in some details that do not come to the minds of adults.. You suppress my question very harshly.

Of course, those questions and those before them were not in these forms that I am writing now, but were in another form, or an approach or conducive to the meaning that I evoke here and write it.

Questions that do not end, but reproduce and multiply, faced with repression and violence and the absence of an answer, or a wrong, wrong or false answer that I do not like to swallow, or swallow it with difficulty without conviction for a while.

***

The suppression of questions was not confined to the home, but I used to find the same even at school.

The science teacher was busy explaining the lesson.. I was listening to his explanation, and the word “faeces” is repeated in the explanation without knowing what this “faeces” is!! First time I hear this word and I don’t know what it means!! Certainly my colleagues are like me, but they may not have dared to ask.. I asked the professor: What is this “stool”?!

He replied tightly, and with a nervous movement of his hand and foot, trying to make me feel my stupidity and embarrassment from the answer by saying: “The other.” Those in the class laughed.. which made me very embarrassed.. If the professor had asked all my classmates with it, they would have been unable to answer him.. I was overwhelmed with shame in class, and I bore the result alone and reluctantly, while everyone benefited from the answer, and I was the martyr.

***

I used to ask: Why is Thabet Salih poor? He is kind, hardworking, and toiling for little pay?! And why is “So-and-so” rich while he is unjust, fraudulent and evil, according to what my mother told me?!

My mother answers: He is God; And in the Hereafter, those who have been wronged in the life of this world will be treated with justice.

I ask: Why do we slaughter the ram of the “Eid” and shed its blood?!

My mother tells me the story of Ismail and his father Ibrahim, peace be upon him.

I ask: Why does our poor and pet cat eat her young, and what is the fault of the young ones for being eaten?! It is an act that leaves me with sadness and heartbreak, and a big lump in the throat..!!

My mother replied: It is the wisdom of God in His creation.

***

I once asked: Will God punish the fox that kidnapped our chicken one day from its den next to our house in the depths of the dark night.. She was screaming and crying out in a heartbreaking voice.. a voice I had never heard before.. It was more painful than death and bigger than a loudspeaker.. No A helper for her, and no helper.. Her voice was screaming, splitting the night in two, as if she was asking the existence to do something for her?!

My father hit a bullet in astonishment, perhaps the fox would leave her in fear of the sound of the bullet, which may be equivalent to the sound of a cry for help, but the fox did not leave his feast, and silenced the sound and breath of our chicken forever.. I almost protested against the Lord, and against this crushing life.. Her voice to this day I can I remember him clearly more than fifty years later.. Her voice ripped the silence of the night, and her screaming voice sparked sparks.. A voice I do not want to remember; Because recalling her voice in my memory brings me a lot of pain, and reminds me of the horrible imbalance of justice, and how cruel this life is..!

***

One day, a distant earthquake or a slight earthquake that lasted for a few seconds frightened me after I knew that our house could fall on some of it, and the roof would fall on our heads.. I was asking: Why does God shake the earth?! My mother answers that the earth is on the horn of an ox. If the ox moves its horn, an earthquake strikes and disaster strikes.. and as soon as I ask her what this ox stands on, the earth stands on its horns!! She does not answer, and if she insists on the question, she answers that she neither knows nor knows.. A gap in the awareness of a child continues to grow and expand as long as he does not find a convincing or palatable answer or what he is deceiving.

I ask: Why does God kill children in earthquakes and torrents?! Then I remember what was said about the torrent that washed away Hamid from the head of Wadi Sharar, and that torrent was named after him.

I used to imagine the scene when I went every morning to the “Al-Maarifa” school in “Thawjan” on foot, and passed every day from the same place or close to it, which was said that the torrent had washed away Hamid from it.. I was imagining the scene and imagining an unequal battle between the victim Hamid, who had fallen His strength, and deflected the violent torrential rain..

Today, corruption and looting have become more severe than Noah’s flood.. more sweeping than “tsunami.” In it.. we are trying to survive by Noah’s ark and with a wise awareness a thousand patience and the news of steadfastness.. we are facing a tyranny that lives on death and blood.. whoever finds a way is swept away..

We persevere and resist the catastrophe.. we wait for its horror to subside so that we can survive and cross the remnants of a homeland to safety or sanctuary.. this catastrophic war lives on murder, corruption, destruction and great devastation, and it does not want to end or witness the demise of anything but our own, or the fading of our consciousness..

***

I ask my mother: Why do diseases kill children?!

Why is measles, which once threatened my life, killing children like me, and those younger than me.. Children who are unable to resist disease, and are forced to die to separate from those they love?!

My mother answers: The dead children reside in heaven..and in heaven there is everything that is good and desired by man, and my sister is Noor and Samia with the daughters of the poplars in heaven, and they will intercede for us on the Day of Resurrection, and we will enter heaven with them, or you will receive us at her door..

My mother used to tell me that death comes in the form of a one-eyed man who seizes a person’s soul… and I used to ask why death is one-eyed?!

My mother answers: Because the Prophet of God, Moses, blew one of his eyes before he took his soul.. I always wished that Moses had killed him and relieved us of the grief of parting with our loved ones.

***

My mother also tells me that the “millers” are blind, so I ask my mother why she is blind?!

She answers me: that the snake exceeded “Al-Halaban” and deceived him. So “Al-Halban” took the legs of the snake in a cunning exchange deal, and the snake took the eyes of “Al-Halban” and its speed..

I felt ashamed that the “millers” were blind and did not see, and on top of this the movement became impeded by the many legs, while the snakes took from the milkers their sight and the speed of their movement.. It is the cunning that triumphed and continued and will continue to the end of time..

The deal seemed to me unfair to the poor and good “Al-Halban”, and he lost the deal in a grievous way, and became blind and disabled, in a deal that was not fair..

That is why I used to shepherd the sheep in the mountain and sympathize with the “millers” when I found them walking slowly and hard after the rain, so I moved them from one place to another better place, and shortened the way for them by carrying them to that place that I guessed was the best, and she would not have guided without me. Then I find some of my sheep strayed away from me as soon as I was busy transporting the milkers.

***

My mother sometimes tried to answer, so she was unable and oppressed me and prevented me from these questions that lead to infidelity and the torment of the Fire. As for my father, I would not dare to ask him because of his prestige and my fear of his punishment.. My mother was closer to my sentimental than my father.

In one sense, I was asking questions, and I did not find a sufficient and satisfactory answer to them.. I was angry at those who make death easy, waste life, produce violence and cruelty, and justify and justify injustice.

I ask myself and I ask my mother with what it means: Why does God not help me memorize Surat Al-Fatihah as it should?! Why does God not create for us a mind that memorizes, or a memory that makes it easy for us to read and memorize it, as long as it is his book and his words?!

Then the questions intersect and end with the question about God: How is He?! How do I find myself?! How was it before?! I do not meet Juba, but I find repulsion and anger intensifying, and a rebuke that prevents me from asking again.. But the questions remain inside me that do not calm down and do not get tired, and the repression has not succeeded in eliminating them..

***

Before I knew the meaning of marriage, I was expressing my desire to marry our neighbor who is four times my age?! One day I tried to hold on to her and prevent her from going to her house from our house, because I wanted to marry her, without knowing anything about the reality of marriage and what it was, more than her staying with us in our house..

And when I grew up, I began to know something about marriage, and I used to watch my face in the mirror and see my ugliness in my eyes, and more than that, I found some people of my age who drew their eyes from my eyes.

One day, I asked my mother in the form of a sentence: Why did God make me ugliness with bulging eyes, and did not equate me with my peers?! She replied that she had heard from my father, “I look like my grandfather Hashem in his eyes”.. These genes were inherited and transgressed my father to be the inheritor of what I do not want.. And once she told me that she dreamed of a child who was beautiful, and his wide eyes were more beautiful..

This is how I might have thought one day.. I had no choice even to choose my eyes or my face or something that pertains to me in my body.. the simplest things of my own were not at my hand.. How could it be.. It was something that was completely outside my desire and will..

And when I grew up a little, I used to ask myself: Will the one I love marry me, despite the ugliness that God created in my eyes, and deprived me of the handsomeness that God should not have deprived me of?!

At a later stage, I may have appeared in my imagination before myself as like Al-Jahiz in his eyes.. Exophthalmos who overpowered the name of his owner.. People knew him as Al-Jahiz more than Amr bin Bahr.. It was said that the title of Al-Jahiz was undesirable for him, and even hated him, except that he was at his age. His old age used him and he became famous for it..

It seems that this exaggeration is what made his owner look ugly, until he narrated that a woman asked him to accompany her to the goldsmith to engrave for her a picture of a demon on the ring resembling him, because she thought that he looked like Satan.

I found myself not the only one who suffered from the ugliness and protested against it. Rather, the poet Al-Hutay’ah satirized his face by saying:

“I see a face that God has made disgraceful *** so it is ugly and its bearer is ugly.”

When I ran for membership in the House of Representatives, my campaign team posted pictures in one of the areas of my constituency, and when I passed by, I noticed some pictures had been distorted by dementia, leaving the rest as it is without eyes. On snatching success, in response to the practice of ugliness which I found pouring over my tired and tormented eyes..

Today, because of a sensitivity in my eyes that has become chronic, in addition to a lot of staying up late and a lack of sleep, the redness has become severe and inherent to it, but those who carry ugliness in their eyes and minds, attribute to me the accusation of “tactfulness”, and they mean that I am drunk all day and night, and it is part of the political plot that It is used here by some political opponents in religious groups to defame and defame its owner in front of the public, who defame the drinker more than they condemn murderers, looters, corrupt and fraudsters.

I remembered here what I read from the anecdotes of Al-Jahiz; Where it is said that he went to Yemen, entered its markets and toured many of its neighborhoods, but found people alienated from him due to the ugliness of his appearance, and no one hosted him, and on his way back to Basra, he met one of his companions, and asked him: How are Yemen and its people?

And he answered:

Since I came to Yemen I haven’t seen a good face

May God bless a town more beautiful than I am

***

(7)

rabbit slaughter

When I became a child who was able to distinguish, and who could understand the basics of the meaning of life and death, or the intuition of the difference between staying and leaving.. I passed through unforgettable scenes no matter how old the days and years passed them.. Fifty years have passed, perhaps a little more than them, and they are still alive in memory, and impossible to folding, and it is not overcome by forgetting.. I watched them slaughter a rabbit, his screaming voice still explodes my memory with pain, whenever I asked him for an occasion, or a scene reminded me of him from today..

I remember his horrific scream before the slaughter, as if a child had worn him, and he started screaming in his heartbreaking and explosive voice.. I remember putting the knife to his throat, in protest against his execution without any guilt other than the desire of the one who craves it, while his heart beats at its height, and his breath is like the breath of the participants in the suburban race And his body agitated by the fever that overwhelms him.

When he began to slaughter him, I remember the heavy hand applied to his mouth, trying to stifle his voice and his expression, and his breath was suppressed, while some of his shocked voice was flying like sparks, between the fingers of the hand applied to his mouth… as if it was a voice of existential protest that resisted a terrifying and ugly reality in its details..

I always remembered this painful scene as it is, as if it happened today, and I compare it to painful scenes, that have passed or are still passing today.. I remember it as I see the strangling of any voice that wants to reveal its pain or the pain of people, or wants to protest against the injustice that weighs on the shoulders, And the bleeding heart, the one afflicted by power and afflicted by conquest, and the pen that they want to execute, and perhaps they have reached the extremes of demanding the execution of its companion along with it.

They want to mute people’s breath, and silence their slaughtered voices so that no one can hear them.. They use the hand of power and heavy dominance to conquer them and put them out forever.. They want to tie people’s hands to their necks, break their resistance, and execute the voice of the cry for help.

Moral executions they practice against their citizens for the benefit of their tyranny.. they want them to submit to them like flocks.. submissive and surrender to them like slaves.. they don’t want anyone to express a protest or objection or a position or an opinion in which you exercise even the minimum of your existence and humanity..

They want you to be them, not you.. so I did everything in my power to be where I want.. I feel that I exercise my existence when I seek and search for the freedom that I yearn for, and I exercise my will in the face of those who want to take it.. I find some in the saying of the American philosopher and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson “The best achievement is being the person you want in a world that is trying to make you the person you don’t want.”

Here they want to uproot your tongue from the roots.. They want to rob your mind, take your freedom, violate your independence, and corrupt your conscience to the end.. They want to engage in murder, corruption, tyranny and tyranny without any objection or objection.

***

(8)

Castrate the Eid ram and castrate the virility of men

I still remember them castrating the Eid ram..I watched them in large numbers as they descended on it with all their strength and weight..They took him with his four legs, his head and his butt, and laid him on the ground, and opened his legs, while he was trying to kick and scatter the resistance..

They put a smooth, hard stone near his feet, and put his testicles on that stone, then they started striking the testicles and their heels, with an iron hammer, while he was in pain and resisting in vain or salvation under the benefit of many and a force descending on him like fate, and when they completed what they wanted, they released him after they They killed him with an iron hammer.

I was in a daze.. I don’t know what they are doing!! They did not tell me anything before, or what they intend to do, or what they will do.. I was puzzled why they would do what they are doing!! Why did they hit his testicles with a hammer?!! What did the testicles do to them?! I was the only one out there living the hell of the moment, and I share the agonizing pain of the victim.

I was the only one in awe at what was happening!! The only one who deep down the question!! While the others did not care about me, did not pay any attention to me, and I had no authority or decision to prevent them from doing them with extreme cruelty and transgression..

My curiosity, which remained trapped inside me, could not object, but was able to ask my mother after everything was over… What did you do and why?! My mother’s answer was: In order for him to grow up quickly, and sweeten his flesh and fat on Eid… The truth was not the answer to my passion and satisfaction!! What is the relationship between his testicles and what the answer claimed.. When I grew up, I read about an excuse to castrate singers to beautify their voices.

***

When I grew up, I also read what is more strange and astonishing.. I read a jurisprudential opinion that says that the artist should be castrated so as not to seduce women.. It was narrated that the Caliph Abd al-Malik bin Marwan because his maidservant poured water away from his hands to hear the voice of one of the singers chanting from afar. Castrated out of fear for Muslim women. And that the Caliph Suleiman bin Abdul Malik, as soon as he was on a picnic, ordered the castration of one of the singers when he heard his melodious voice, and I think that he poses a danger to the chastity of Muslim women.

More than this is what Al-Isfahani narrated that a fly led to the castration of singers in “Madina” when one of the Umayyad caliphs ordered the governor of “Madina” to “count” the singers, and that the governor saw a dot on the h left by a fly so that the word turned into “castration” instead of “counting.” The governor ordered that all of them be castrated, and “Al-Dalal” – one of the most famous singers of “Al-Madina” and the most witty, beautiful and good-natured – was among the list of eunuchs.

The slaves who worked inside the sultans’ palaces and women’s homes were also castrated to prevent sex with women in them.. They also castrated the children and boys of enemies who were being enslaved, with a desire to cut off their offspring and suppress their sexual feelings.

***

During the era of the imams in Yemen, and especially during the era of Imam Yahya Hamid al-Din, I read in “The Hostage” by Zaid Muti’ Dammaj that the policy followed by them in subjugating the tribes, ensuring their loyalty, and not turning against them is the system of hostages followed, where the imam takes the sons of the sheikhs and the chiefs of the tribes as hostages to him , and whoever tries to escape and is arrested, they will chain him with iron shackles in the Cairo Citadel for life.

Boys were chosen from among the hostages whose ages did not exceed the age of dreaming to serve the Imam’s sanctuary and his own, and some of his deputies and his princes. They have the name “Dwidar” and they are the ones who do the work of eunuch slaves..

Zaid Muti’ Dammaj tells in “The Hostage” that those who practiced “Dewidar” work and returned to the Cairo Citadel again, were telling strange and strange things. in their bodies with some slackness and wilting in the wrong time.” He also noticed the interest of the castle guards in these soft-touch, soft-spoken people, with their clean clothes sent to the ground, and the embroidered “cofie” that the women of the palaces woven, to hide their curly combed hair, which smells of the fragrant fat that inhaled with the pleasure of the guards..

They used to preserve the chastity of their women by castrating those boys under duress and coercion.. They treated their deficiency with a more severe deficiency.. They were burdened with knots and incurable infirmities.. In this regard, you can evoke the popular saying: “You want an excuse or a donkey.”

As for today, it has become worse and more painful than yesterday, as we see eunuchs have become more widespread, wide and ugliness, as minds, voices, pens and actions are castrated.. It is a more and more painful eunuch.

Today I learned how to exercise power, castrate men, and how to rob them of a future that we have always ascribed to them.. I learned how men are transformed from rivals and elites into campaigners of blasphemy, submissive followers and robbed of will and action, they have no power or power.. and how power and money exercise their influence over many intellectuals. holders of higher degrees, academics, and how men are transformed into horns without a will, attitude or conscience.. I knew the emptiness of the intellectual and the media person who falsifies awareness, and is led behind the politician like a ram or a sheep that is dragged to flay and does not gored.. I have known many eunuchs, and I certainly knew Damama The power that wields eunuchs and villains.

I knew the fragility of the intellectual who sells his conscience from the first show.. the fragility that collapses at the first blow of a hammer that falls on the head or the testicles.. the intellectual who has become a follower revolves around the orbit of his fetish and his disdain, losing his conscience and his existence.. And men without manhood, virility, or existence.

On the other hand, I have also known people who are distinguished by the stature of palm trees and the steadfastness of the mountainous mountains.. free and honest people who prefer sacrifice over surrender, resistance over submission, and courage over fear.. Their conscience is anxious and alert, they do not sell or bargain, even if they offer their owners the money of the earth and the stars of the sky, and they promise them as well. In the second house, the hell of the earth could not compel them to surrender and submit to tyrants and usurped rule.

***

(9)

Slaughter, blood and wars !!

The Eid sheep that you nurtured and took care of, and lived with him day by day, and he became a close companion, why do they slaughter it?! On the day of Eid, I watched him tense and stuck in place like a board, refusing to leave his barn and leaving his family, who seemed to me with a high degree of anticipation and attention, as if they felt that some event would happen that they did not want to happen, while I was crushed with pain and suffocated by protest more than everyone..

I watched them stifle him and force him to walk, as if he was aware that he was going to slaughter and flay.. I watched him full of fear and dread.. My eyes monitored the situation, and she reproached and protested in silence that almost exploded, and crosses in the throat objecting to the reality of the situation, and I practiced against her what I could from Silent repression.

His eyes were terrified and terrified by a knife whose blade is holding the grip of the one who will slaughter him.. I saw him urinating twice in a short period of time in the same place.. his bladder is living moments of panic, and perhaps you are trying to protest as much as you can!! Moments later, I saw him wandering in the same place, the rope on his neck, and his tip clenched with another fist that prevents him from going two steps further from him.. Moments of anxiety, terror and confusion as he wanders around the place as if searching for a destiny to save him, and there is no escape from a knife on the day of the Muslim feast!!

The occasions of slaughter among Muslims are numerous, some of them are unavoidable and even obligatory, and some of them fall under the category of metaphor.. The knife here does not betray and does not turn, and there is nothing to change the situation, and it has become a night with the span of one hand.. There is no rescue verse here nor a miracle.. The truth has confirmed itself, there is no escaping it or escape.

I do not know how our ram knew that the knife was prepared and ready to be slaughtered. What do you know is that it is the target of it and that is the point.. This ram of ours has never seen a knife or even the blade of a knife.. The question still stuck in my mind like a piece of wood: How did he know that he was going to slaughter, flay and die? ?!! A state of terror and panic is similar to that of a rabbit that was slaughtered one day!! How burdened is this world with cruelty and pain?!

They would offer him water in large tin containers for him to drink before slaughter, while he refused, as if he was protesting against the fates and laws of this world, which might have seemed to him absurd and filled with grievances.. I was following the details of his movements and breaths.. He was living the moment as dense as it is.. I was helpless. About saving him.. it was for adults only, and I had no trick or decision..

My God..!! Why does this world prey on each other, even if the formula for this predation is different?!! Is it necessary that killing, blood and slaughter be an existential and necessary law, and there is no option more merciful or less painful than it?!! Why is this life broken and bloodshed and souls are lost in it..?!

Every animal has a feeling and a soul like us.. How cruel, absurd, and wasteful life seems.. Perhaps everyone has become a victim of laws that are definitely bigger than us, and we cannot change them.. Forest animals prey on each other, out of instinct, hunger, or compelling necessity?! But we humans can kill each other with unnecessary motives.. we kill each other out of foolishness, greed, or out of revenge.. and on top of killing each other, we kill creatures without us, to eat their meat with appetite and enjoyment..

As a child, it seemed to me that it was sore from the question, and with untainted innocence I saw the world very painful, and every chaos in this predatory world needs research or reconsideration.. Life would be better without killing, without pain and blood.. Leaving is sad, the living suffer more than the departed, Parting moments are perhaps the most painful, sad and unhappy moments..

Perhaps, as a child, I wanted to say all this and others through a lawyer on our behalf and on the creatures below us.. But there is no lawyer for oppressed souls, and the Eid ram has become a sacrifice in our entire history.. It is an inevitable destiny from the day Ismail ransomed the son of God’s prophet Ibrahim.. And when I grew up, I knew things Many, and I found something bigger and more..

I was torn from pain and sadness and our ram was being slaughtered, but I felt that I was the one who was being slaughtered more than him.. Then I ran away while they were slaughtering him, and I was possessed by rejection and bitter resentment, that the world is so ugly..

I was a child, and I did not think that my life would extend to sixty, and I watched more than ugly and terrifying.. wars and terrorism and people cutting the heads of people in order to draw closer to God, and to seek His forgiveness and pleasure.. Wars, killings, and grievous injustices that the mountains rooted in the depths of the earth cannot bear.. Foolishness is beyond foolishness.. Criminals who desire to kill, and stubbornly drown in blood in it, without feeling guilt or remorse..

I was not aware that the world’s money lords, and the merchants of wars and fires, make all those atrocities that exceeded all terrifying and terrifying.. I did not think that the hunger of the sex is greater than all hunger.. It extends and lives forever, without diminishing or weak erections.. I did not think that our future would be kidnapped and raped, and that our dreams would be hardened with such boldness, ugliness, and drowning blood.

I did not know that our homelands would be stuck and drowned in all this blood, and that a civilization and construction of more than five thousand years would be prolonged by all this destruction and devastation, and that death would mess with us with this amount of madness, and wreak on the earth all this corruption coming from humans and not from demons..

I never thought that we would witness wars like the dirty wars that Yemen has been witnessing for seven long years, and that I would live and see all this death, destruction and devastation from which a handful of criminals…

***

(10)

holiday full of disappointment!

Children and boys rejoice in the great feast.. A feast that is awaited for a long time and patiently is almost exhausted on the eve of his coming.. It is received in the early morning with flushing joy and happiness that overwhelms the universe.. As for my feast, I am like an orphanage, or I appear on it like a slaughtered bird.. I am afflicted by the misfortune that has befallen it. How much he spoiled and blackened his page..

My Eid this year is sore from my mother who is running away from her family from the strife and quarrels that continued and increased beyond what could be possible.. My Eid is far from my mother and has no taste or color, and even filled with disappointment filled me inside until I felt dented..!!

I feel that loneliness, estrangement and sadness have haunted me together on days that are supposed to be joy and happiness.. During Eid, the boys are clothed with joy and Eid clothes; You see joy in their eyes like birds, and in their faces light upon light.

The gloom, monotony, and sullenness of most of the nights of the year, alone that is broken by the joy of Eid, its blackness is torn by the cracks and flashes of “the tamash” .. Pleasure fills the weary and tired hearts.. As for me, my business is different.. This Eid is not only spoiled by the absence of my mother, but also by the slander of our neighbor’s son..

I want to run away to my mother..but I still remember the last time my father forced me to run away, dragged by my earlobe all the long way..he not only ran me from my ear, but he also put a pebble between his fingers and the earlobe, and my father’s fingers keep pressing on the pebble and the earlobe. To add to my pain and pain, as he drags me with a tilted face as if he were sick.. and whenever I felt that the pain was no longer bearable, I asked him to move to my running with the second ear..

Sometimes for a small reason and a size smaller than a bean, my father had enough to ignite a world war against me.. What provokes him more than that is that he does not see me begging for his mercy.. Not begging for his mercy meant for him that I provoked him and detracted from his prestige and he is fearful..

Not speaking with his sympathy means that I defy him and provoke his anger and anger.. Such a matter of great gravity and defiance of his authority, and an exciting call for his re-consideration and esteem.. If he calls me to a matter and I only hesitate to answer him; You will find that the jinn wore him, and a thousand birds and a demon rode over his head.

On that day, he tried to stab me with a “janabiya”, and the women, men and boys there prevented me from touching me, and I hit my cousin Abdo Farid in the hand, as soon as he was trying to prevent her from reaching my exhausted and overburdened body.. The feast in my face turned darker than night, and more intense From the darkness of an abyssal basement…

I ran away from him a hundred meters or a little more, while he was trying to shoot.. I turned with the trunk of a sycamore tree, I was peeking from its side, while the embezzlement provoked my father and aroused his foolishness and protection as the Spanish wrestler provokes the agitation of a bull who had just come out of his cage to the bullring and was The wrestler was stabbed by a sword.

The fight is intense; Women and men trying to snatch the gun from my father’s palms, while he insists on trying to shoot.. I was asking myself in horror whether bullets could penetrate the trunk of the sycamore tree and reach my body.. Something I had neither experienced nor heard of, and I do not know the protection that its trunk provides. I may assure myself that the trunk is able to take on the task of repelling bullets! Then I wonder..

However, the distance between me and my father is still short, and perhaps my father will be able to escape from his clutches, so I made a decision that seemed to me safer, which is to take advantage of the moment of the fight, and release my legs to the wind, and escape with a quick escape.. I ran away and the panic doubled my speed. Also more pain and disappointments..

***

(11)

Escape and return!

I fled to the house of Al-Shanagheb, the house of my grandfather – the father of my mother – which is about five kilometers away from my father’s house, and is located in an area adjacent to the borders of the state of the south. Or close to it, but there are houses in some opposite directions..

In the immediate vicinity of the house there is a ground water tank, and in the house there are niches, and narrow longitudinal slits, which can be used for observation and shooting from the gun to the outside, as it allows the passage of the gun barrel to the outside with a specific section and angle… It seems that this house has witnessed something that was allocated to it. in an empty time.

My grandfather Salem Mani’, my mother’s father also owned another house, and he lived in this house during my childhood, and my mother lived there for a while, perhaps before I came.. This grandfather was a virtuous and peaceful man.. good-hearted, and pure in heart, he spends a lot of his time reading the Qur’an and speaking. In his interpretations.. he was pious, pious, loving, did not hold a grudge, did not harbor evil, and did not pay any attention to politics, yet he later paid his life for the actions of politicians.

My father came a few hours after my escape.. I saw him from the “Al-Shenagib” house without seeing me. I saw him riding his white donkey. My father’s donkey looked like a horse. In the beginning, I felt evil and fire.. my mother’s heart was torn off the runaway in my grandfather’s house..

I went out in terror from the house to the mountain towards the borders of the state of the south, the “People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen” .. There is a state and a system that might protect me, and curb my father’s stupidity.. Perhaps something of this I told myself as I headed to the border through a bumpy path..

My aunt Mary, my mother’s sister, told my father that I left the house and ran away; My aunt was strong in character.. strict and firm.. she was good at courage, confrontation, and incitement as well, reading the book of sand and decoding its talismans, and dealing with him as she desired..

My father realized my destination, and was able to speed his donkey to the southwestern side of the valley, to cut off my destination, and prevent me from reaching the border.. He pointed his rifle and pointed it towards the mountain, while I was hiding behind a rocky outcrop in the mountain’s enclosure as soon as I saw him trying to cut my way..After a long time He negotiated with my aunt Mary, and charitable men who were passing by, and my father committed himself not to harm me, in return for me to return to his house.

Everyone assure me that everything will be fine, and nothing bad will happen to me; My father vowed in front of those who witnessed the situation that he would not harm me or take revenge. I came down from the mountain after what looked like a negotiation process led by my aunt on my side, and my father returned while swallowing his anger, feeling dissatisfied; Because he did not satiate his excitement, and did not cure his raging rage.

I returned with a procession surrounding me.. Some women and my sister from my mother Hana’ were next to me escorting me back and five hundred meters separated us from the path of my father and his donkey.. My father was waiting for us at every turn until we approached him.. The distance began to narrow and narrow with the walk.. When we reached an area called: “Thursday Market,” my father could not bear to record what seemed to him a victory, provoked by my view in which I appeared to be the victor, and he was suspicious that I had been gloated by him, and undermined his authority and authority..

My father could not stand what was in his chest, so he became angry.. He muttered agitated insults, and aimed his gun with emotion at me, the women protected me with their bodies; And the screaming and panic were high.. the passers-by, and everyone who was close to us, entered; The commotion ended when my father reluctantly made another covenant with the people that no harm or harm would befall me, and this time he was faithful to his promise, but reluctantly.

My father could not bear to witness what he envisioned of my continuous victory over him, and so that he would not break a vow he had made twice before the spectacle of the people; He brought me back to our old house where my brother Ali lived, not to our new house where he lives.

My father returned a few days later to reconcile with my mother and her family, then I returned to my father’s house again in the presence of my mother, who deeply regretted what happened, and for leaving me days during which I needed her by my side.

The Eid passed peacefully after it almost turned into an orphanage or an unknown place.. and I was the most important reason for the continuation of my father and mother’s marriage, despite the many problems and troubles that passed and escaped from them by a miracle like a miracle..

***

(12)

Prevent and let down fate!!

Parents have compassion for their children.. they shower them with kindness and love, and surround them with care and attention.. Mostly and mostly they do not turn back a request or a request to them if it comes and is possible, or if this request is within the means and ability, and if it is impossible and impossible, they ask them for forgiveness and a sure excuse..

My father is perhaps the most difficult and responsive.. In some of them there is no hope with him or begging.. I see him as difficult to handle even on the day of Eid.. I think his heart is made of flint.. This is the image that stuck in my mind about my father, in which I may have wronged him to an extent. Far away, and when I grew up and became a father, I matured and removed the exaggeration and exaggeration from this dark and biased image, I understood many things, and I sought excuses for him in many of them, even if I wrote some of what happened with ink from yesterday’s pain and sadness..

It saddened me that fathers do not prevent their children from going to distant birthdays, wedding celebrations, mourning gatherings, markets and distant trips.. My father does not only mind, but is ready to commit a foolishness if I do it by force on him, or exceed his decision to prevent.. My father is provoked by the challenge, He becomes mad if he feels that what I am doing in him is signs of disobedience or rebellion, but perhaps it is enough for him to think, and there is no need for investigation and proof.

***

“Al-Khidr,” and I have Saleh, I have never attended his “birth” or visited his shrine.. I used to hear from children and boys when they return from “his birth” many tales and scenes that they return every year, and they tell them with glee that ripples, and joy almost flies with its owner. As if they had gone to another planet, or visited the surface of the moon.

When they tell stories, they compete to mention the details and add to them.. I am the only one who finds pain squeezing me and bitterness slaughtering me because I am forbidden and oppressed, and visiting him is a hope for the disappointing back of the unseen..

At the Mawlid, people come from all sides.. Boys’ faces radiate with light, joy and happiness.. All faces meet with feasts and birthdays.. Buying and selling on mawwald is in a variety of ways.. Things for sale that you only find on such occasions.. Scenes that are not repeated in The place is only after a year.. If you miss one of them, you feel that your age has passed a year or less, and you have lost what you have been waiting for, and you have to move him for a whole year to try your luck again in the following, if disappointed again you feel that your age is wasted and your hope recedes and double sadness weighs on your shoulders.

The banners and their bright colors captivate the heart and the eyes, and give the occasion distinction and prestige.. Spirituality that immerses you in some places and scenes.. Even exaggerations in birthdays are attractive and charming.. And the dignity that you hear about on birthdays sometimes goes beyond imagination.. You show astonishment about it, and you believe it whatever it is, and perhaps you add to it and it becomes a fantasy beyond imagination, in which there is a lot of magic and captivating fun.

“Al-Majadhib” you see from them what amazes and astonishes..many tales that make you go crazy longing to see them a thousand times without getting anxious or bored.

***

In order to attend these scenes, I prayed to God for a week and more to soften my father’s heart so that I could attend this joyful birthday.. And instead of praying to the Lord, I prayed a hundred, and instead of thanking God and asking His forgiveness and glorifying His kingdom a hundred, I did it by thousands and doubled it in the hope that God would make my father’s heart tender. Lina, so that I would be allowed to attend the “birthday” of Al-Khidr this year, a presence that I have always dreamed of and waited for, and was postponed from year to year.

But despite my prayers, my forgiveness and my glorification, fate failed me, and my disappointment was the length and width of the sky, and my father’s heart remained hard and cruel, he did not soften or soften.. My father does not benefit from prayer, hope, magic, or “law of attraction”

My mother also made her efforts a week ago, but she failed and was disappointed by extracting my father’s approval.. My father when he is persistent and stubborn, and his positions harden, perhaps it needs to be changed by fate, or this is what I imagine, if I have not already lived it.. I love my father Because I am a few of him.. I learned from him to go too far in stubbornness, but in what is benign, and not to give in or succumb to injustice, even if I bow down forced by a storm..

***

(13)

Suicide attempt!

I tried to defy and go by force to the birth of al-Khidr, but my father tied me up and tied me to a wooden pole planted in the bottom of his shop.. He beat me hard.. Looking at me, and perhaps some of them stared at me with regret and pity, while some of them tried to woo and beg my father in vain, and without the ability to save me from what I am in.. “The son is the king of his father.”

After the time for going to the birthday party was over, my father left me tied up, and went to “Ras Sharar” to mow the crops during the harvest season, while my mother untied me, and hugged me like a lost son who returned to her after a break.. She showered me with her kindness and comforted me with words of pain and great sympathy.. I despaired of her and her helplessness with my father, then I went to fetch water from the well, while I was managing a fit of anger and alertness to take revenge on my father, even if it was by suicide..

After everyone left the house, I closed the door from the inside, and went up to my father’s room at the top of the house, and there I found my father’s weapon within reach… Three to start shooting.. one.. two, and before I shot the number three, I heard my mother’s cow bellow, as if it was the universe’s message to me to return what I intended!! Perhaps I felt that our cow wanted me to see a farewell that I also needed, and perhaps she wanted me to stop and go back to what I intended to do, and perhaps the survival instinct was stronger than me, but she is looking for a convincing excuse in front of myself..!!

I went to see her and give her one last farewell look, and the first time I saw her I felt that she was begging and begging that I wouldn’t..!! This is what I thought in a thought that crossed my anxious and troubled mind.. I felt that she is haunted by me and does not want me to distance or separation forever.. I kissed her forelock, wiped her back, and my palms caressed her neck until I hugged him warmly.. My behavior with her might rise to the actions of the Indians with Cows, as if they were a deity or a holy deity.

I felt her overwhelming love, and I reciprocated an overwhelming love for her.. I felt that she was reciprocating an intimacy I had never felt before.. I overcame my tears, but they were flowing warmly.. I saw her cursing me eagerly, as if she wanted to keep a souvenir.. I felt that she too was battling her tears..Our guarded cow. From the eye with a guard hanging on her neck as a buffer that repels the eye and envy.. I am also guarded by the seven vows of jinn and demons, but who guards me from the cruelty of my father?!!

I went to steal flour for her, pour water on it, and serve it to her as a last farewell soup.. I showered her with kisses that seemed to me to be the last farewell kisses.. As I was going away from her, I saw her staring at me.. I felt that she was begging and begging that I wouldn’t do that and that I wouldn’t leave.. I was explaining the intimacy The one between us, according to the moment I felt, or what goes with it.. It was a soliloquy and simulation that had depth in my soul, and overflowed with intense feelings and emotions that seemed to me real, without illusion or mirage..

I looked towards the mountain, the trees and the stone. I bid farewell to everyone.. The feeling of farewell to eternity is not the same as farewell.. Eternal farewell makes you see many details of things before leaving that you do not see in your normal or natural conditions.. I found myself bidding farewell to everything, including the details that do not occur to one mind. I am on a date with death and the fulfillment of the term.. I was looking at all the things on which my eyes fell as if I were seeing them for the first time.. the walls, wood, utensils, and my mother’s clothes..

I remembered my mother and my mother’s love.. my mother who sacrificed many things for me.. my mother who drank a thousand torments, and was patient for me and my brothers to bear what the mountains could not bear.. my mother lived a struggle that neither earth nor sky could bear.. I felt the cry of the sky over every misfortune that befalls her…

Perhaps in a moment I did not imagine that there was anything that would prevent me from committing suicide and going to hell, not even our good cow, but perhaps the survival instinct overcame me, and perhaps my mother’s love overpowered me, as there is no one who loved me more than my mother .. I remembered her and she repeated to me in the past Her saying: “If something bad happens to you, I will die in agony.”

I can’t imagine my mother seeing me commit suicide and bloodied me… I imagined that a scene like this would be shocking and tragic for the person I care about; A scene that I cannot imagine its heavy tragedy for my mother, who has endured so much for me… A scene that will not feel the extent of its catastrophe except for my mother, who will undoubtedly be afflicted by the event if she does not die at first sight..

With the difference, dense and close to altruism and presence, that depiction that I read after nearly fifty years in the last publication of Dr. Abdul Rahman Jamil Farea on his deathbed: “For the sake of loved ones, I sanctify life and hold on to it, O God.” Yes, they are “loved ones” the title that was I am present, in a way, about what happened to my decision to commit suicide, and to move to another decision.. Because of my mother and her love and my younger sisters, I refrained from foolishness so that life would triumph over death; There is nothing wrong with a protest that is lighter and less harmful and costly, which I will do now instead of committing suicide.. That was how the words blazed at that moment in my burning conscience, and going back to a decision was the least gamble and the least harm..

***

(14)

Alternative to suicide!!

I have refrained from committing suicide, but I want to do something less costly and gambling.. I want the noise of expressing myself and my rejection of the oppression that swept me from my father.. It will only be a blatant act of rebellion and protest.. I want my father to regret his act of iron cruelty. I want him to hear some of my madness, in protest of his oppression.

I cannot swallow my compulsion and remain silent as a stone or wood.. I must do something to express it with the maximum protest possible.. I want in some way to punish my father and let him hear some of my rebellious protest.. I must make him feel my grievance and his injustice to me, and that’s okay. For all people to hear my story.. I want my father to regret his excessive cruelty towards me.. My anger was still running and kicking inside me, and the blood erupted and boiled in my veins..

I went down from the room, passed the door of the house to make sure that it was closed with the latch and the stage, then went up to the court, and put an empty “mill” box on the opposite wall, and fixed it with a knife. On camels when transported..

I lay behind him, and tried to hold the rifle with my hand through its wooden planks to reduce the recoil during the shooting, and I fired my legs to lie in a fighting position I was not familiar with, but I was imprinted in my mind from pictures I saw in Chinese and Russian magazines that I received earlier through my brother who belongs to the Arab National Movement.” Revolutionary Democratic Party,” and Qarini Abdul Basit, brother of Muhammad Saeed Ghaleb, who was a member of one of the National Action factions.

I knew the rifle would run behind the shooter when the shots were fired; I had to hold it in such a way that it lessened its recoil.. I tried to shoot the case I had placed on the wall, while my finger was ready on the trigger, safely open for quick release.. As soon as I pressed the trigger with my frantic finger the bullets were fired..

I did not know that all that dust would gather from the inside in such a dense manner, and for a period that seemed to me not for a short time .. I did not know that the returning bullets would do to the walls what they did!! The truth is I don’t know how I survived?!! How did you find an impossible way?! Perhaps “Al-Khidr” was present with me, or he was good luck.

I did not know that the sound of bullets and thick dust would be such that whoever sees the house from outside and hears the rumble of bullets inside the house, believes that an earthquake has occurred in it.. the walls became perforated like a face in which “smallpox” spread, while the smell of gunpowder was permeable. The place is crowded..

In the crowd of dust, I tried to search for the canister of “The Mill” to which I fired bullets, and I found it and the knife fixed as it is in the wall without any injury or harm, while I found the walls were all perforated, hit by direct and return bullets.. I was surprised and felt strange that I did not hit the target that I had fired. The gun was at him, although I was close to him or not far from him, probably more than four meters.. I and the target escaped, and everyone else was wounded..

Women, men and children rushed to the house to see what happened!! The first to arrive was our close neighbor, Mana Saeed.. The door of the house is closed, and I assure everyone from the courthouse that nothing happened..

Questions crowd about what happened, and the faces of those present in a hurry are filled with astonishment.. Some of them are banging on the door of the house and they are about to break it. With a broken heart, and broken with bereavement..

I went down and opened the door and reassured people that I was fine, while my mother searched my body and my clothes to see what I had done myself. And when I was sure of my safety, I went to hide me from my father in another diwan in the house..a dark divan filled with bundles of dry plantations..As for my father, he rushed from the head of “Sharar” perhaps to take revenge on me the most severe, but he did not find him and my mother told him that I fled to the mountain..

I stayed for two days in my secret hiding place where only my mother, her tenderness and bread, comforted me. Nevertheless, I did not escape from a punishment that was postponed, and my mother did not escape from a hundred questions and problems.

In two days I felt that I was tired of my hiding place, and it also bored me.. I asked my mother to leave a space between my sleeping brothers for me to sleep among them, then she woke me up before dawn to go back to my hiding place without my father seeing me.. But my matter was revealed after an hour.. What a disappointment my trick and my mother’s trick !!

My father passed by my sleeping brothers around ten o’clock at night while they were asleep. I was the only one among them. I was apprehensive and could almost hear the crawling ants.. I heard him counting my brothers and saying to my mother there is one extra in number. But my father got down on his knees between us, and began to feel with his fingers, counting the heads and naming them for my mother, and my mother was trembling in the feast trying to recite Surat Yassin with her concealment, while my father counted and felt the heads. They quarrel and my voice and the voice of my terrified brothers and the sound of the quarrel fill the space of the village and its vicinity.. A scream that tears the serenity of the night I sleep and settle, and leaves the people of our village and its surroundings with bewilderment, questions and panic..

I took the opportunity of the moment of the quarrel between my father and my mother and executed me. I ran and jumped from the house.. It was a risk, but fear and panic worked the miracle, and perhaps the adrenaline secreted by the adrenal glands in such a case, we avoided what might happen to us from possible harm.

***

(15)

Find a place to sleep!

I jumped over the house and ran away to a not far place.. I crept into a small cemetery as wide as the “Ijt al-Jyf” mountain. I felt lonely, anxious and afraid.. It was impossible for me to sleep here, and the dawn was still far away.. An unsafe place from the surprises that might hide or languish. wait..

I was afraid that the dead would come out of their graves.. I don’t know one of them, and they also don’t know me.. Maybe there is a strangeness between us and an isthmus that prevents us from harmony and harmony.. I don’t want to hear the torment of the dead while they suffer.. I can’t stand hearing denial and naker.. I imagine them terrifying and they are They ask the dead in their graves and flog them with whips of burning red fire.. I expected them to come down from the sky after midnight to take account and punishment.. It terrifies me to see a man or a woman forced to pray on top of a rock from hell.. I cannot bear to hear the sound of wailing and pain.. I have heard tales There is a lot about the life of the dead in the graves, and I can only believe it because I have not heard anyone denying it or questioning its credibility.

I have to leave this scary place.. It is important to sleep in a place less terrifying and fearful.. I want a safer place also from rams and hyenas.. I should not be far from people’s homes.. If a “thief” or a predatory hyena comes upon me, I find someone He rushes to my rescue, or I hurry for help to a nearby house.. I have heard many times about old men who were eaten by “the predator” or devoured by hyenas, and only remnants of bones and limbs remained of them.

I took refuge in a place close to the house of a good person crushed by poverty, his name is Thabet Saleh.. He toiled from morning to evening on a cheap rent.. plowing the land for people and carrying heavy stones on his back all day long.. He builds people’s houses, while his house is very humble, but his heart was He is greater than the palace of a king, and his morals are great, greater than the owners of all palaces.

Thabet Saleh heard my steps in the mountain, and the night in our countryside had a call to prayer.. He heard pebbles and stones falling because of climbing some walls and mountain bulges.. He was sure that something was going on.. He turned the light towards the voice and started calling from there?! Repeat it two or three times..I am more certain that there is something that needs attention..

He seemed to me brave and he did not stop calling, but went up to the place I was in to find out and reveal the matter.. He found me and recognized me and insisted that I go down to stay with his family.. I went down with him.. His wife welcomed me and she was my mother’s friend.. She did not believe that I was the one whose husband found him in the mountain..

She welcomed me with a loving mother.. She honored me and made me feel that I had a second mother and a loving father who is her husband.. She asked me what happened and why was all that screaming that they heard in our house?!

I told her what happened.. Her eyes filled with tears and ran down her prominent cheeks.. Her tears revealed the wicked wickedness of the lamp between us.. I felt overwhelming affection for them and a great love I am looking for..

In the morning, Thabet Saleh’s wife conveyed the news secretly and discreetly to my sick mother because of what happened to her from me and my father, and I reassured her with certainty, and after two days I returned home after negotiations with my father, perhaps it seemed difficult, but it was well..

I went back to our home and my father was complaining to my brother Ali Seif Hashid, who was traveling when I was shot from the gun in our home office.. I heard my father saying to him: “Look at your brother, what am I doing!!” .. He was showing him the bullet-ridden walls of the diwan, and what happened to them From harm..and from that day my brother took me to his house in the same village with my aunt, my father’s second wife, who showered me with her tenderness and overwhelming kindness..

***

(16)

Thursday Market and Al-Awlaqiah!!

When we were children in the village, we waited impatiently for Thursday, and if fates asked us to wish for what we desire and desire, we would ask her to make all our days a Thursday that does not stop and does not end..

We were overwhelmed with joy as soon as we went to the Thursday market.. We waited for it with longing and eagerness.. For us children, this market was like a festive bazaar or carnival.. Thursday is a bright and special day on weekdays.. If it wasn’t for this day, our days would have been mixed with their streaks.. Thursdays were crowns Our days, and their joyful intervals.. Our coming and going days are meaningless without Thursday.. Thursday is our beautiful space in which we see what we do not see or hear on the other days..

The roar and clamor characterized this place and this joyful day.. It is the place where people gather.. They flock to it from all sides.. They cross long distances, go through the hardships of the terrain, defy the boundaries of division, and meet in the Thursday market.. They greet each other with eagerness and longing. They talk to each other warmly.

The center of the market is crowded with its people, and its edges extend.. It is swarming with people and goods.. buying and selling and life swarming in it.. you hear the roar and murmurs of the market before you see it or reach it.. hustle and bustle and life and diligent activity.. they buy and buy.. they talk and giggle..

Some of them eat breakfast in the morning, some of them drink tea and coffee, and some of them eat lunch in the middle of the day.. There is a café for “Dawla” which is a tall white woman with a beautiful face and tattoos have increased in beauty and elegance.. The pandemic of extremism and puritanism has not yet reached our villages. At that time, the veil was not hit on the faces of women, and it was chastity, innocence and kindness that prevailed without outrage of modesty or being harassed, or the presence of something that spoils innocence and life..

In the Thursday market there was a café for “Rukeez” the kind smiling man, whom you feel familiarity, contentment and comfort when you see him.. what his hands made of food was delicious, and his coffee improves the quality and adjusts the mood.. and there is Hamid, the best of the poor and kind man, who sells cold water and sour lime ; In his melodious voice, he declares, “The Banhais, the Banhais.”

Many people in the market advertise and promote their goods, and sometimes the “Mutreb” climbs a high place in the market, and you hear announcements for mawlids and occasions or what matters to people in a general matter, and the announcement of events begins with “the present knows the absent..” All of these people have left, and today we found ourselves in the presence War, devastation, destruction and blood, among the scoundrels, thieves, criminals and corrupt people.. Oh my God, how beautiful those days were, and how good the people were..!

***

Thursdays were festive holidays for the children who went to the market.. But one of them for me was a day of anger and strife.. The crazy Ali Abdullah Naif, called “Al-Awlakiah” was famous among the children.. He was engulfed by a fit of tension and nervous convulsions.. A movement of emotion suddenly erupted in him. And there is a kind of aggression, and emptying a charge of tension and anger, accompanied by the uttering of swearing and insulting words, and the name “Al-Awlakiah” is evoked in it..

The truth is, we do not know what is the secret of this “Awlaqiyya” in the life of this “madman”!! And what does it have to do with it!! To be named after her!! “Al-Awlakiah” is the closed mystery in the life of this man who is afflicted with a psychological and nervous condition and a kind of “madness”.

I remembered this while reading Naguib Mahfouz’s story “Whisper of Madness”, which he wrote in the thirties of the last century, imitating the situation, in which he tries to answer the question of what is madness?! At the outset, he wrote: “It seems to be a state as mysterious as life and death, and you can tell a great deal about it if you look at it from the outside, but the interior, the essence, is a closed explanation.”

“Al-Majnun” Awlakiah was an obsession with anxiety and fear for the children in the market.. They were terrified of him when they saw him.. and sometimes he would attack and chase them, without reason, especially if he was in a state, attacking and hitting whoever he found in front of him from the children, and continuing his walk without being reproached. no one cares..

Sometimes he was stoned, and he made trespassing movements, which would bring panic and fear to children, and sometimes adults would object to him, shouting at him: “Without madness, you have afflicted the ignorant.” I don’t really know why he does this?! Why is this “madness” aggressive towards children?! Were children ever assaulted, harmed, or provocative?!! I do not know!

And with this “crazy”, I had a story… I don’t know how old I was at the time when I was surprised when he broke the crowd in the market, and hit my head against the back of my head with a strong blow… I don’t know how a “crazy” fit of anger caught me… I fought with him, and the madman was asking Some people intervene to end the fight, and he asks them: Whose son is this madman?!! As the children surrounded us, they watched what was happening.

People intervened and broke up the fight.. It seemed to me that madness works with madness.. I remembered this years ago, and I clashed with some madmen, but I discovered recently that you should not waste much of your time with madmen, or it is okay to fight with them, without Stop looking for those who stand behind them, and their supporters.. If you find them against you, these bastards deserve madness, and even the results, no matter how great and great they are for you, have their merit and some duty to perform..

Al-Awlakiah began to ask about my father, and when they told him, and he was known in the market, he complained to me and said to him:

 – You have a crazy son.. Look what your son did to me! ..

He was showing my father his cut shirt, fingernails and scribbling on his hands and some parts of his body! .. However, the children present, including Yassin Abdel Wahhab, helped me with a testimony in my favor, and they testified that “Al-Awlakiah” was the one who started slapping me in the head, and with that testimony, I escaped punishment He was harsh and was waiting for me from my father who was accustomed to strictness and strictness.. From that day on, it was said that Awlakih had stopped being aggressive towards children..

Al-Awlakiah passed away a few years ago, and it was said that he recovered from his psychological state before he died.. but his other illnesses did not give him much time.. I haven’t seen him for a long time.. he left life quietly.. God’s mercy covers him..

***

The innocence in those days was overwhelming, and the freedom of women was greater, and the blackness over women we can only see in the beautiful “Thabit” dress before Wahhabism and the extremist Salafi ideas that came from outside Yemen in the early eighties..

I still remember the words of my aunt “Sunbulah” Umm Abdo Farid with one of the marketers of extremism and puritanism in our villages in those days, as soon as he was trying to greet her with the tip of his fingers, wrapping her with a piece of cloth, the ends of which were folded on the side of his hands and turned on his back from behind..

And she said to him:

– Until yesterday, my son, and you pissed on me.. I used to “piss you off” and “put you down” and today you don’t want to greet me except by force.. I am like your mother.. Where did you come from this religion?!!

It was a harsh protest against this ingratitude and the superficial behavior that this young boy showed against a woman of the age and stature of his mother.. But this ingratitude was done in the name of religion, and they assassinated the innocence and kindness that prevailed..

***

(17)

Ants, mice, monkeys and a child’s tenderness!!

I was a young child, sensitive and sensitive.. Emotions and feelings.. Many of the behaviors that appeared from me at that stage might have been natural due to the intensity and rush of those feelings and feelings during the era of my childhood raging with it. To many, she may appear unhealthy, if not foolish and naïve.

I still remember putting various kinds of grains on the doors of ant houses for food, and I wanted them to live comfortably and prosperously, or to relieve them of fatigue and deprivation, and to spare them a greater danger.. She goes away from her homes, so as not to risk her life, and be trampled under human feet, or crushed under the hooves of cattle.

I help her build houses for her that are sunken in the mud, and fortify them with stones and tin so that I can protect them from the ruins of the torrent and the inundation of rain, and so that their houses remain full of destruction or destruction. From it, and what I try to avoid from the dangers that I see as imminent or imminent.. I thought that the ants understood my words as Prophet Solomon understood the hadith of the ants, and the ants understood the words of the Prophet Solomon..

Sometimes I would collect some stray and wandering ants, and build a settlement for them, inside the tin of the empty “Nido” milk can, after I filled it with clay dough, and built for it rooms and stores that I filled with all kinds of grains, so that it would not die or starve, and would not abandon its newly created homes.

I guarded the ants and nurtured them for days and weeks, and when I traveled to Aden, I went with the tin can to a remote and safe place.. I planted it in my father’s land, and provided them with a lot of grain to feed and live as long as possible, despite the aunt’s noise, and her opposition to what I do, until I appeared before her as a deranged and deranged child and she She eavesdrops, while I talk to the ants in my solitude with them.

***

In another incident, I set a trap for mice.. In the morning, the mouse was found lifeless, and it fell into the grip of the trap, the iron striking its suffocated neck, propped up from below by protrusions and blacksmith’s teeth that became erupting at the bottom of its neck, and its soul overflowed, perhaps hours ago..

I saw a small mouse next to her, almost attached to her in a touching and sad scene.. I watched him as if heartbreak was possessing him and paralyzing his strength.. I saw him breathing quickly, perhaps burdened with sadness, anxiety and confusion.. Try..

I tried to arouse his distaste and arouse in him the instinct of life or survival, but he began to be indifferent and indifferent to me.. He refused to escape or leave the place.. I asked myself: Is he inexperienced with danger and does not know what threatens him with death or does he not realize what human actions will lead to? ..?! Or did he only feel comfortable by staying next to his strangled mother, and it was impossible for him to separate from her, even if he caught up with her?!

I was touched by the scene, and tears came from my eyes.. I begged for forgiveness from a victim who had passed away, but she could no longer forgive and forgive, and her soul went to her pariah in heaven.. He has his strengths, and he lives freely, and I prayed for him to have a long life and a good residence.

Perhaps I wished to mourn the murdered mother, but who would suggest to me a verse, or tempt me to create a poem?!! I regretted my actions the most.. I grieved greatly for this much.. I prayed to God, and asked Him for forgiveness, and I read to her soul what I had memorized of short surahs of the Qur’an, and she accompanied her with burial ceremonies that seemed to me solemn..!!

Her soul departed to her pariah, and to this day the question still gnaws at my head, and pecks at my exhausted memory; Why does all this and the like, and more of it and what is worse, happen in a war that is more horrific and raw..?! The truth is that it is more than a question.. more than a puzzle, and a riddle than a riddle that I have not answered to this day, and I am close to sixty..!! As the echo came back, he was whispering inside me and asking Koswas: The absurdity of life and death cannot be wisdom!!

***

In 2005, if not in the following year, a similar case occurred in the “Al-Faqous” building in Sana’a, in which I was staying, after one of my sons, without my knowledge, set a mousetrap; So I grabbed the hand of one of the mice, and the strange thing is that a number of mice kept hovering around him.. Maybe they were trying to do something that they were unable to do, and maybe even understood.. They were hurting when their companion happened, and maybe they were trying to save him, or this is what they were hoping for in such a harsh moment..

When I saw this scene, I rushed to release the mouse caught in the grip of the trap, and besides that, I made sure to grant salvation to all the mice who were hovering around him, and in close proximity to him.. They deserved to be saved at least because they did not let him down or leave him.. They were the most loyal to him. In his ordeal, his family and his injury..

***

At some point in my childhood, I forbade my mother from slaughtering a chicken to help me with the disease.. Treating the disease with chicken broth and meat, I was unpleasant and unpalatable, if not sometimes repulsive, and perhaps sometimes similar to treating the patient with ironing and marking the skin with fire, before I later got used to the reality of adverb..

I was feeling overjoyed, extending the life of our chickens, and being satisfied with their eggs.. I feel a deep comfort, seeing the chickens live, and I saved them from a slaughtering and painful fate.. I am overwhelmed with happiness when I hear her happy voice in the days that follow the day she was rescued, or I see her shining and lover of life. I deeply feel that life is better and more deserving of death and disease…but today’s reality is shocking and oppressive, imposing its conditions and cruelty on us, and the world is a great bewilderment, and confusion has become great, and its tyranny over us has become stronger and heavier in an unjust world.

***

I once owned a little monkey as a gift to me by an old woman, or perhaps my mother bought it for me after noticing my attachment to her at first sight as a lover of a hoof.. The truth is I no longer remember how I owned her, but I remember that happiness was overwhelmed by me to an extent beyond imagination.. The first time I saw Monkeys are so close in the distance, and I see some of their actions mimic or close to our actions as humans, and even give us joy, laughter, wonder and broad and bright smiles..

These “monkeys” used to sympathize with me and exchange feelings of cordiality and innocence.. They fill my void and bring me a lot of joy, happiness and wonder.. They fill my life with joy, and perhaps I will make up for it and compensate me with a lot of tenderness that we both lost.. I love her madly. She is very, very caring for me, too.

My father came from Aden, and the first time he saw me with her was as if she was being shielded by a thousand demons.. He hit me and hit her.. I was flogged and able to bear the beating, but I am unable to leave her.. But he forced me under duress to leave her to the mountain, and the fate is still unknown..

The idea I had, which I heard from one of the aunts, was that the herd of monkeys in the mountain would not accept “monkeys” from outside their herd, but would attack them fiercely.. They would be with them and would eat them, because they are only alien to them and do not belong to their herd, and because the smell of humans remains in them and will not leave them. I was imagining her tragic and brutal fate.

I lived in great pain, perhaps more than the pain I imagined in it.. I lived a depression similar to the grief of mourning.. a heartbreak that seemed to me boundless.. my condition was like someone who lost a loved one who could not live without him.. Forever..

I used to imagine her while she was on the mountain suffering from hunger and thirst, wrung by the pain of separation, and a lot of lost and unbearable loss, and an unknown fate, and its possibilities are terrifying.. Most probably, but there is no doubt that its end will be catastrophic and painful.

For a time, I suffered more than I could bear.. I feel that my skinny body has become wrecked and threatened with no tricks.. My imagination wanders away, investigating her bitter suffering.. Our suffering is great, and the suffering of both of us seems daunting..

I used to imagine her running to the herd of monkeys, begging them for mercy and begging, while the monkeys attacked her horribly, and gnawed at her with the ferocity of carnivorous beasts.. ripping her skin, burying her fangs in her skinny body, and quarreling her limbs and body parts.. I lived in pain and heartbreak that day exceeded my exhausted memory..

In part, it was a childhood that tended towards human rebellion, perhaps in some of it was of another kind.. I felt that it was a childhood worthy of my humanity, and in it a protest against death, futility and this miserable life..

***

My sensuality still accompanies me in my old age, and refuses to leave me even if my arrogance of manhood mocks me.. My conscience still blames me as soon as I ignore it.. Existential protests are still buzzing inside me and filling me with noise.. Inside me is still a human being screaming and my conscience interrogating in every situation and tragedy..

In this horrific and horrific war, our tragedy has become yes and greater than this great universe or this is what I feel in a deep way.. this ferocious war that lasted for a long time and the greatness of our affliction with it.. this war that poured hell and great scourge on our heads, and no longer distinguishes between stones and humans..

Today I have grown up and experienced life more, and my tenderness is still expanding, and my protest is still growing.. I am still to this day in many of me haunted by that young child, and I have become more gray-haired, and I may be approaching an approaching old age.. One year in this fierce war is older than seven years Lean, and the war became long and did not want to end..

Exile Exile awaits me at the edges of a grave to pour dust on my body, and the unknown is rushing to come towards us without a shroud or a grave.. the graves crowded.. the graves narrowed us.. the cemeteries are now without balconies or competitors, and the bodies are looking for their coffins, in a homeland that has even vanished It has become smaller than a tomb that still does not know the age of its owner.

***

(18)

I almost became a criminal!!

In the first stage of my life, I was sensitive like a highly sensitive measuring device.. introverted, shy and transparent.. sensitive and emotionally charged.. rebellious to the point where I rebelled against my father.. emotional to the point where I think of salvation from life.. sometimes wretched to the point of madness. A struggle in which good over evil, life over death, and man over everything else.

Perhaps one day a corrupt idea crossed my mind, but soon its contradiction within me would resist it.. Maybe one day I wanted to have a cane to take it from those without me as the professor used to do with his students, then I remember what I went through, so I expel her and do not allow her to come back to me..

In my childhood, I attacked the homes of wasps, and they were just chasing me, and their stings got from me, and my face was swollen from their stings, and my neck and limbs thickened, and their poison ran through my skinny body, and some of them needed days to recover and heal from their tumor, and the fever that I had because of their stings..

I was the aggressor at that time, and she was defending her right to life.. her right to live and she found herself in a forced life.. I did not understand this situation at the time.. and when I grew up, I found that life does not appeal to me, and its evils hurt me.. I search for justice and goodness. The pure, a world that has not yet come and may not come forever..

***

Among the most important books that played a role in the formulation of my later awareness and thinking, the book Criticism of Religious Thought by Sadiq Jalal Al-Azm, a book from the history of political torture in Islam, the book of political assassination in Islam by Hadi Al-Alawi, materialistic tendencies in Arab Islamic philosophy by Hussein Marwa, and the hidden truth of Faraj Fouda. And some books of Salama Musa, and the novel of the village of al-Batool by Muhammad Haniber and others.

I dreamed of being a martyr.. I was affected by the story of Sanaa Muhaidli’s martyrdom.. I grew up and did not forget her story, and I named my first daughter Sana after and admiration for this Lebanese girl who carried out a suicide attack against a convoy of the Zionist occupation vehicles in southern Lebanon..

I admired and read about the Cuban Revolution, and about the revolutionary Guevara at an early stage in my life.. I named my son Fidel before his name became Fadi, in gratitude to Fidel Castro and Cuba to the fortress of steadfastness, and the voice that sided with Arab issues in international forums during the “America” war on Iraq..

I belonged to the left, and named my second son Yasar before his name became valid..At one stage of my life I became biased towards the poor and the left in economics, and perhaps at another stage I became disillusioned with liberalism with regard to freedom of thought, but later I found all liberalism may not accommodate an idea or a book.

Today, I claim that I have become an opinion, and I belong to man first, and I tend to be independent a lot, and I refuse to be one in a herd.. I do not like the restrictions that want me to live in their holes, or their dull past.. I resist injustice, oppression and tyranny under any title that comes to it, or By any name..I am loving freedom to the fullest extent..

***

Being in a stage of your childhood or all of it sensitive and tender does not mean that you did not commit foolishness, emotions and abnormal actions at some stage, some of which may reach the point of crime or almost.. Various factors may push you at a critical moment to lose your mind, and not to appreciate the results of your actions And maybe you and the victim together are victims of your reality..

Being a very emotional child does not mean that you will be a perfectly normal event, and that your teenage life will be free of sharp bumps sometimes, and that it will not deviate from the right path, perhaps in a crude way.. a life that will be surrounded by a lot of rebellion, and perhaps naughty and cruelty also in some way. In a society that practices cruelty as a virtue..

I lived the cruelty of life in a more severe reality, and perhaps I found myself in some moments, even if it was fleeting, imprinted with a sharp emotion, and I committed or almost committed something that is outside my context and contradicts my nature and instinct, but soon followed by regret, or guilt, and wishing that I had not done what I did..

My life is in a part of my childhood and adolescence, in which my relationship with my father may have been harsh in some of them, but I can say that in the last ten years of my father’s life before his death, who died probably in the last quarter of the end of 1997, it was fine and fine.. Love, friendship and feeling Dense each other.

My father died while he was very satisfied with me, and I was satisfied with him to that extent and more.. He relinquished his cruelty and his patriarchal authority, and I gave up my rebellions against him.. A lot of love, respect and appreciation prevailed between us.. I reconciled with my father to a large extent, and I did not I reconcile with the tyrannical authorities to this day, and I am about to enter the door of my sixty years of rejecting tyranny under any title.

My rebellion against the unjust political authority has continued to this day with all its false names and masks.. I live with tireless stubbornness.. my life is rejection, compulsion and continuous resistance with it, perhaps because the tyrannical authority, in any dress other than my father, refuses to give up its authority to the people, and seeks with its hard, toil and violence to subjugate them She owns them, owns their present and their future as well.

I can only say thank you, my father. I had a school where I learned and was able to resist the authority that seeks to impose its power, authority and visions on people, and it wants to own them, and own their present and future forever.

In the same place, I claim that life, tragedies, many scenes, and reading about what is human have taught me as a whole to reject the practice of oppression and oppression of people, and to avoid recklessness and sharp emotions that lead me to regret and guilt.. I make sure that my conscience is my guide and watchdog, against injustice under any name..

I find myself against violations of human rights and freedoms, whatever the allegations of the violating authority.. against injustice and tyranny in all its forms, the first of which is the one who wears the garb of religion and whose oppression and tyranny wear the guise of the sacred.. is biased towards the causes of the poor to whom I find myself affiliated, but without affecting the place and position of man. And his dignity.. I studied law and the judiciary and defended the rights and freedoms of people.. I adore freedoms and dream that their ceiling would be the sky, and even more than that if it was possible..

 ***

I know that the criminal was not created as a criminal, or was born with a desire for crime, but there are various factors, and multiplying and stressful circumstances converging, and slippery paths that overcome the prohibitions..

Between normality and criminality, which I mean is a fine line in a moment of narrowness and blindness that we do not see, so we slip into what is not good, even if regret overtakes any of us; Fate answered him: I unleashed madness; So she slipped into a slippery slope, and fell into a grave predicament, and “there is no hour of regret”… Here the power of punishment is necessary without excessive, politicizing or violating justice..

Perhaps the dewy breezes in the mourning stove become a mass of flame.. Perhaps tender and sensitive feelings will become a criminal who threatens those around him with danger, and whoever was sensitive and emotionally charged, he may be invaded by a pollution in his mind, or a fit of madness.. Perhaps he who used to care for ants, feed them and be kind to them And whoever used to release mice from the trap, sympathize with them and understand their need for life, becomes for once, his father’s killer.

Perhaps someone who was destined to be a high-level judge, lawyer or jurist in the future of his life, becomes a man with a fall in the night, or a slip during the day, that kills a person..

***

I am a human being, and I was almost overcome by evil one day.. I almost became a victim of my circumstances, my first indiscretion, my haste and foolishness, and perhaps also my hateful selfishness, and my stray emotions that got out of my control and forced the precautions.. I almost became a criminal who killed his father, and at the same time a victim of this reality. The condemned and the unknown..

I still remember when I went looking for fire water in the herd of Aden, to buy it with a little money I needed for my other needs.. but the seller told me that day that he only sells fire water with a license..

I went looking for another way, and I was assassinated and revolted.. I suppressed my big anger, and turned my heat inside me for a while.. I bought a knife and folded it with a white paper, and put it under the belt.. I hid it with my shirt and aprons.. I went looking for it in the mosques that I usually go to, but I I did not find him, as if “Al-Hafiz” at that time protected him or sided with him..or I was protected by an angel, luck or the kindness of fate..

I searched for him in all the places he frequents, and I am supposed to find him, but on that day I did not find a trace of him or a glimpse of an eye, as if luck or the kindness of fate was intended and deliberate to protect me from myself and save him..

I was looking for him, imagining what I would do.. My right hand was stimulating like a hawk waiting to pounce.. My hand was jumping out of me in the air to do what I imagined and whimpered.. I was walking nervously, similar to that madman called “Al-Awlakiyah” that was named after him, and his fame overcame his name that had vanished. In the orbits of loss..

He was nervously shooting his hand into the air, as if he meant to dig his hand into the stomach of the one who saw him in front of him, and we did not see him and wonder.. It was like a knot breathing from its deep and buried dungeon..

When the blood calmed down in my burning veins, and the lava and fires that were sweeping me and eating me and burning in my angry interior subsided, I felt great remorse. Because he let me down in a fit of recklessness and madness.. I was under 18 at the time..

Today, my imagination is recovering a memory buried by time and casting its shadows on it, I imagine that terrifying and frightening situation, and I see myself that I almost resemble those criminals who fell into what is forbidden and heavy, in a moment of weakness and selfishness, or the recklessness of anger, or provocative frivolity.. I remember the folly that One day she would take me with her to prison, and a disgrace would follow me without ending, and then I would spend the rest of my life regretting, sad and heartbroken.

And between today and the distant yesterday, everything was different.. I began to see extending the hand as a rude backwardness, and slander of the tongue as something unbecoming of a human being..

***

(19)

Rebel despite the decline

I began as a rebel, and I lived and am still a rebel to this day, and my life is fading into decline and demise.. The world revolves, and the circles revolve on the transgressor.. If I am gone, tomorrow I return with dawn, I come again, an unrepentant knight.. I teach generations how to be liberated from the culture and herds of slaves.  .. How do you get used to rebellion, and how to refuse and resist.. It is full of rejection, and rebellion as long as I live.. I am alive and alive as long as I am still resisting.

Perhaps reality dictates waiting, or I bow to the storm until it passes.. Maybe I calm down a little, or take a break from a long war, and then I go back to finish what I started.. I don’t surrender myself to a tyrant who wants to domesticate me as a sheep, or I ride like a beast.. I am still resisting.  With my awareness, molars and hands..

When injustice wants my silence, I say to him, “Silence is a shame,” and when the night asks me who we are?!  I answer him, “We are lovers of the day.”  I could die of suffocation or suffocation.

I refuse to be overwhelmed by injustice no matter how lavish or opulent it tempts me.. Anxiety of defiance roams within me like a lion in its cage.. I resist death in the iron-enclosed silence dungeon.. I reject silencers even if they are made of glass that drinks from the sparkles of the sun..  And if Maher made it of crystal and diamonds, and he made it as bright as Najaf..

And if I am forced to be silent for a moment, the range inside me is full of noise and clamor.. and if I slip into myself in a moment of weakness or weakness, my conscience does not rest from the fierce war raging in my deep depths, until his victory resounds throughout the farthest reaches, and the snarling voice reaches the heights of the sky..

They said I am sick.. I said I own myself wherever I am and I am in charge, I do not accept to be a slave to anyone even myself.. I desperately refuse to be in a herd, or to be in the crowds as a ride.. I am free son of a free, it is not from my religion and my covenant is a slave and a master..  One day I will be a slave who will be dragged to the slave market.. I will not be a slave even if a prayer for slavery is a thousand prophets, and a prayer for slavery is a thousand verses..

In the darkened darkness my conscience was my star, and at the head of the ocean my conscience was the compass.. my conscience first before the ego.. before everyone and even if I was among them.. my conscience finds it difficult to be cowardly silence in the face of heavy tyranny.. an absurd world riven with bitterness and pain, and deepens in savagery every day..

***

Unleash your voice oh citizen..Do not give in to the tyranny of criminal tyrants..And if fate has decreed that the iron-fenced prison must be used, then let your roar in the distance, and declare that you are free, son of a free man, even if you are a prisoner..Awaken the people with the roar of an unconquerable lion.. Release  Your majestic and fearful voice.. affirmed your presence and protest, and informed the world that you are still alive and not dead..

I drink water with a grain of salt, or with the flavor of what you want.. I love the salty life with the taste of rebellion and struggle.. and the delicious achievement by excellence, and the uniqueness of pleasure..  Rebellion against the great delusion, so that you do not live plundered or oppressed and humiliated.

If you find the truth clear and clear, grab it and give up like a drowning person.. catch it with your hands.. bite it with your teeth and molars.. as big as the sky and do not bow to an oppressor.. do not accept humiliation even if he ascends you to the throne of Rome and Persia..  Resist those who want to humiliate you, or eliminate your existence.

Do not compromise..Do not compromise..Do not waive your rights..Do not continue injustice for a day, even if filled with a paradise of honey or bliss..Rebellion in your sunrise and sunset..Rebellion and if you live in the last moment of your life or your decline..Rebellion against this  messing around all the time..

***

Fifth series

Fifth series

(1)

They are afflicted by unemployment, and today unemployment is an ongoing disaster

After two years of our stay in Aden, the “Albes” company, in which my father worked, dispensed with a number of workers, and my father was among them..a great injury, and a fate greater than us..what calamity befell us, O God?! How unfortunate and unfortunate.. our fear of what is to come and the unknown is increasing and expanding!! My father lost his job, and there is no alternative to replace him, and no one can fill us with this fate, which appeared before us as a black hole, and a cosmic void that wants to swallow us and banish us into the unknowns of Hell.

There is no hope to help us, nor a glimmer of hope looming on the horizon.. gloomy in the sky, distress in the earth, and despair in the arteries.. there is no longer a source of income for us.. our conditions have worsened and deteriorated, and we have increased in need and poverty.. it was not in front of my father There is no choice but to take us back to our village, which is crushing misery and misery, prolonged suffering, and no light at the end of the tunnel.. How black is life when you lose your job, and your livelihood is cut off!

A terrible thing happened to us, and a double fatal happened to my father.. the tragedy of a family in which its Lord lost his limited income, and another family in the village is starving, with no income or compensation other than what my father sends.. A death sentence imposed on us by fate without any hesitation or respite..

My father wanders about on his face, looking for the face of God, perhaps he will find it.. The feeling of loss and loss of hope was harsh and even overwhelming.. I imagine the situation that a rock the size of a frowning planet was thrown by the sky on my father’s head, and we were killed with him that toppled everyone..

The options are limited and difficult. In fact, we have no choice.. No work or any opportunity to save our livelihood, and all you can think of is absent and non-existent help.. You are drenched in the sea, with no hand, no oar, not even a straw to hope for or hold. It has the grip of a drowning person.. We are all drowning in the lost, the unknown and the lands of lost..

My father brought us back to the village.. The injury and the pain became double.. Two families suffer from hunger, and everything in them is dear, and there is no hope waiting to save us from our miserable condition, and there is nothing left for my father but adventure and departure to exile; He is looking for another job opportunity to save us from misery and slow death.

This happened before the independence of the south from the British occupation.. the world narrowed in my father’s face and was devastated.. after we lost our source of livelihood and what we ate in Aden, we returned with my father to the village from which we came, like salmon that return from their exile to die in their hometown, but my father must. To continue wandering and searching for a job opportunity.. He must traverse land and sea; To find a job to earn money from, and there is no excuse for him to abandon his responsibility, even if our affliction and destiny are greater than everyone else’s… His destination this time was to “Berbera” in brotherly Somalia.

***

Today, my father, is worse than his afflicted yesterday.. What happened to us and Yemen makes our tragedy of yesterday, despite its greatness, look like the head of a pin in an ocean.. What we are witnessing today is an ocean of torment, death and ugliness..

We are in a time in which its calamities and ugliness have increased.. And what yesterday was a affliction that was capable of it, or a battle with the impossible, today has become disasters that exceed what the mountains can bear, and even the whole of Yemen cannot overcome it, and the world has gathered us, and poured over our heads, all its corruption. And his horror and ugliness..

The difference between yesterday’s misfortunes and the crowdedness of today’s disasters exceeds all possible and reasonable.. Today, in the seventh year, we are experiencing a fierce war, and an escape to further fragmentation and hell.. Multiple wars break out and erupt here and there with a thousand heads and warlords.. Yemen has become torn bits between them.. each nibble from it. What he could; And the most important question became: Where is Yemen?! The shocking answer comes from the reality of the situation: Yemen was here..!!

Lean years in which our people ate their insides, and the community ate each other, and fire ate most of it.. Bloody and horrific wars, crushing our people in length and breadth..a tragedy with a deep depth, length and dimensions that seemed to us as an ocean without sides, bays, or end..

You can imagine the scale of the disaster, and you see the currency deteriorating in an unprecedented manner, and even its purchasing power is disappearing in a catastrophic and frightening manner, without concern or a sense of responsibility on the part of the de-facto authorities immersed in looting, banditry and horrific corruption.

More than a million and a half employees, retirees, and beneficiaries have had their salaries cut, and the means of honorable livelihood cut with them, and the parties to war and conflict are colluding with each other to abandon responsibility for this number that supports nearly ten million citizens, who have become impoverished, destitute and destitute..

Unemployment increases every day, and may double every year, and the parties to the war practice a deliberate policy of impoverishment towards this afflicted people, and diseases and epidemics, famine, homelessness, and loss spread, just as war has killed this exhausted people for many years, and in our surroundings there is a savage world that does not care what we have reached From now on..

More than a million citizens kill each other in trenches and fronts, and even protect the borders of the aggressor.. usurping authorities and usurping land.. wasted human values, and the rights of a people are being harassed.. looting and collapse.. ignorant and warlords. Unprecedented.. what happened was more than described, and it was unimaginable and was not considered..

***

(2)

People see us as inferior to them!

My father was a worker.. a refuting of leather.. It is a profession despised by some as an extension of leather tanning.. a profession despised by those who are possessed by emptiness and “goat” and who live on robbery, plunder, and corruption in the land, and are unable to understand that work as long as it is legitimate  It is a great honor;  Because its owner eats from his toil and from the sweat of his forehead.

My father used to work in the Al-Bas Company in Aden, refuting leather, which is the craft to which he gave the most important part of the flower of his life and the primer of his youth.. Working in dismantling leather has health damages, but it seems that my father, when he joined this company, preferred the opportunity to work on unemployment,  And implement the proverb that says “the dust of work, not the saffron of unemployment.”

Because of the salt, leather, and the chemicals used, my father developed shortness of breath and a night cough, which accompanied him until the last days of his life.

During more than fifty years of my life, I did not know that there are population groups or societal groups in Yemen that despise the profession of leather tanning, and its workers, and look down on them!..  There are population groups, tribal and nomadic environments, which you see us without until much later in my life.

My father started his career as a worker in “leather scraping”, and he belongs to the working class, or say you want to families with limited income, and this profession is in a way related and an extension of the tanning profession.

In the socialist era in southern Yemen, I found legal protection and punitive texts for those who insult, despise, or offend a citizen because of his professional affiliation, or even the low class with the intent of contempt and abuse.  Or a severe provocation and humiliation of a person, which would cause him a severe and direct psychological agitation, and the person to whom this abuse was directed committed a crime of murder, so the killer is not led by it.

In this regard, the explanations of the Penal Code issued in 1976 return the reason to the fact that the act of murder was committed by the offender at a moment of intense psychological agitation as a result of extreme abuse, and in a way that removed the perpetrator from his natural state, and from his awareness of appreciating his actions, under the influence of that agitation caused by the victim  The law has restricted the maximum prison sentence to no more than five years.

The culture and awareness prevailing in the south at the time, was ideologically biased in favor of the poor classes, or what he called the working and peasant classes, the artisans, fishermen and others, or those he considered in general as “the real stakeholders in the revolution”, but this awareness reached the limit  Which made us cherish this affiliation, and venerate our poverty with pride, and we have never felt any detraction because of our profession, or our low social level.

More than this, there were economic measures, remarkable interest and enthusiasm, being exerted by the authorities towards the marginalized segment, and work to raise their economic, educational, and social level. Many successive attempts were made;  To reintegrate them into society, especially during the era of President Salem Rabie Ali, known as “Salmeen”.

It was one of the captivating and captivating chants at that time, which I heard from the marginalized during my preparatory studies in Tur al-Baha in the seventies of the last century:

“O Salimin, come forward ** O Salimin, we are not servants

O salimin we are the cleaners ** O salimin we do not want to harm”

It was forbidden to describe any cleaner as a servant as it was.

***

(3)

In the face of racism

After a long break between my father and his previous profession, he returned to it again compelled, after I resorted to it in dire need and need, and after he had run out of what he owned and saved from money, and he had been homeless for years, following the killing of my brother Ali Saif Hashid in the village, and my father being pursued by an authority Sanaa at that time, which was seeking to arrest him without committing any crime, and more than that, he did not practice politics in any way, and he had no political affiliation, except that he was the father of my brother Ali, and he carried a heavy grief on his shoulders after his death.

My father continued this work for the second time, “refining the leather” for about two years or more, in a steamer located in the “Khasaf” neighborhood of “Crater” in the eighties of the last century, with his friendly friend Abdul Hamid, despite the fact that my father continued to suffer from nighttime coughing fits, resulting from His previous work in the same profession in the “Albes” company..

Regarding the profession of my father, who returned to it again, “Amer Ali Salam Fawz,” who worked with my father for a period of time, says: “Saif Hashid was a self-made man, and I had the honor to work with him, in Bukhar Abdul Hamid in “Al Khasaf” … where my father was “Ali Salam” works as a driver for Abdul Hamid, while my brother and I were on summer school vacations also working in the refining of leather.. All kinds of salted and dry skins were brought from Sheikh Othman and Sheikh Al-Dawil to the steamer, and we received them in the warehouse, where my uncle Seif was staying By refuting it (which is a very important sorting process, and it requires knowledge and skill in classifying leather, and no creature can learn it, as the skins are divided into two types, goats’ skins (goats), and sheep’s skins.. and therefore the refuting relies on examining each leather, whether it is first class or A second, third, or fourth degree.. and each degree has its name.. net first degree.. second degree mug.. and less than that third and fourth.. and after sorting and counting also, we add the poison with the mixed salt to each skin, and make special stacks for each. A type in the steamer that could accommodate large quantities of leather.. During the external request, we weigh the leather in the form of coffee We put it in a special pressing machine to pack the leather, tie it tightly, bring the innermost parts (packaging each item separately) and weigh it again for reassurance, and write on it with specific chops the name of the country to which we export the leather, or the name of the port..!! And then carried to the port, and shipped on ships to Europe (Italy / France / etc.) and correspondence with companies through a private office, and the merchant Abdul Hamid deal with him)).

My father’s work in refining leather this time was more compelling than the previous time, and my father preferred to work in this profession that he is good at, or it was intended to work in, despite its impact on the level of his health, or rather on what remained of his health.. and between work at the beginning Long life and hard work, health withering away, but she resists with stubbornness and endless patience..

This is how poor people affect work on health, no matter how dangerous or threatening it is.. They prefer work to everything else, even if there is a greater or possible decline or erosion of health.. They die while working diligently in order to provide for their families with a lawful sustenance that runs through sweat. The forehead, even if it satisfies the minimum level of their dignity, and the dignity of their families who are deprived of many, and without noticing them, or the obsession of a passing demon, or a demon prowling in a fever, to engage in looting or killing, or harvesting booty from under the shadows of swords, or reap abundant money From a suspicious source, or an illegal act.. I confess to our fathers.. Our fathers were truly great and worthy..

I knew my father during the course of his life that he sanctifies work, sanctifies his appointments with accuracy to the point of anxiety, works diligently without slackening or laziness, and exerts all his attention and care at work, and persistently strives to achieve the greatest possible amount of achievement. And with renewed activity, vigilance and enthusiasm, which continues with him throughout the working hours.

In Sana’a during the war years, I wrote about Abu al-Dabbagh on my Facebook page, proud of his profession. Barbers, butchers, and those at their level or below them.. and more poetry was added to a line that was widespread among the tribes:

Avoid the company of villains

Decorated, then cupped and butchered

And balms, and dusts, and tanners, and weavers

The profession of “leather refutation” is an extension of the tanning profession, or related to it, and the tanners category has been attached to the butchers category based on the connection in the profession, within the framework of a social hierarchical view that exudes crude racism, awareness and practice.

I learned something else during my conversation with my colleague and comrade in the Military College “Hussein” from Al-Jawf, whom I met during the war period.. I learned from him that buying and selling to a not-too-distant date, some of the Al-Jawf tribes had faults for those who practice them, and that they – From their point of view, it is an undesirable, disrespectful profession, and the fault is with those who practice it. My father also worked in this profession for a long time..

This is how concepts and values ​​are turned upside down, or that the producers of those values ​​are turned on their heads, and thus produce wrong concepts and values, and some of them are upside down like their inverted position, believing their integrity and integrity, to turn in their view who practices honest work, and who eats from the sweat of the forehead, Throwing in shame, and curses chasing him like an inescapable fate, he and his sons and those of them offspring.. the curse overtakes them to impress them with shame, belittling, contempt and racial contempt resulting in reality from distortion or a deep emptiness of consciousness, and backward, superficial logic..

My great pride remains in my father’s work, and in all the professions that he practiced throughout his life, without ever detracting from the humanity of any social group. Rather, I detest racial classification and the hierarchy of assets that lead to the limitation and contempt of incomplete assets, and I despise selection, and reject the traditional stereotyped thinking based on a hierarchy in it. Man’s contempt for his fellow man.

I increased my pride in my father’s professions, and I looked at them from a dimension other than the one that some people who suffer from inferiority complexes, brain disorders, and distorted education and wrong upbringing look at them. The cactus or Sidr tree, which has defied all the conditions that expel life, lived despite the cruelty of nature, was defiant and arrogant, and even increased flowering and fruitfulness, in the dearest of the narrow seasons, as if its stubborn existence had wisdom and resistance, and challenged the pain of nature, and its head flaunted in colors, and its limbs blossomed Bright, giving bees and people honey nectar..

I am proud that I am the son of this struggling father, to whom I belong, and his son became a representative of the people, representing him in a manner that befits him. Al Shuraim is my slogan.”

Most likely, or as I imagine myself, I am still keen and loyal to this afflicted people by those who led them and overpowered them from the highest people and their honour. One day – the people of high ranks to their stinking dungeons, and all those who brought this people great disasters, and practiced great betrayals against them with extreme perseverance and crude and blatant publicity, and brought shame that is indelible and does not disappear to Yemen along its length and breadth!!.. It is not the talk of ego but it is pride, If I am not proud of this, what is left to be proud of?

In conclusion, I detest stereotypical thinking about backward social hierarchies, or based on origin, lineage, or racist thinking in all its names, and I reject repulsive fanaticism, and the injecting of hatred that targets the homeland in its depth, unity and future.. It is okay to say here in loyalty to my father : “How great you are, Dad!”.

***

(4)

I am the son of a leather tanner.. the human being

After what my friend Hussein told me, and what my friend Abdul-Wahhab Qatran revealed to me about the meaning of my affiliation and people like me in the culture and popular imagination of some tribes and regions of Yemen, or some of the local communities in them, and the detraction and inferiority that befalls their owner, I was not ashamed or afraid and did not try to redress what It seemed broken, or concealed what was revealed. On the contrary, I defended what I believe with a worthy pride, and I was not afraid of calibration, nor was I embarrassed by my father’s work, or by the professions he pursued during the history of his life, but I was very proud of myself, and of my father who dug in the rock for us Let us live with dignity, and I was proud of my belonging, which was able to reserve a place for him in the solid rock, and with a double challenge, to be and be as he should..

However, the most important thing is that I have not been tempted to search for a corresponding small fanaticism that would kill or disfigure the great man who fills me, dwells in my consciousness, and endeavors to fortify me from any fragility, and I have not given up on the moral control that is in harmony with this human being who inhabits me, and the person I am looking for is external, And outside of my affiliation..

This does not mean that I do not resist, nor do I attack the belittling that surrounds me, or try to obtain from us as segments and groups of society the right to enjoy their full rights, the first of which is the right of citizenship.

I am not the son of the sky.. I am the son of the tanner who revolts against his reality every day without getting tired or bored or surrendering to victory.. the son of the tanner who does not surrender to his destiny, and does not succumb, even if the calamities are as heavy as the mountains.. the son of the gladiator tanner who struggles with what He afflicts him, and he resists to the last tear.

Ibn al-Dabbagh, who rebelled against a society that still sanctifies its tyrants.. and resists an authority that is not ashamed when it claims.. an authority that claims justice, and its tyranny is greater than an ocean.. that transcends its nostrils over the great nation.. an authority that privatizes citizenship, distributes indulgences as it wants, absent equality, and spread poverty. Like thick darkness, and freedom is imprisoned in an iron cage.

I criminalize murder and do not facilitate it, nor do I drink blood nor shed it, but I am accused of drinking alcohol.

My father is a candy maker and seller, he eats from his hard work and from the sweat of his forehead.. he spreads joy and delicious taste, and refuses war and spreading ruins..

I am the son of my father, I did not build glory on piles of skulls, nor did I ever celebrate or brag about the vastness of the tombs, or the long queues of coffins, nor did I rejoice over the piles of victims, nor did I inject hatred, and the deep-seated grudges of hatred.

***

I am the son of my father who is burdened with heavy loads.. we toil to the point of apprehension and grieve.. from dusk to evening.. we have never performed grief in an overnight stay, or sell them to the victim.. they faked awareness with thousands of speeches.. and weighed it down with a thousand treads and lies..

They promoted quackery from the top of the minarets.. They set fire to a thousand and over.. And burdened the earth with the sorrows of orphanages.. Covet them with the seas of the eye and rivers of honey and wine.. And they hid deception under coats and beards.. And they hid under turbans a thousand executioners and nights.. We if we drank stealthily.. The eye flows to me..and to God we travel..

I am not proud of India, nor of those who eat livers..I am not proud of lineage, tribe, or murderer..I do not beg history for my sustenance, and I do not claim authority and inheritance..I do not claim a right from Adam and Eve, or before Pleiades..

I am not from the water of the sky, and I do not boast that I am a descendant of Ali or Fatima.. I am the father of the tanner and the farmer, and the sweet seller spread joy and happiness..

I am not the ego that is burdened with itself and its selves.. I throw the ego in the face of the tyrant unrepentant, and I struggle to remove the injustice that weighs heavily on everyone.. I am the ego that is proud and proud, it is not from the water of heaven, and resists those who see it, it came from donkey dung..

I am the dreamer, the son of loved ones.. I belong to the great dream, the size of the galaxy, rather the size of this vast universe, which breaks the valves and travels far, without limits or end.

***

(5)

Racial and political prejudice about some names

I grew up and grew up without feeling that my name was a burden on my shoulders.. I had no problem with my fourth name.. I did not find anything about it that made it a point of controversy or consideration.. In Aden and for a long time I analyzed and stayed in it. I never felt that my name was a burden or an obstacle to me. Getting my rights or harming them in any case… Everything was going fine.

In Aden, most likely in the 1970s, the names of the six governorates that make up the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen were canceled and replaced with numbers.. Aden the first governorate, Lahj the second, Abyan the third, Shabwa the fourth, Hadramawt the fifth, and Al-Mahra the sixth, and it was forbidden to attribute the names to regions or tribes. A step or steps were taken in the right direction.

The titles of al-Jawfi, al-Husni, al-Mahri and other titles of senior leaders of the country were abolished. However, due to the political conflict in the first half of the eighties, the situation turned, and the regional incitement and mobilization took place in a crude and aggressive manner, and then she was baptized with blood and tears..

***

In this terrifying war in which we are living, most of the de-facto authorities here and there are dealing with names as political, sectarian, regional, tribal and regional affiliations that sometimes cost a heavy cost to their owners..maybe because of them it will cost you some hardship in your life, or it will extend and target your freedom or your life itself.. It is possible that you lose many things because of her, and you may lose all things because of your suspicious name.

Some names have become a burden on their owners, so if they bring you luck, abundance and facilitation, in another region they may mean a threat and loss.. In war and in this most brutal and destructive era, our names have become a burden on us and perhaps a potential threat to our lives, in a tribal, regional and racist reality that tracks Names, and searches for her breath, even if she is without breath.

***

When I came to Sanaa from Aden in 1990, after the union, my name was Ahmed Seif Hashid Hashem. This was my name in my cards and all the documents that I brought with me from A to Z.. They all tell this name and nothing else.. There is no change in it or alteration..

In 1990, when I came to Sana’a, there was no confusion or dust in my name. Then, the name “Hashid” was changed to “Commander” in the statements of the Finance Department of the Ministry of Defense, and I underwent a rigorous review that lasted for months; To retrieve the name of my grandfather Hashed in the monthly salary statement, while my cousin Abdo Farid Hashid, the advisor at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in one of his transactions, replaced the name of Hashid with “Hamed” until he was also able to retrieve the name of his grandfather after a review..

I did not misjudge what happened that day, and I did not attribute it to a misunderstanding or corruption, but in one of my subsequent discussions with one of my managers who belonged to Hajjah, I felt a great deal that the name of my grandfather was a crowd, and at that time the tribe’s crowd had more prestige and social status than others..

Today, under the de facto authority in Sana’a, I confiscated from both of us the name of our grandfather “Hashem”.

***

When the era of “Facebook” began, I was not good at using it at first.. Facebook accounts were opened in our names without our knowledge.. Some malicious people were impersonating us and wearing our names..

I asked my friend and one of my assistants, Sadeq Ghanem, to open a “Facebook” account for me in my name, as I was at that time unable to open an account for me in it.

Sadiq Ghanem opened an account for me in the name of Ahmed Hashed Hashem, and he told me that Elvis refused to accept Saif’s name because there were other accounts that matched my name, so he replaced Ahmed Saif Hashem’s name with Ahmed Hashed Hashem, which was available at that time.

This name Hashem is the name of my second grandfather, and it is a real name, and it is not used or an intruder on my four-year name, and I dealt with the name Ahmed Hashed Hashem on social media, without politicizing or searching for lineage affiliation, or political orientation, but I never thought about something like this at all. Even as a matter of possibility.. I did not think or know about the gain or burden and consequences of this name, and my friend also did not think of this..

I did not know that Hashem, which is some of my four names, would be used for abuse, and I would be accused of using the name “Hashem” for opportunistic, political or social purposes.

***

The activists of the Yemeni Congregation for Reform Party used the name Hashem to abuse me extensively and extensively.. They launched a fierce campaign against this name, specifically after the “Yemen to Where” conference in 2012, which was held in Beirut.. “Al-Nas” and “Al-Ahali” newspapers devoted articles Several and a victim of my own personal and because of the name “Hashem” .. They accused me of their backwardness and handicap..

Despite my honest clarification, which I published in the newspaper “Al-Mustaqala” at the time, the intensity of pumping, especially in social media, was overshadowing the truth, and I found myself getting more clarified, like someone plowing in the sea.

***

Today and in this war I am still paying the price of a name that I did not choose, but simply our grandparents did not know that a backward and foolish era would come in which we would pay the price of the names that our great-grandfathers chose for their children..

Our great-grandfathers were simple and did not know that we would come upon days engulfed in ignorance and revolting fanaticism.. It had not occurred to them that things would take this direction, and this degree of decline and decadence that we have reached today.. They did not know that names like Hashid and Hashem would become a crime or a sin. On their children and grandchildren.. they did not realize that we would seek help from the 1400-year conflict, and recall its painful memories, and even salute it with ecstasy and revenge, and revive its reign with diligence and determination.

***

At the end of December 2016, I went with colleagues in the General Amnesty Subcommittee for the people of Lahj Governorate from Sana’a to Taiz, and our destination was to the prisons of Al-Saleh City in Taiz; This is to implement the decision within the limits of competence, and it was the first time he went to Taiz since the beginning of the war.

The strange thing is that the Sana’a authority during the war changed the name of the Al-Saleh Mosque to the People’s Mosque, and the Al-Saleh Foundation to the People’s Foundation, but it did not change the name of the city of Al-Saleh in which they were created or transformed some of them into prisons, distributing the many detainees in it.. Its name was not changed to “The People’s Prison.” Similar to the People’s Mosque or the People’s Institution, but they kept its name and added the name “Prison” to it, so that it became “Prison of the City of Al-Saleh”!

On that trip, I saw dozens of military points along the Sana’a-Taiz road, and I did not see the flag of the Republic except for one flag in one point after being transferred to arms. Rather, it is the remnants of a torn, worn out and eroded flag that embodies the situation as it is in reality without falsehood or frills, while the group’s flag was in Each military point declares its sovereignty and victory.

Some military points When they asked me about my identity, I used to show my membership card for the House of Representatives, and my name was fixed on it “Ahmed Seif Hashed Hashem.” I sometimes noticed those who read the confusion of those who asked for it, and then some of them commented with a question: How is Hashed and Hashem?! Some of them used to follow: Hashid and Hashem don’t ride!! Some of them ask me: Where did Hashem come from?!

***

All my documents and qualifications, including my military ID, tell my full name, but my passport was proven and the name “Hashem” changed in the name of my region without my will and will. Actually my name is quad.

Nowadays, more than a year has passed, and I am approaching the deadline. I want to register my job number in the civil service, and I do not want to pass on my children the troubles regarding rights that belong to them after my departure in this exaggerated or disobedient covenant, even for the names and definitions.

A whole year of follow-up and I was not able to recover my fourfold name.. They bit off more than a fifth of my name with arrogance, nervousness and extravagance of stubbornness.. How many years do I need for Sanaa’s security and intelligence to prove to them my firm name in my confirmed and Muslim documents, a copy of it through the personal status representative and more than once? !. How long does it take for them to accept my name as it is..?! What is my fault that the name “Hashid” comes to “Hashem”? Why do they put the name “Hashem” on me, and I do not consider it more than a complementary name to my fourfold name?!

It is some of my real name that may not be excluded, changed or replaced.. I have neither claimed nor disputed with it in a king or state.. I have always called for equality, citizenship and justice since my early youth until today, and I have never deviated from it even an iota.. I only want to confirm the truth My name and identity that their knots rooted in their consciousness want to confiscate from me.. I want a card that proves my identity with a name that matches all my qualifications and documents and with the truth before it.. I do not and will never call for any stinking fanaticism.. I am a human being who has never given up my humanity.. my motto It is my humanity first.

It is a tragedy of awareness and history that we find ourselves paying a price in our lives for what was not thought… Today, we live in the era of fools, exuding mediocrity and misery, and distorted and bloody awareness… An era in which names and titles bring their owners suffering, and may reach the point of confiscating the future of their owners, or Cutting off life and pension from them, and perhaps taking away life.

My name is scrutinized and the intelligence services prevent it from me… What is this nonsense and a mind burdened with unbearable nervousness… Where did I come up with another name for them?! My name is Ahmed Seif Hashed Hashem.. I have no problem with the names.. This is my real name since birth and it will remain so even after departure, and I think it is imminent.. They insist on expending what I have left of my life in continuing to recover my fourfold name that they confiscated, or they want to confiscate it. I stayed alive, then dead, and forever if that was possible..

I posted a comment on this suffering by saying: I want to take away from them my right to my name before they kill me..!! Do they even want revenge on our children for their rights after we die.. how terrifying, spiteful and young they are.. how small are they..!!

The tragedy of our names goes on and reminds me of what the satirist Syrian writer Muhammad al-Maghut wrote:

“I will have a child, whom I will call Adam, because names in our time are an accusation.”

***

I am Ahmed Seif Hashim Hashem, the son of a human leather tanner.. The funny thing is that one of the companions of a senior official told me that his nickname was “Abu Hashem” and when he read in the details of my life that I am the son of “Al-Dabbagh” he changed his name to Abu Ali.. I respect all professions and all people who eat From their toil and sweat of their brow, and I even consider them great greats.. I have no contracts or positions of detraction towards any free and honorable human being..

And if we have an argument or criticism in the names, they are those whose names rage with their essence and contents.. those names that contradict the orientations and reality of their shady and deceptive names for people and the people, such as the names of the “Reform” party and “Ansar Allah” that brought us and the homeland destiny from hell. They made us charcoal and barbecue.. They crucified us on the walls of hunger.. They poisoned us with grievance and torment.. Suffering that continues and does not end with the end of what is left of our life, and even the life of our children and grandchildren..

***

(6)

Governments with corrupt thinking

We are living today in a more stressful era.. an era that would never have come to mind.. an era of more openness, ugliness, and crudeness..in which your name, affiliation and loyalty may bring luck, spoils and monopoly, or deprivation and inferiority, that does not start from public office through promotion, and does not end with occupying high positions and the accompanying privileges and abundance, or narrowness and deprivation.

A blatantly bold covenant.. engrossed in the darkness of falsehood.. gives your inherent right to those who do not deserve it.. transcends your borders and beyond your seas, and usurps your rights with openness and wildness.. enslaves your rights through defiance and coercion.. he ruthlessly seizes what he has no right or Suspicion.. He generously gives you the rights of others who suffer deprivation of their due rights until they die of starvation, distress and strife..

They afflicted our names with everything abhorrent until they became a disaster for us and their owners, in a raging conflict of hateful racism, rancorous fanaticism, narrow interests, and a bloody and terrifying history that is more than 1,400 years old, and continues to extend with its ugliness and its bloodshed to this day, and a curse that does not want to startle or leave our lives and the lives of those who It will come after us.

***

Our successive authorities do not promote real construction or provide comprehensive development.. Our authorities are parasitic and rotten with awareness in most of them, subsisting on what came before them. It fails to bring about a healthy economy and sustainable development..More than this, it is steadily failing to improve the conditions of its citizens, and even brings them wars, chaos and living disasters..

Authorities that substitute for their failure to impose themselves with dominance and subterfuge and use the capabilities of the people to devote their thought, policies and ideologies in awareness, and intrude on the modest building that preceded it, perhaps mostly gifts from other peoples or gifts and aid, so they replace the names based on schools, streets, and facilities with their names in which their league, ideology and thought are devoted Its politics, culture, and biases.

Today is blacker than yesterday; So we say it is permissible and true: they do not build factories or schools..! They don’t build cities, they don’t pave streets..! Rather, they turn some civil facilities into prisons.. begging from others without relying on themselves.. they betray and conspire against our homelands.. they destroy them carefully.. they rename them.. loot them boldly.. they demolish them and spread corruption and devastation in them in a terrifying and horrific way..

They make puppets, idols and disasters, and brag about them without shame.

***

(7)

swiss gift

That day was, for me, an exceptional and unique day unlike any other day of my life, which was empty and startled.. I felt that my joy on that day was enough to overwhelm the entire universe, and overflow on every expanse in its far reaches and ends that no knowledge or sight knows.. I felt that Farah adjusts all sadness, and even erases it with washing and powder that removes lime, rust, and what has been stoned by ancient and distant time..

My joy was great and abundant, there was no room for it or destiny.. it was uncountable and uncountable.. it was greater and more than the joy of a repentant who received death after a death, and a monk won the paradise of the Lord for which he has always lived hard, hard and hard, and denied his right to life to obtain it. In a second home.. the joy of the one who was patient and stubborn until he got his sperm..

Oh my God.. my father gives me his Swiss cross watch, after his brother-in-law from “England” gave him an “Ornet” watch.. the impact of his gift on the soul was the impact of indescribable astonishment, and its effect on the soul and memory is alive and does not disappear except with its demise..

Between my father’s watch and my watch that my father gave me a technological breakthrough.. My watch works manually by rotating its violin until it takes all of its rotation, so it runs and turns its hands without stopping day and night, while my father’s watch depends on the movement of the hand and the pulse, or as my father used to say: “It walks on blood.” This is something that has always baffled me and raised my questions!!

Oh my God.. I am the paste of deprivation and wishing.. I am the child who has always wished for an hour out of paper or plastic, but he was disappointed, and did not get what he wished for, and reaped bitterness and heartbreak. It was just an illusion or a mirage.

Oh my God.. how can I contain my joy, and I have found more than a dream and a wish.. the hour of the cross in my life at that time, and in that time, a dream that is far from reach, rather it is far beyond the impossible for me.. it comes by a strange coincidence that does not repeat once in a thousand. Something unbelievable.. a terrifying joy surprise that my little heart could not bear.. my heart turned into a bundle of joy that flies to the distant heavens.. a colorful balloon flying in the distance.. ascending to the sky with unparalleled pride and exhilaration..

I reduced the length of its silver chain more than half of it to hold it well on my exhausted wrist.. I could see the whole universe hanging in my slender hands.. O my God.. the joy could not contain me, and my eyes did not leave my wrist.. a joy that reached the point of crying.. a joy that crosses the imagination, All that is known and usual.

That night I did not sleep.. I used to enjoy it at times as a lover and at other times as a groom.. I drank happiness until I got drunk.. I did not feel that life was so beautiful today and that joyful night.. Its green phosphorescent hands were shining in the dark like a jewel and captivating my eyes.. Attractive and I took it from my wrist With my knowledge and my dream I reach between the stars, and even cross me to the edges of the universe.

Her voice in my silence, “Tic-Teke”, greets me and cheers me up.. It makes me feel overjoyed with no limit or extent.. Her voice runs through my head like the ecstasy of a victorious knight over the army of Armam.. Her voice resembles the pulse of a fetus in his mother’s womb.. The guitar of a gypsy artist shows his creativity in front of whom He loves.. a lover in whom love has reached its lofty climax.. I used to hear her and hear my heartbeat, and I am in love with her and fascinated by her to the point of astonishment and amazement..

How can I sleep and happiness sweeps sleep from my eyes that enjoy the color of their green phosphorescent hands?!! How do I sleep while my heart beats overlap and identifies with the sound of its captivating pulse, like a rare song that does not resemble a song or existence except as a metaphor.

Joy turns me on my bed left and right, and I enjoy its phosphorous color like a lover and a lover when he throws his lover in the dark of the night and the diary of lovers.. I follow the magic of her scorpions in the flow as if he is following his most beautiful lover on the banks of a beautiful river.. Every moment I ask her about the time it takes me to get lost..

I make the night stations and stops, and I ask her in every art and another about the extent of the night towards the morning.. I did not allow sleep that night to take my joy from me except for a few naps near the morning.. It was a soft and dreamy nap, similar to the nap of a prophet on the swing of the sky between distant universes..

And in the morning I hastened to get up.. I was like the morning and the light.. I saw the wonder surrounding the wrist of my slender hand crowned with the crown of a king, yes from the crown of Hercules and greater than the crown of Khosrau.. I felt that I had become the center of the universe, and that the whole universe was bleeding my joy..

That rare joy forgave my father his early years of cruelty, and made me feel that life in it is what deserves survival, but rather the great joy.

While today I imagine that great joy; I ask retroactively: How happy would I be in those days if my father gave me an “iPad” or “laptop” or an upgraded phone?!! If this happened in the time of my father, I would from that day to this day be stuck in my joy without boredom, interruption or disengagement.. Our joy in those days was different from the joy of today that does not last..

***

(8)

An ethereal experience of crossing the subconscious.. a message to my father

How much I love you, father.. when I was writing about you, I saw you in a dream angry and lonely.. I may have used to see you angry, but it did not hurt me to see you alone.. I do not mean to detract from you, for I am part of you and your spanner in a long chain of stretch that overcomes annihilation, departure and interruption. .. Also, I do not mean, my father, to record any championship against you, and what championship is this that a son can record against his father .. I am not the one who records championship against his father, even if I convey the bites and lessons to those who need it in an environment that almost closes its door on itself and suffocates, in the middle of Lavish with shame, hypocrisy, falsehood and pretension.

How much a scene tore me to see you alone in a dream.. I felt that you blamed me as I went to the smallest details.. I felt as if I tried you in your absence, an unfair trial similar to the trial of an accused in his absence.. I felt that I was confiscating the right of your presence.. but how would your presence be and how to conjure your transparent soul ?!!

I tried to prepare your soul more by what I read.. I tried to inform you of my loneliness and my great loss of you.. I am curious to know the details of your world to which you left.. I actually tried, on a very black night, to conjure up your dewy soul.. I felt like etheric waves storming me and running through my body from Below it to the top..a stream of ether waves sweeping me from the feet to the shoulders and ascending to the throat..repeating and repeating as if I was saturated with ether..the last waves were stronger than the ones before..

Your voice was rattling in my throat, or my throat was rattling with what your voice made, or my voice was trying to cross to you, or your voice and my voice were trying to cross to the impossible… The sound in my throat began to be heavy and withdrawing like a recorded sound The power or validity of the battery that activates it has run out. I felt that one of us had reincarnated the other..I felt a state of wear..My heart almost jumped out of my mouth..I could not bear the experience..

I was terrified, and panic gripped my limbs, and my face was pale and dull.. It was not my first experience trying to conjure up your soul, Father, and I could not finish what I had started from a strenuous experience I do not know what its outcome will lead to, is it to reveal what I am looking for, or the death of the one who defies impossibility Or crossing into the unconscious, or passing into the world of madness and the demise of the mind?!!

Perhaps some of what happened was an illusion or a fantasy in the impossible, but the most important thing is that it reveals my need for you and my desire for your embrace, which I did not dare to ask you in your life for your prestige.. The last seven years of your dewy life were filled with kindness and tenderness and you supported me, and relieved me of what weighed me down. My shoulders..

I wanted to ask your permission and I wanted to ask you about your world to which you have become, and to search through you for the secret of the truth or its details that we are looking for and did not find! I wanted to cut off doubt with certainty, and verify all the gossip and allegations that have filled our heads since man began asking about his existence, so most of the answers came according to what the poet said:

“Everyone claims a connection with Layla *** and Layla does not recognize a connection with them.”

I felt blamed for you while I was writing about you, so I came back to write about that old man who used to live in you, and what suits you as a father and a human being.. I still remember that day when I found you by chance and my mother was next to you, and you wept and your tears streamed down.. Your soul sobbed up as if it did not want to return. You, and you weep with burning, bitterness and anguish that do not want to leave your body that is burdened with the deterioration of sadness and pain.

I was surprised when you cried hoarsely, and endured that much oppression that erupted, I did not know that day why you cried, and my mother did not tell me about any oppression that had befallen you .. But I later learned the reason that my mother kept from me, and then pleased me with it after my insistence and hesitation from her.

It is not a shame, my father, that we see your tears.. It is not a shame that you show us the details of your sadness in your crying face, O human.. You should not have removed your face from us to hide it from our eyes, while you were weeping, and trying to put your head among the “coffee peel” bags next to you in The sad corner of your shop, to turn your back on us, and hide the map of your sadness in your naked face, your withered eyes that sadness lost their luster, and your tears that I saw when you turned and were pouring like rain..

I learned, my father, after a while that you were remembering and crying for your son over me, despite the passing of many years since his passing.. How were you able to hide from us all this sadness that inhabits you, and the oppression that weighed your soul for years with the concealment of the men who persevere and are patient.. You are wonderful, Father.. Why I knew that you hide from us all this torment, absence and loss within you, and you turned away from us all this torment that seems to have become greater than you, so he rebelled against you with all this violence..

I wanted to tell you that day: Cry as much as you can, my father, and let the tears fall as you wish, and do not mind them and do not suppress them, and do not be ashamed or embarrassed by us, O man, and seek the help of relentless patience regarding the loneliness and eternal absence of death caused to the dearest of our loved ones..

Today, my father, we are living through all the calamities.. Today death extends and the cemeteries flourish.. How great are your days despite their misery and deprivation.. They are no longer comparing us between our days and holding you.. Today, insolvency and all calamities beset us in the presence of war, death and ugliness..

Today, the barbarism of the occupation has become in their awareness of a protected liberation, and what is an occupier they turn against its name or in conflict with its name!! And the racist rudeness they said about it: The Holy Qur’an, beware not to touch it with objection.. Father, concepts have changed in an unimaginable way.. Death has become lavish, and ugliness is messing with the country, and we are in the crowd of our presence, engulfed in absence, and exhausted in our daily concern.. Beauty in its four dimensions is agonizing Weeping.. Oh misery of the stage..

***

(9)

Another message to my father

A fierce war, my father, is the one we live in today, and it has become a lavish and numerous wars, attacking us from all sides, and crushing us every day with heavy repetition.. We perish and starve in it for seven long years, and the silence of the civilized world colludes with the war to last as long as possible. The conscience of the world is bound by oil money, and the interests of countries that subsist on wars and victims.

We are now, Dad trapped victims and oppressed .. We littermates reasons for the yard from every direction and direction .. Holocaust and the perils of epidemics .. hunger and famine and fear .. prisons and detention centers and cells .. levies roofless increase in the year twice and three repeat multiplier for the large number of tax collectors .. and markets black The price increases twice, and it is spreading like mushrooms and eating us like hyenas.

Occupation returned my father .. occupation grows Calcrtanat in our bodies, and influence are shared, and authorities ordered the reality Balgelbh itself imposes .. not they have not subject us indefinitely, and all the days passed toughened authority Subjugation, and went deeper in tyranny, and meditated in impoverishing, It protected its corruption, which was invasive, and its black markets, which are now only surpassed by the authority itself, which is doing its best to protect itself from us, the victims and the hungry.

We burn just my father, and the fire of oil is fueling what subsided .. the world around us practicing his war against us to plunder our country and divide it .. to impose guardianship and occupation of some of them, and we are the poor in which overwhelm us need and want .. Because our enemy has money, oil and labor, which identifies and objects .. all mutants breed Until they became like shoes in the muddy swamps..

Amabna does not end .. Every day in hell, Dad Nstoa and Nstala .. Hacodna are not interrupted and Moakedh .. We do not Tntvi oil .. the fire of our sons Ovusbanda .. and continue the Holocaust .. .. Pfnaina traders, celebrate Atfedon Nziva .. Atkhmun balances balances .. In stocks.. Our people are crowding into their deaths.. Those wars are not our war.. Our people have become mounts, fuel and victims.. And when we said stop your wars, they became angry and grinned in our faces like hyenas and wolves..

We were and are still victims of wars .. victims of Chaloha and its supporters .. their wars long and stretched even swallow boundaries .. How are these wars Dmamh .. greed Kjhnm and Jehimha .. death graves are no longer tricks .. ruin, corruption and tyranny Ajtahna .. What is back in us patience panicked or disgusted..

The occupation of a brutal and barbaric .. cheaper and clients of salt, Dad .. pregnant women competed to be more vulgar and despicable and foolish .. objects do not be shy and ashamed .. ready to do our people everything .. compete on curses up to satisfy their masters .. banal without borders .. reality Terrifying, they left it for us to tell history. From here they passed, and everyone says, “Here was Yemen.”

Our means of living have been cut off.. They have cut off our sustenance.. They have closed all the doors of a decent life.. They have opened the doors of corruption to the fullest extent.. They have made sustenance open without doors.. They have opened all the gates of Hell so that we may be wood and fuel, O my father.. And we will be a leisurely respite.. Seven years of War and annihilation.. and whoever did not die in the war died of hunger, sadness and stagnation.. our people have preyed on these deadly wars, and epidemics have increased their support..

***

It is the war that the existential philosopher Sartre said, waged by the rich so that the poor die, and it is the same war that Sophocles, the three greatest Greek tragedians, said about its tragedy, that it affects the malicious by chance, while the good always affects it..

We, the good ones, were killed by the war, my father.. We were killed by the war and its tragedies and tragedies.. The war that ends, as Gibran Khalil Gibran said, with the handshake of the leaders, and that woman remains waiting for her martyred son..

Our poet Nizar said it, “He who sees poison is not distressed as one who drank.” We say it to someone who saw a movie or read a book about war, not like someone who lived through its hell seven long years.. Wars in wars, in which our people were stricken and stigmatized.. and paid dearly with their blood.. From his land, his capabilities and his future.. We are poor, my father, and we have increased in extreme poverty, and our neighbor is swollen with money and oil, and more despicable than them, my father..

War is horror and tragedies..in which some humans are stripped of all values..they become more savage than predators and predatory beasts.. Ibrahim Nasrallah said: “God did not create a beast worse than man, nor did man create a beast worse than war.” O my father Onihm carefully ..

Once upon a time, my father, we had friends we love.. The war revealed the masks.. Their faces are bloody and their fingers are from leprosy.. Their minds are closed and their hearts are of iron.. They are in love with blood as a worshiper of a diet Satan..

Black market Ktovan Noah .. ate locusts Bakayana greedily .. corrupters Madoa corruption furiously wolves .. Sadion even bones .. commit atrocities in detention centers and prisons .. besieged and oppressed are looking for their rights .. profiting by war, Dad at the expense of the people die war and disease and hunger ..

***

Sixth series

Primary education

(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.

The picture is by Professor Ali Ahmed Saad.. Without him, we would not have learned..

***

(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

 In Tur Al Baha

(1)

 A school dear to us from ignorance

When I finished primary school, I had to enroll in middle school.. There is no middle school in our remote area located in the far southern outskirts of the authority of Sanaa, which called itself a state, and we used to call it the authority in the north..

Our area and village were far away and deprived of the most basic services.. no transportation, no communications, no health, no social care, and we did not find the slightest interest on the part of that authority.. we did not find an impact for it in our lives except by adding to the suffering that burdens our people, such as (ports) and pursuits.  Security and Zakat levies.

We do not touch or feel the state’s services towards us, and it is like a big zero in the size of the absence of a homeland, and the rare and few do not reach, and if it arrives, it does not change the situation..  She does not have a duty for us, and she has all the rights and duties upon us.. Ignorance permeates our situation and dominates our minds, and we are trying to extract what is possible to extract from the impossible.. We are trying to make a path to light in the midst of that thick darkness..

We had no escape from the inevitable oppression of ignorance, except for the state of the south, where there was a middle school in the center of Tur Al Baha, whose market we used to go to on Saturdays every week if necessary or necessary.. And that school is about twenty kilometers away from our village, and for Hassan  We noticed that there was an internal section attached to the school, in which housing and food were provided for our likes.

The (Martyr Najeeb Preparatory School) in Tur Al-Baha was our capital of ignorance, and many students of the neighboring areas in the north who were threatened by ignorance, loss or interruption of studies found this school a savior and a refuge from certain ignorance..

A large school compared to what we went through and the schools we knew at the time, as well as being clean and tidy and its teachers are efficient.. I was overwhelmed with happiness when I found spacious classrooms, a modern and bright engineering method of construction, special glass windows, and chairs worthy of those who are higher in rank and level than us.  All in all, I had never known a school like it before, and its internal section was new or newly built.

We were overjoyed when, on the first day of joining this school, we received new sheets, mattresses, and clean eating utensils.. Everything was free and without deficiencies or defects, except that the nutrition only was not enough for us or that our appetite for food was more than what was offered to us, and overall, malnutrition haunted me during  The period of my preparatory studies in this school, which cherished us from certain ignorance..

I was often overwhelmed with fever, and I basked in the sun every time I had a fever bout.. Anemia and malnutrition were constant with me, and heavy on my health.. I sometimes suffered from want and destitution, and my mother was the most helpful person to get me through that stage..

It was allowed for those of us who wanted to leave Thursday noon and spend the Friday vacation with his family, provided that he would return to school on Saturday morning.. Cars would take me to (Ras Wadi Shaab) at Al-Rawah, and then I would go back to the village on foot, and likewise in going..

Sometimes I walked on foot from the house to (the courtyard) to benefit from the transportation expenses that my father gave me, and sometimes I also did it on the way back.. When walking, we searched for shortcuts such as the “blower road” and sometimes we climbed in the back of cars in the middle of the road  Free, we call it (an expression), in reference to our free transfer..

Oh, the nobility and magnificence of the car owners who appreciated our conditions, and did not charge us for our transportation!!  Oh, the nobility of “Abu Shanab,” the owner of the car, “the bruised one,” the man who was the most immersed in us with kindness and grace that remains to this day.. What a beautiful soul, “Rajah,” the poor person who spurts out with self-singing, and flows with beauty, humanity and tenderness.  I learned from them the importance of making a beautiful person in his life with those who need him.

***

(2)

Revolutionary leftist extremism

The stage in the south during that period was extreme leftist and revolutionary, and in the best cases, it was not without tendencies of recklessness, extremism, and excessive enthusiasm. The “transportation” students were when they were traveling in open-topped Landerovers to school in the courtyard, or on their way back, And with them were some citizens, chanting revolutionary slogans, but some of them were of a provocative nature and were not free from the exercise of coercion against those who were conservative about what was happening, or had a different opinion about it.. The chants were not without moral oppression, arm wiping, and perhaps even terrorism against those who did not announce it. His support for the declared revolutionary political trend..

Some of those chants were claiming for themselves or their owners the right and the right and monopolizing the truth, and they practiced exclusion against those who differed with them.. chants that do not accept diversity and plurality of opinion, and do not deal with the other opinion, and are accustomed to dividing people into “for and against”, and thus practice their incitement that reaches a limit Terrorism of the silent, whom you describe as negative..

It is a totalitarian and extremist position that sums it up “you are either with us or you are against us.” The position of the silent or hesitant was described as negative, a position that does not appeal to some who consider themselves revolutionaries armed with revolutionary awareness, and the negative people are terrorized and threatened to strike them in the future with an iron fist..

Among those chants that still stick in my memory:

“Woe, woe, my negative, from our violent blow

And the hidden is revealed, and the stages are long.”

Another chant that groaned in me, and left an administrative trail about those around me saying: “Knock the sheikhs.. Knock them.” Perhaps the reason was because my mother’s brothers in the north were affiliated with the “Sheikhs” category, although their circumstances were very modest and perhaps miserable.. There were no important social differences that distinguished them from the general public, or at least in relation to the average among them..

I remember that my uncle, my mother’s brother (Ali Salem-Dabal) used to borrow and borrow some money from my father, who is also in a tight and unaffordable condition.. My grandfather, my mother’s father, was known for his asceticism and humility, and he worked for his life at the expense of his worldly life, and most of his time was in seclusion reciting the Qur’an. In his office or in his room to draw near to his Lord, hoping for his mercy and paradise. However, this did not excuse him from the extremism and recklessness of the left in the south, when he went to Aden for the purpose of receiving treatment; He was forcibly hidden, and there has been no news of him since then, and we no longer know anything about him to this day..

***

And between the past and the present, the extremists were similar in their excessive enthusiasm, and their claim to monopolize the truth and right, and what we lived through in the years of this war and what we still live in, and what we suffered in it from childishness, extremism and racism, witness and science, reminding us of everyone who sees that life is only in two colors black and white.. Their life does not accept that Be neutral or take a different position from their alignments, or even be against the parties to the conflict together.. The same is also said about the stance of the war and conflict parties regarding issues and rights of opinion and expression..

We are suffocated by this closed extremism in the face of pluralism and diversity.. Each party in the war wanted to drag us to its polluted swamp, and even wanted to carry us and plunge us into its swamp until it reaches its bottom. The homeland is the experience of his father, and even sees himself as the homeland as he imagines and believes..

Over the years, many illusions began to unfold, but at the cost of a homeland that has become torn and wasted.. It is the time of frivolous and extremists and the poor outcomes of this war, which is full of ugliness, conspiracies and hatred, and burdened with destruction and severe devastation..

Extremism is a danger not only to the different and the different, but to reason, logic, wisdom, pluralism, diversity, and harmony.. a danger to the people, society, and the future.. The policy of “whoever is not with us is against us” is a terrifying and destructive policy for peoples, nations, and the future we aspire..

Extremist religious groups divide people into two camps only, and some religious movements such as the Houthis became brutalized and became, after enabling, hostile to those who are not with them, describing him as a traitor, a mercenary or a hypocrite who must be subjugated to their own and small project, or crushed by their valor, oppression and terrifying power, while other political groups, on the other hand, became radicalized, and became lost With the aggression and occupation until it became the carrier of its agendas and its executor at the expense of the country and its future.

***

And back to what I was about: I studied middle school at the Martyr Naguib School in Tur al-Baha in the mid-seventies, specifically from the year (1976 – 1978), if memory does not betray..

I lived in the (internal section), and quite a few children from the neighboring northern regions attended this school and resided in its internal section, and the state of the south provided them with food in addition to housing.. Rather, the principal of the school from the north was Abdo Ali from Qubeita Al-Akroub, and Hassan Muhammad Ali was Her political deputy was from Qubeita Sobeih in the north, and the official of the cultural center was from Ma’bak or Sawalha in the north..

The reason we went to the south to study was either because there were no preparatory schools in our tired countryside, or for political and social reasons that prompted us to go to study in this southern school, which we do not forget, no matter how many days and years have passed..

In general, the state of the south – the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen – had the merit that we will not and will not forget and will not neglect. We were in dire need of education, and without it we preyed on ignorance and robbed us of absence, and perhaps our loss was a possibility, if not by the emphatic and sure ruling.. In this regard, there is nothing wrong with Recalling the words of the poet Al-Mutanabbi:

If you honor a decent human being his queen *** And if you honor a mean person, he will rebel against you.

***

(3)

My dismissal from school

I was dismissed from the Martyr Najeeb School in the center of Tur Al Baha for a period of probably two weeks or less, and this decision to dismiss was not specified at the beginning, and interfered with administrative and psychological pressure to make me confess what I had achieved, but I did not confess, despite the evidence..

I left the “Al-Wahda” school due to a curse that I inflicted on the school, so I angered the first teacher in the school, who left the table in front of him, and tried to catch up with me, but my legs were lighter than him, and I did not return to him nor to the school, and I cursed the school at the height of my excitement, She hit me alone, and no one else was hurt but me..

The difference is that my first departure was the most important cycle of momentary emotion, and stubbornness also had its role in not asking for revision, and my father was not enthusiastic about returning, and he preferred to study in a people instead of reviewing..

As for my two-week dismissal from the Martyr Najeeb School, in the first year of my preparatory school by the school director Abdo Ali Al-Zughair, it came in support of psychological pressure, in order to push me to confess and confess to myself and those with me, and most importantly, the accusation and dismissal came after patience and investigation is not without cunning And subtle..

***

Jamil Qaid Saleh was one of my dearest colleagues and friends at the Martyr Naguib School in Tur al-Baha.. We had great intimacy and perhaps harmony of horoscopes and omens.. We agreed to draft a leaflet, and white papers were bought, and they were divided into equal and noticeable scraps, and because my handwriting was more beautiful than my friend. I took over writing it.. I wrote what we agreed on.. Our defense was respectable, and what we wrote was disrespectful, and it included defamation and abuse, and these scraps were secretly distributed by both of us in the market and school halls.

The principal of the school was informed of some of those scraps that were found, and he may have sent someone to collect the rest of them.. The contents of them were absorbed, and their letters, words, handwriting and writing method were examined, and an effort was made to reach the knowledge of their writer.. The investigation continued for days I do not remember. Its number, or maybe a week has passed since it was written and distributed..

The investigation continued to be carried out with great care and secrecy, while my friend Jamil and I believed that the matter had been overcome, and not even the noise that we wanted to stand in front of what we mentioned in the publication, and we were not aware of any procedures that we envisaged from distributing it..

Perhaps what my colleague and I did was a reckless and even childish act, and I think that the director was wiser, and took full responsibility for what happened, and his investigation and concealment showed a high sense and responsibility on the part of the director that deserves appreciation. What was mentioned in the publication, even if what we did was not free from absurdity, and some of that may have been done, but it did not sleep to our knowledge, and his behavior was done in a right and wise manner, at a lower cost, and without noise.. Maybe the professor had all the right Director Abdo Ali Al-Saghir..

But how did the manager find out that I was the author of this post?! This question was roaming inside me!! I was bewildered before I knew what some of them had squandered, and some of them remain to this day..

I used to write lessons and answer homework questions by imitating the handwriting of my colleague Mustafa Al-Fadhili.. It was a beautiful plan with an attractive and captivating luster.. I was trying to imitate and imitate his beautiful and charming handwriting.. My colleague Mustafa was writing the letter (هـ) in a distinctive way that looks like two overlapping rings, one of them large. And the other one is small.. He used to write it with a different distinction.. I imitated him in writing it, and it was the loophole that revealed what he managed, or it was the thread that led to the evidence, if it was not the evidence itself..

While I was at seven o’clock in the evening writing my homework in the internal section, the school director faltered with whispered steps I did not hear their impact, and as soon as I raised my head after a few minutes, and looked up until I saw him standing and watching what I write while he was standing .. The truth did not occur to me that It’s about looking for the author of the publication!! I don’t know why he meant me in particular and not the others?! I don’t think it’s a coincidence!! I don’t know how his feet led him to me without anyone else!! That was my confusion throughout my ordeal..

Having checked the notebook in which I was writing, he took with him; Surprised, he said to me: Follow me to the administration?! The truth is that I didn’t know it was about publishing, I wondered that it fills my face, and I didn’t know that anyone would know my line maybe among hundreds of students!! I do not know how he chose me from among the dozens of students who were at the time reviewing their lessons in the internal department!! I do not know how he managed to reach the author of the post within days or a week at most, and without my knowledge or one of my friends knowing that he is looking for someone!! It was a question and an enigma for me..

I arrived at the headquarters of the administration, and the director greeted me with the calm and resolute reception of the investigator.. He was calm and very confident that I was the one who wrote the post, no one else! But he just wants to know who participated, pushed me, and incited me to write it?! He had a great certainty that I was the author of the publication, while I was denying, and I denied with diligence and persistence, although I appeared to be naked to the point of nakedness.. I may not be good at lying, but I am stiff in denial..

Through my insistence on denial, it was two challenges to him. He, too, wanted to hear confession from me personally, though everything became clear in his condemnation, and even in my hidden convictions which I had kept about him. And he proves to me that the letter (هـ) is similar between what is in the publication, and what is written in my notebook, and even in solving the task I was writing, while he was standing watching the words I am writing, then turning to some letters and words in order to surrender and acknowledge to him the details. He was waiting for my collapse or my surrender to confess, and his thinking had begun to be strong and palatable, and only denial would deny him, and I was already that denial..

I persisted with my boyish insistence that I was not myself, without thinking of providing any presumption or justification to support my denial.. “The one who is missing something does not give him”, and I was like that, and at the same time I knew that confession would lead me to many details, and that on top of what was required of me is Find out who subscribed to me..

I did not even try to defend myself by paying the accusation against her by pointing out that I am not the only one who writes the letter (هـ) in that way, and thus my colleague Mustafa Al-Fadli was called to the case of suspicion, although Mustafa did not know anything about what we intended and my colleague Jamil Qaid and I did.

I also saw the impossibility of throwing my beautiful colleague into the accusation circle.. I might feel that I would become a villain and a coward if I tried to throw my burden on my colleague and friend, with whom I had strong intimacy and distinguished companionship that I could not sacrifice, but she is the one who deserves the sacrifice, and at any cost dictated by my magnanimity, It has to be paid..

During my interrogation, he was trying to tempt me into confession to facilitate his findings, he even tried to tempt me that he would absolve me of any punishment, and would hold the partner responsible, be it one or more.. I felt that I would be without chivalry or manliness if I told him that I am not the only one who writes an (هـ) in this way, and I also felt that it was despicable to defend myself by mentioning the name of my friend Mustafa, who was completely innocent of what had happened.. I preferred to deny and exaggerate even though it was not in my favor..

There were many questions within me: Why was I the only one who was interrogated and no one else was investigated, including Mustafa Al-Fadhili, the most famous of his handwriting and writing the letter (هـ) in this way?! Why me specifically, while my colleague and friend Mustafa is the original and the creator of the original script, but I only imitate it?! How does the original get lost?! How did the principal know that this was exactly my line among the hundreds of students studying at the same school?! I didn’t know the principal had taken a student’s notebook to compare his handwriting to the post!! How did he know that I was the one who wrote the post about the possibility that there were more than a hundred students in the internal department?! I concluded that it couldn’t have been a coincidence?!

My denial was stubborn, and all attempts to intimidate and entice my manager during the investigation failed, including threatening to refer me to the criminal investigation center in the center, and he chose instead to dismiss me from school without specifying any period, and at the same time he obligated me not to leave the internal department, while leaving the door ajar to confess to him in Anytime I find my desire..

My class lasted for two weeks or less, and the most that I reached is that the “legalist” and he was entrusted with managing the cultural center, is one of the ones who found my publications and collected them discreetly and secretly with others from the center of the market and nearby squares..

Every day or two and sometimes three days, the school director would try to summon me, and check whether I intended or resolved to confess and return from denial, but to no avail.. After two weeks of failing to obtain a confession, neither on myself nor on anyone else, two weeks were satisfied as a penalty of dismissal. administrative, and brought me back to study, and the matter ended there.. Nevertheless, I acknowledge the wisdom and wisdom of this director, and the talent of a successful investigator, and more than that, he was a high-class educator..

***

(4)

salimin and Fattah and our bloody disappointment!

In the second year of preparatory school, most likely, we were taken out of school to receive the president safely, and the Secretary General of the political organization, Abdel Fattah Ismail, who was no less important than him, with a difference in the popularity of the first and the elitistness of the second.. A day that seemed exceptional to us, and to the center, which mobilized its soldiers, officers and officials, and a large gathering of citizens, in order to receive senior statesmen and senior guests.. We students went out in regular rows, then we became organized in two rows on both sides of the road extending from the center gate to a distance of more than a kilometer. On the way to their arrival.

My place in the class was in the side adjacent to the hospital, which was still new, presented as a gift from the State of Kuwait, and was named after a military pilot from the Ma’bak area in the north, he studied, graduated and was martyred in the south. My two brothers are in the same school.

I was waiting patiently and eagerly looking forward to see Salmeen and Abdel Fattah Ismail.. I was telling myself: Such an event or opportunity will not be repeated twice in my life.. However, what happened, was the worst.. This opportunity was spoiled, and no other time came..

I wanted to run, belong, and be proud in front of my peers in the village – which does not know chiefs or visits – that I saw face to face the beloved president safely, and the outstanding theorist Abdel-Fattah Ismail.. The impact of hearing the names on my ears was astonishing and attractive. A few meters away, they wave to us greetings and peace.

While I was waiting for their arrival, it seemed as though history would honor me by witnessing two men who were among its makers.. I wanted to say to my peers in my village: I stared and my eyes searched for whom the eyes yearn for.. I saw what you did not see..

I sought knowledge of what is impossible for you to gather. I wanted to respond to my peers, remembering the time of childhood, and they are proud of visiting the births of Al-Khidr, Despair and Saeed Ibn Abdan, as if they are talking about the conquest of space, while I am helpless and miserable chewing my wounds and my heartbreak with heavy silence and more intense sadness..

I was waiting for the President and the Secretary-General to pass at a short distance in front of me, and I wish they would pass very slowly; To scrutinize them as much as I can, and store in memory their faces and their looks and many details, or at least what I was able to capture and memorize.. It is the first time in my life that I will see directly the President and the Secretary-General, but the long and heavy wait under the blazing sun, They arrived later than the appointed time.

In the opposite queue on the other side was a group of people from the Tur al-Baha region. I had fought with them more than once, and they had always provoked me many times.. Between them and me there were boys’ hatred and stubborn defiance, and they were like a stalking gang.. When I saw them I felt alienated, and that I was not I am from the people of those lands, and perhaps they also felt that I was an outsider and a stranger who had been provoked.

They kept staring at me, mocking me, laughing at me, and challenging me.. and I, on the other hand, rose to the challenge, and I told them to choose one of you and he and I to fight head to head. One of them came down and was full of body, healthy and shining like the sun.. He was reproachful of the body, thick and blonde with hair and skin He resembles English children, while I was thin, exhausted, weak in build, and suffering from malnutrition.. I said to myself, seeing the great imbalance in the equation: Perhaps the knife creates a balance in our superiority, or outweighs the matter in my favour..

I told them that we would go down to fight behind the nearby sand hill, 200 meters away, so that we would be safe from any interference that would help me or help him, and his companions were confident that victory had become for them an ally and sure, and without controversy or a different possibility, there is no comparison between us, if it is necessary to compare It’s completely in favor of my opponent.

His companions climbed up the sand hill, or rather the nearby sand bulge, to see the scene of the fight, and I was hiding a small, thin knife, used for cutting roti, which I had bought a few days before, defensively in anticipation of an emergency or a possible situation, especially since they had been stalking me as a mob for the past few days..

We arrived singularly the place we chose for the duel. Perhaps I was a coward and cunning, and perhaps I wanted to defeat a bitter defeat that had become a certainty.. Confusion possessed him and I drew the knife surprisingly and quickly, and stabbed him in the abdomen; So he ran away in a panic, screaming “Knife.. Knife.” As I was chasing him, trying to stab him in more than one place, his thin blade was crooked after being stabbed to his strong head while he was fleeing.. I felt that any slackness or reluctance to pursue him might upset the equation The whole fight is in his favour, and therefore his revenge will be greater, so I did not give him such an opportunity, while his companions became distracted and confused in the reaction.

Two teachers rushed to his rescue, took the knife from me, and grabbed me tightly and forcefully as the police caught the criminals, and when I looked at the one I fought with, and he was screaming threatening to kill me, I was surprised to see the amount of blood and its abundance on his white shirt .. I did not know that all this blood would ooze from the abdomen, and with that Speed and intensity…

The blood was bleeding in a way I did not expect.. I began to feel the enormity of what I had done, and I felt remorse and heartbreak, and even sadness for it.. I worried that it would reach the point of catastrophe.. I felt that I was reckless and foolish and that gambling and a misplaced challenge could A person turned from a normal person to a criminal and a murderer.. I could have contented myself with pointing the knife in his face to prevent what happened from happening even if I looked more cowardly..

They took him to the hospital, and they took me to prison, and the regret was great.. I regretted my actions and the injured, and I regretted even more that I missed the opportunity to see President Abdel Fattah Ismail, who arrived safely and I arrived at the prison before they came.. I missed the opportunity I had and did not return again and forever..

And just as my disappointment was foolish and bloody on that day, I grieved greatly when the history of the great comrades was disappointed, as if what happened to me on that day was a bad omen that imitated ends that were supposed to be long and bright, but fate had his word that we could have calculated before, but we all sinned. The reckoning, and those endings were bloody and unfortunate, and they were not devoid of adolescence and indiscretion.

***

(5)

In prison!

While I was in the custody of the soldiers, one of the injured’s relatives rushed, I think his cousin, probably his name is Talal.. He is tall and well proportioned, and his complexion is lightly tan.. The first thing he saw was shocked by my appearance.. I looked without expecting it or without what he had imagined. .. He found me in front of him a small dwarf who did not carry anything worth comparing with his injured cousin .. He shouted in the face of those who were present with wrathful anger: “We cannot accept ten of this”?! Perhaps he was right if we look at the matter in his measure.. Indeed, my appearance was a dwarf, exhausted, pallid, stray, frowning, wretched, while his injured relative was frustrated. And the color of his eyes and his body, which is hoarded in flesh and grease.

I watched some of what was happening.. the preparation of the detention order.. the military was keen that I would not escape or escape.. the soldiers watched as I read my frowned, silent face.. I saw ambiguous questions in the faces of some of the attendees.. I felt the presence of words that the eyes of the eyes wanted to say. But they turned it around for reasons that might belong to them.

Observe the written direction of the detention order.. Handing over the detention order to the detention officer.. Take me to the detention room.. Opening the lock and chains.. Opening the door to the detention room.. Instructing me to enter.. Closing the door with chains and the large lock.. I felt that I had committed A terrible and terrible thing.

It was the first time I was imprisoned..a bitter experience in which I entered for the first time..a dense feeling of the constraint of freedom with walls, walls and iron..the detention room was five meters long or less, and two meters wide, maybe a little more, and a small window clasped with iron.. I felt that I was entering a stage The darkest in my life, and I must prepare and prepare for the worst.. I felt that a bad unknown awaits me, I do not know exactly its details and its end..

The detention room was empty and there were no lockers other than me.. Perhaps the occasion of the visit and the guests required that.. Perhaps some prisoners were transferred to the center building located on the Tur, or there was another prison in the center building..

I wished that Salmin and Abdel-Fattah would visit the detention room..I might see them closely..Maybe they might visit the corridors of the place or even visit the officers and soldiers stationed there, but unfortunately this did not happen..and instead of what I wanted to watch from the splendid flights, and hands and stop waving greetings and peace to us , I began to gaze at a gloomy ceiling and dumb walls..No nothing but scribbles and memories of prisoners on those bare walls..I wanted to have a magic pen, or a piece of coal, or even a nail I scribbled in, and write my memories and the date of my imprisonment on the wall of the wall, to tell the new inmates Or those coming after a while: we passed by here, and we stayed for a while.

Coincidentally and unfortunately, my mother was ill and was lying in the same hospital where the injured person was treated. In fact, the brother of the victim was the director of the same hospital.. I began to worry about my mother.. How will she be treated after my action that took blood from the brother of the hospital director?!! Perhaps they will expel her, they may harm her, or they may poison her as a medicine or a drug, and avenge for their affliction will take place against my mother, who is in the hospital for treatment.

An hour or more after the end of the speech, the criminal investigation officer summoned me.. they brought me to him.. I watched the knife on the table with interest as it was a crime instrument.. the investigation officer ordered his clerk to open the report, and he recited an introduction that made me feel that the matter was grave, and that I was walking down a road. The court, and the imposition of a penalty beyond my ability to bear..

After questioning and answering and acknowledging what was witnessed, and confronting me with the knife as the tool of the crime, and after establishing the facts and details that I had narrated, which do not differ from what happened in reality, the officer ordered to return me to detention. Stable and reliable..

After I was taken back into custody, a man from the Popular Forces, named Abdul Wahab from the “Ghoul” area, came out of the door and his origins go back to “Al-Qubeita” from which he and his brother Abdul Hamid came, or perhaps their two sons brought them from a time apart, and they became permanent residents in the area.” The southern ghoul..

His look was like an angel who offers me help without asking.. Like a cloud of rain and rain for help.. Mercy coming from a destiny that cares and does not forget who he loves.. Like Jacob who loves his son Joseph.. Like Abraham, the father of Ismail, but without a knife, no ransom, or sacrifice.. He gave me a bed and a blanket. I might try to provide it.

Abdel-Wahhab was working in the same place that was separated from the detention a few meters.. I looked with his smile, which eased a weight that I could not bear, those of recent age.. His smile gave me the reassurance and serenity that I needed most.. His sweet talk made me feel that I knew him from Longer than my short life..

After an hour, I felt exhausted.. I felt sleep falling and relaxing my exhausted eyelids, and the fading weighing on my tired eyes.. I surrendered to sleep and fell into a deep sleep.. I woke up a few hours later!! I got up as if I was crazy, or as if a goblin stood over my head.. I was taken aback and amazed as I asked: Where am I?! where am I?! After a while, I gathered the scattered pieces of my flying awareness, and I recovered the image of reality, and I realized that I was imprisoned, that I had committed a crime, and that there was an injured victim, who might be threatened with death.

After waking up and sleeping, I began to adapt to the situation I live in.. I went back to sleep and then got up a few hours later, and I became aware of my new situation and condition, and perhaps I seemed ready to adapt, and some of the anxiety that was sweeping me in an overwhelming manner at the beginning has disappeared..

My brother’s companion, Saeed Abdul-Wali, went from Tur Al Baha to the village.. Inform my brother of what happened.. My brother came from the village to the Tur Al Baha center the next day, and fortunately for me, the stab was not deep, and my brother was respected and appreciated by the officials in the district center, especially Muhammad Taher, the commissioner of the center, and “Ba’ali” the organizing official in the center, and that I have always been a juvenile, and for these considerations, I was released under the guarantee of my brother, however, I was summoned and arrested by the research official more than once, and in one of them, I and the injured were arrested together after he was cured From his injury, the case was resolved and her file closed.

As for my mother, nothing happened to her, but she was terrified and terrified, after she learned from some of my fellow students about what happened.

What happened was reckless, reckless, and miscalculation at an age in which I was still a juvenile, and my feeling of alienation, repeated provocation, and a feeling of transcendence by what seemed to me to be a gang led me to an act that I regretted and learned from.

I also regretted not being able to see President Abdel-Fattah Ismail..After a period of perhaps months, I was shocked by the news of the overthrow of Salmeen, who was loved and popular with many simple people, including the good man Abdel-Wahhab, while Abdel-Fattah Ismail’s popularity was mostly elite, and his stature and prestige For the educated…

The question remains: Why does politics spoil the relationship between those we love?! Is it the world and power, or the absence of reason, and the lack of wisdom?! Is it the presence of recklessness and recklessness, or lack of experience..?! Perhaps the reasons are complex and overlapped with each other?! The cycles of violence that the south witnessed had disastrous results that toppled one after the other until they managed to overwhelm everyone, burdened society unbearably, and distorted what was supposed to be beautiful and exemplary.

 ***

(6)

My educational level in the preparatory stage

In the preparatory stage, I did not excel in my studies, but the general level was good during the three preparatory years.. I did not fail in any subject, but in some subjects I succeeded in them after the rise of the soul.. I tended to social subjects and excel in them, followed by science subjects..

The results of the mathematics subjects were generally at a good level, even if I later became at the level of practical reality regarding me, and for a long time I failed in them, and it was difficult to count after a million.. I might waste money, but what I do not regret it.. failed par excellence in accumulating wealth or hoarding wealth. And more failed to keep the white shark until the black day..

Perhaps I find myself generous and more than him. I find myself not mean.. Maybe in some citizens I misjudge and see a little too much.. I still remember when I was a judge and I appreciated the fees of the legal accountant Ahmed Saeed Al-Dahi, and he reprimanded me with a sentence or a question in the middle of the court, and he was right when he said Lee: Do you want me to work as forced labor?! At that time, I realized the extent of the error I had fallen into, and I appreciate the fees, and this may be due in part to a lack of experience in estimating fees, or to my view of increasing money as soon as I measure it by the amount of my salary..

National education or the history of the Yemeni revolution, perhaps I had more love than Islamic education, which was of little weight in the hierarchy of subjects in the general syllabus.. I used to see memorizing a verse, I think you, more difficult than creating a quarrel in the Sam Mountain.. Memorizing a poem is many times easier than memorizing a surah in a syllabus. Study.. I am still haunted to this day by the “Al-Fatihah” knot that my father beat me to in order to memorize it..

My ability to memorize has become weak, or my memorization has become weak.. Forgetting invaded much of what I memorized with difficulty.

I may revolt and resist and stand up to injustice and stubbornly confront it, and I cannot tolerate an injustice or an oppressor that still stalks the right and tyrannizes over it. I align myself with the values of love, freedom and tolerance, or so I claim, or rather I try to be..

The Arabic language used to like some of its materials, and some of them are still poor and unsuccessful to this day.. I became a hopeless situation in writing one page without errors in spelling and grammar.. Spelling and grammar have become another complex that imposes itself on my life, and a lot of what I write is flawed, and it seems to spoil me. Charming and beautiful, and I think she will accompany me until the end..

History in middle school was the subject that I liked the most, because the subject teacher was familiar with his subject, and he did not leave the lesson unless he transferred it to our understanding as it should.. He explained the lesson carefully and then dictated the lesson to us, then repeated it through the discussion.. and in a non-boring repetition, and all This was done with great humility, without boredom or heaviness..

One of the most difficult subjects I faced in the course of my preparatory studies was English; Because the schools of the south taught it from the fifth grade, while the schools of the north taught it from the first preparatory level. I did not study English in the North, in addition to the previous weakness that accompanied me in this subject in the fifth grade during my studies at the “Shaab” school, and thus this gap became bigger and wider in my subsequent educational life until university .. and the situation worsened after that..

***

(7)

A test and a catastrophe

In the third year of middle school, Ali Al-Khafif was appointed as the new general director of the Martyr Najeeb School, who is from the south, after the previous director left it to work in the north.

The new principal was kind and friendly, and as soon as I was living through the ministerial exams, and I still had three courses waiting for me to be tested, the school director conveyed the shocking news to me, but in installments that makes me pass the exams for those courses at a lower psychological cost that maintains my academic level in exams..

The director tried to keep me hopeful that my brother was injured in an ambush, but he is recovering, and the injury is not serious. In fact, my brother has passed away.. By conveying this news, the director wanted to spare me any trauma that would affect my psychological condition in the remaining exams for me, and not affect What happened to the results of those courses’ exams.. He wanted to cut off any other sources that might reach me and cause me great confusion despite the narrow circulation of my brother’s death.. At the same time, he intended to accept the tragedy gradually, and to prevent what happened from causing me a possible collapse, or major psychological repercussions. As soon as I know…

The school principal was right when he tried to reduce the impact of what happened on my psyche, so as not to affect my exam results, and at the same time prepares me to come to terms with the shocking truth.

The truth was that my brother was ambushed, and he was rescued to Tur al-Baha, and it was decided to take him to Aden after arriving at the hospital and performing some necessary first aid.. Then he died on the same night on the way before reaching Aden, and his body was buried in the “Aidarous” cemetery in Crater.. Pain I say that half of my sadness is in Eden, O Eden..Who is this who takes me away from you, and my sorrows are like my joy, like my love, striking in your nostrils and in your depths, O Eden?

The principal of the school succeeded in making me pass the exam successfully, and he succeeded more in making my collision with the truth less intense.

I completed the exams for the last year of the preparatory stage in the Al-Baha phase, and I gradually became sure of the truth of the news of my brother’s death. Nevertheless, Sultan’s delusion kept pace with what the soul desires and desires, and my illusion continued to reject this most bitter truth in my life.

How painful was the bereavement?! How can I believe the news?!! From excessive attachment, we do not believe the facts, even if we witness them with our own eyes.. It is love and attachment to those we love.

I passed the preparatory stage, and achieved the result of the third year in it with a success rate of 78%, and despite the modesty of this percentage, I was satisfied with it, and with it I moved to study the secondary stage at the “Proletariat” school located on the road separating the governorate of Aden and Lahj..

***

The eighth series

The “proletariat” school

(1)

A general idea and a comparative gesture

The “Proletariat” school was a school for the sons of the nomads. It was established during the era of President Salmeen, who was concerned with educating the sons of the nomads, and their diaspora was collected from the deserts and distant lands;  To sponsor them, organize them in the public education sector, and take care of them during their studies in their various stages.

The “Proletariat” school is located in an area in the middle of the road linking the governorates of Lahj and Aden, and administratively and educationally affiliated to the Lahj governorate, and there was an internal section attached to it in which the state provided all students with free housing and food.

I studied high school at the “proletariat” school.. The term “proletariat” was difficult for the tongue that he was not familiar with or used to, and we later memorized this term as we memorize our names, and more of it became a subject of pride, belonging and bragging, especially in the meaning it carries, and the position  Specifically in the working class, which was viewed by socialist political awareness and Marxist culture, as the first class concerned with change in capitalist societies, its transition to socialism and communism, and considering the working class as the most revolutionary class of society, and entrusted to it before others the task of overthrowing the capitalist system in the world..

 ***

When I joined this school in 1979, I might have felt some alienation, or perhaps a situation that was different from what I was used to, and gradually this feeling faded.. Most of the students in this school, or almost all of them, were from the countryside of Lahij Governorate, Radfan, Al Dhale’, Tur Al Baha and Yafa’, and I don’t remember anyone  From the north, others except for Muhammad Abdul-Malik from “Murabaha Al-Qubeta”, and Ali Badi from “Anas Dhamar”, while Al-Najma Al-Hamra School, which was a few kilometers away from our school, hosts large numbers of students from the central regions, and the northern regions in general..

After a not long time, the school of the “proletariat” was transformed into a camp called the Fifth Brigade, and after forty years of those days, during this ugly and unjust war on our people, many government schools were destroyed, and a significant number of them were converted into military barracks, prisons and detention centers, and some  It is being demolished and expanded for commercial projects.

As for quality and quality, education has become weak, fragile, backward and distorted, and on top of that, the students’ families pay money with fees that exceed the capabilities of many of their guardians, and many students drop out of their schools, and some of them are mobilized from schools, while they are under the age of majority, as war guards, and abandon  The de facto authorities, with their different names, refer to the free education service job, in favor of private education, which is also not free of misery and fragility.

More than this and that, the teacher became in this damned war and for the seventh year in many schools working without pay, and in some of them his wages were so low that he was almost without pay, and some of them with an incentive that is not enough for a meal for one teacher without his family, and yet he was stingy until he was given this  The despicable impulse is the contempt of these horrible powers that govern it.

The authorities these days want a teacher who does not have a family, a family or a stomach.. a teacher who does not eat or drink and does not need.. they want a miserable, servile and submissive teacher who works for free.. the authorities want teachers who eat and drink air, and even the air they would like to cut it for them if it was bought.  And if this starving and crushed teacher protested, they would seize his service and the misery of his years just because he demanded one of his rights.

We are forcibly and forcibly led to a situation worse and humiliating for human beings than the first slavery era… an era more catastrophic than what happened and what happened… We live in a situation that resembles an era witnessing a terrible and overwhelming civilized apostasy..

***

(2)

Hunger!

Although there is an internal section in the school, and dormitories for all its students, the food was bad, and lacked improvement, in addition, it was few, and it does not satisfy our stomachs, and the number of students is in the hundreds, and some of them do not catch up with their scheduled meals, due to the exhaustion of the amount of cooked food before the completion of Distribution of the meal to the last student..

The queue for the meal was long, and sometimes there was a fight between some of the students because of the crowding, or some of them tried to advance by bypassing their positions in the lunch queues.. Sometimes when I couldn’t catch the dinner, I had to go to the trees called (diman) around the school To feed my hunger, sometimes my dear friend, Muhammad Abdul Malik Husayn, with whom I have unforgettable memories, I will touch on some of them later..

Sometimes I would go to a nearby state farm, to study under the lush shade of its trees, and pick some limes to use on the beans, and that gave us a double appetite, while the food was little, and a little lemon became savoury, we complete the prescribed meal, and find that it does not fill half of what you need. our stomach…

In the first year, we came in the season of planting jingle trees, and we were starving at night when its heavy hours reached us, and on our empty stomachs that were eaten by predatory hunger. Our faces screamed and hunger stings, while desertification was surrounding us, except from a farm located within twenty minutes of walking..

The dried sesame tents extended to areas that we, the young ones, were not accustomed to seeing, and we were like birds that saturate their small crops with a lot of harvest, or reduce the poverty that afflicts us, steals our sleep at night, and exhausts us throughout the day..

The farm was not enclosed or enclosed, and its enclosure was open, and safety was safety, and what we reaped is not worth mentioning, rather it does not exceed what quenches our hunger, relieves the tremor of our hands, and gives our feet, stunned by hunger, some steadfastness and resistance; Were we thieves at that time?! Or was it some of the project rebellion?! Or is it the necessity of quenching hunger?!

Between normality and criminality is a simple thing that sometimes identifies with what is around it, so that we hardly see it or do not distinguish it with those around it, and we are sometimes confused as crime became confused with others with “Raskolnikov”, the hero of the novel Crime and Punishment, by the Russian novelist Dostoevsky, with the difference that our motive was more severe, And our crime is less if we consider it a crime… However, decades later I ask myself: Were we straight or criminals?!

What we were doing was similar in the way to what the thieves do, but we would have done it only out of a motive that we see as necessity.. Then did they not say that “hunger is an infidel” .. Didn’t some of them say “if poverty was a man, I would have killed him”, so what when the two of us gathered together..!!

Hunger is more severe than infidelity.. and perhaps infidelity in reality is not what many see!! Some of them called each other “sweet infidelity” and others said about each other “disbelief of grace” and “grace” here is still a consideration.. There is a plurality of disbelief without open disbelief, and open disbelief has a Lord who punishes its owner..

Why do the issues of hunger and poverty, despite their tyranny and continuous expansion, do not occupy the awareness of those who make them with the same amount, level and breadth of importance as they are in reality?! Why this imbalance that affects consciousness, so this pandemic tyranny of hunger is confronted with small and humiliating aid, the owners of which recover the price of its double by a thousand means and ways?!

Why do religious and group elites falsify awareness and concepts, distort issues, and deviate from the paths of justice, even though they see with their own eyes the poverty, hunger and famines of the world, and with it all this tyranny. Even worse, it wants to oppose and fight all of that with what it calls zakat or “charity”..

Why do religious and political groups in Yemen abandon their war-afflicted people?! Why do they abandon their moral responsibilities and legal obligations as de facto authorities, which dictate to them the duty of responsibility, each according to the population and society under their authority?!

It is the duty to pay the salaries of workers and employees in the administrative apparatus of the state, and also the retired, and the beneficiaries of social security, and everyone who suffers from hunger and the famine has killed them in a war that has deepened its ugliness..

The most insolent is that these groups, whether religious or political, or both, are now giving up almost all state functions, and are turning resolutely to the horrific policy of looting and corruption, pouring all the attention towards levies and royalties, doubling taxes, humiliating their people and wasting everything that is at the core of their rights and dignity..

They trade in homeland and blood, engage in looting and corruption, and beg for food from countries of the world, then try to profit and profit from this beggary without shame, and more than it they talk arrogantly and rudely about pride, dignity, values, morals and good morals..

***

(3)

protest against hunger

I am often irritated by poverty, hunger, injustice and corruption.. tyranny in all its forms provokes me even if I wear the clothes of a father, teacher, leader, saint or priest.. The arrogance of authority, its stubbornness, and arrogance in the face of truth and justice, which I dream of and care about, provoke me more than others.. I am not accustomed to injustice to facilitate the matter or reconcile with it. No matter how long..

My soul is restless and restless, and always remains driven by restlessness and rebellion and revolution.. It is always full of anxiety and dissatisfaction, even if I enjoy a little silence, or be disappointed by a period, or blindfolded from the truth for a while, or even collude for reasons of my own, I have a stronger and more intense inner struggle with my conscience, and my conscience keeps kicking me from the inside like a zebra, until I get back to what is right or right as possible..

Perhaps this non-categorical spirit was the reason for my exclusion from the available opportunities that others seized, and I squandered them with awareness, conviction and asceticism, because I considered them in their truth and even still, mere traps and intrigues and detainees for slavery with no escape and no escape..

Sometimes I feel tired and exhausted, but as soon as I rest a little or catch my breath until I repeat the ball two and three times.. I go back to declaring rejection, doing rebellion, and resistance until things are straightened, or they end in demise..

I engage in a patient struggle with reality, as Sisyphus, the symbol of eternal torment with the rock, or as the Devil, who split the stick of the group, and disobeyed his Lord alone and perverted; To carry out the will of the Lord, putting it ahead of his selfishness.. I try to reach my oppressed voice to the maximum extent possible, even if it is eaten by worms. He was the owner..

Perhaps I seem constantly worried, dissatisfied with the progress of things and conditions, and perhaps even discontented with this bloody world and its system based on injustice and exploitation, and rebellious in the face of fates that I feel are unjust.. And the beginning was in the first protest that I participated in when I was a teenager, or in the early days of my youth..

***

In the “Proletariat” school, because of hunger, and protesting the lack of improvement in meals, and the lack of electricity, a large number of students went on strike, and I was one of them..

We refrained from studying, and went out to the sidewalk, protesting against the poor quality of food and demanding its improvement.. We blocked the road between Lahj and Aden with stones and prevented cars from crossing, which was a daring act at that time, and even a very sensitive one. Because any such action or protest was classified as a counter-revolution, and some politicians went to explain it with the worst possibilities, and with reasons they assumed beyond what we could bear, but the presence of protesting students from Al-Dhalea, Radfan and Al-Sabiha shielded us from many of those possibilities and assumptions and prevented us from its consequences.

Many are the students who adhered to the protest and refrained from going to the classroom, some of them after a day or a few days, and some of them preferred safety, and avoided participating in this very rare and frequent protest action, if not unprecedented..

My colleague Ahmed Massad Al-Shuaibi describes what happened in the first spontaneous student uprising against the deprivation of the natural rights of food and housing… It was sparked by the power outage due to the failure of the Education Department to pay the electricity bill‘ The students set out to the main line, crossing the main road linking Lahj governorate with Aden governorate..

The students from the sons of Al-Dhalea in the school were the vanguard of the protesters.. I admired those “madmen” who rejected darkness, brought down hunger, and defied its consequences..

I used to look at non-protesters with indignation and contempt, and ask myself: Why are these people overwhelmed by fear and led to betrayal, and they are not indignant at hunger and those in charge of it?!!

I admired the students who dared to protest, and tried to bring the voice of hunger to the country’s most senior official..

Officials in the governorate, especially in the education sector, who are responsible for the school, were terrified of the repercussions and impact of these protests on them, and on their positions and jobs..

Education officials in the governorate came down to meet the students and hear the protesters’ demands and discuss them after they failed to intimidate them and discourage them from continuing the protest, and to return them to their classrooms.

We did not calm down and did not stop pretending until Ali Antar attended, who succeeded in guiding us when he said: Go for a week and come back to eat good and clean food. He ordered the preparation of buses to transport the willing demonstrators and complainants, each to his own area, and return to their families on a short vacation, until matters are settled. meet the demands of the protesters..

A protest action of this kind and against the revolutionary authority, or so such kind of protest is understood, and in that very sensitive period, it was a bold and daring act by all standards..

That a protest action erupts in a school with a great name in a country that claims to adopt the theory of scientific socialism and works for the establishment of a “proletariat” state is an act that may reveal the fragility of some of that claim.

This protest resulted in noticeable improvements in nutrition, hygiene, organization and the restoration of electricity.. This work was the first protest that I participated in.

***

(4)

Outside the school syllabus

In the second grade of secondary school, ten dinars were allocated per month to help the sons of the north (the National Front).. I eagerly awaited it at the end of each month, and bought some brochures, and the book was subsidized by the state at that time.. We bought it at cheap and cheap prices.. I also spent some of it when I was hungry.. Every night he bought biscuits and tea from Mohamed Haidara, who had a small shop at the school gate from the inside..

The meal of tea and biscuits was a delicious and delicious meal that relieved the burden of hunger, until we became companions in the dark of the night when we faced hunger.. I still crave it sometimes, and I remember through it days gone by, And my companion Nabil Al-Husam does it today when he is hungry, or supports his stomach to withstand in the face of hunger, or eases its burden on him, And he says to me, take some of it and I decline and my longing for him jumps and sweeps.

The sesame seed has become yearning for us from hunger. Its owners carry happy souls, no matter how heavy the burden and heavy loads.. How beautiful are the poor that I have known, and how rich and noble they are and how condescending they are to each other.. The usual, and with pride that reaches the sky, they resist humiliation, pettiness, and decadence, with exceptional devotion, and the bravery of suicide..

***

In the “Proletariat” school, I had a small radio, through which I followed the news at night, and when listening was less and sheesh.. I was keen to hear the broadcast and reports of Radio Monte Carlo at eight in the evening, which lasts for half an hour, and then follow the following even if the nine o’clock came, I moved to watching the BBC radio broadcast from London, then a program of excerpts from the newspapers’ sayings, and I did not finish until I heard the “politics between the questioner and the respondent” program, which ends at exactly ten o’clock at night..

Two hours a day without interruption I used to spend in the news, reports, newspapers, and politics in general. If an important new event happened, I spent more time following up, and listening to various other stations interested in that matter or event.. I don’t remember that I missed a night without spending less than two hours listening Radio with longing and political and knowledge passion..

This was part of my usual daily program, which I was keen on during my high school studies, at the “Proletariat” school.. That follow-up made me feel the momentum of life, the developments of events, and the importance of public affairs in our lives and the trends of the countries of the world without ignoring the warning of what is false and shady The diversity of sources and comparisons between them helped us to some extent in knowing the truth from falsehood and the shaded one..

***

I longed for and fascinated with knowledge, and read newspapers when I found them, as well as some books, even those that were incomprehensible to my modest level of knowledge, but I tried to understand them, as if they were part of the course..

I remember that I was in the second grade of high school. One of the teachers’ house teachers surprised me, just because he saw me near the school gate while I was reading a book by Engels (The Origin of the Family), and he reprimanded me because this is difficult to understand even for university graduates, and that my reading of this comes at the expense of studying my lessons..

It was clear that this professor was to a large extent relaxed from ideology and its strict determinants, and I think that his origins were Indian or Pakistani, which I assessed through his appearance and features.. As for me, I respected knowledge from whichever source or source it comes.

This restraint did not prevent me from reading outside the curriculum, but rather made me read more outside the curricula and courses, without negatively affecting the interest in my lessons, which I used to give the most time and attention to, but sometimes my suffering and craving for knowledge made me read outside the curriculum, as Our venerable and well-versed Syrian teacher in Arabic literature and language, Hassan Bashmaf, who speaks Standard Arabic in and outside the classroom, and his mastery of teaching methods in his subject, made Arabic literature in our eyes beautiful and deserves more attention to reading and knowledge outside the school curriculum, and I will not forget some rebellion and transgression against what is decided. and usual..

I remember that I used to read and study ancient poetry from Diwan Antar, as well as poetry of the Muallaqat, trampless poets, and books of literature in the medieval era, in which there are some interesting poems and explanations..

In general, reading outside the school curricula was the basis for expanding my cognitive awareness, and even excelling later in the study, and leaving the circle and areas of some school weaknesses that I may have sensed or experienced some of..

***

In the lyrical art, I liked listening to some of the songs of Taha Farea and Hassan Atta, and the latter worked as dean of the Teachers’ House in the same school in which I study. I also liked some of the songs of the artists Abdul Basit and Ayoub Tarish Absi. Abdel Halim Hafez and Umm Kulthum liked the extent of addiction and melting..

I was surprised by his taste because I did not understand the words of the songs, nor did I like their melody, nor did I enjoy their rhythm, but I was annoyed and annoyed by them.. and I was always surprised by the tastes of some people who liked that art that it was difficult to hear, including my uncle Farid, who liked Umm Kulthum’s songs..

But after a while, I found myself inclined to some of the songs of Abdel Halim and Umm Kulthum, and I liked the song “Do not lie,” which was sung by the artist Abdel Halim Hafez, and I repeated it a lot with his voice in harmony and integration and simulating a failed love experience I lived one day, and my colleague Abdel Hakim explained to me the text and words of the poem and replied to My ears until I memorized them, and among her words that captured my heart:

Don’t lie, I saw you two together.. and say goodbye to crying, for I hated the tears

What is the easiest of the bridging tears, if it flows.. from a lying eye, then he denies and pretends

I saw you..I heard you..your eyes in his eyes..in his lips..in his hands..in his feet

until he says:

What do I say to make her ribs shed tears of longing for you.. What do I say to rip her ribs for fear of you

Do I say Hunt?.. I say she betrayed me.. Shall I say it?.. If I say it, I will cure my boil.. my woe..

No, I won’t say me, so tell me you..

Don’t be ashamed..don’t be afraid of me, for I am not a rebel..you saved me from the falsehood of my dreams and the treachery of my feelings

I saw that you had two chains that I made sure of life not to break.. so I broke it

And I saw that you were a sin for me, and I asked God not to forgive it.. so I forgave it

***

(5)

My loud reading is turning me crazy!

I was studying my lessons out loud..silent reading or even in a low voice I did not like, in addition to the fact that its harvest is scarce and fading or of little effect..my mood is not suitable for silent reading that I am not familiar with, and I am not accustomed to. To a continuous provocation that loses its importance after reading a page or two, and boredom and boredom and perhaps drowsiness creep into me after a while, and in other cases silence flies my memory in every direction, and I look like a small child without discrimination, chasing the shadow of a bee hovering over the flowers, it does not catch it, and it does not last flower..

When I read silently, I find myself a lot of wandering and straying, and sometimes I get drowsy after an hour if the place is good, and at other times I feel boredom stretching my limbs, and wandering away to where I do not want.. I find myself far from where I am, and very far from what I am about to read..

I do not know how the method of reading aloud followed me from middle school, then I found myself in secondary school more attached to it, and I am not good at what suits me other than.. At the university, and then at the Higher Institute of the Judiciary it became a nature or perhaps it turned into a habit of reading for me, I cannot leave it Except for an urgent necessity or imperative..

My comprehension rate while reading aloud was much more than if I read in a low voice, and my concentration while reading aloud was many times more than my concentration while reading silently… My silent reading makes me waste a lot of time, for a little benefit, and I find most of this waste I spend Chasing the strays of my mind that fly in every direction and direction..

***

I would go out from the inner section to the desert, and I would stretch it out in length and width while I was studying my lessons aloud, and I would even point with hands and feet without will, and I would walk some steps and stop, and I would repeat the phrases until I understood them, and I would try to memorize them, and as soon as I finished a lesson, I would write on the sand dunes (My Lord, increase me knowledge ) And sometimes I add (from the cradle to the grave) I do this out of pure whispering that also takes its share of my wasted time, and whoever sees me from a distance, and watches my movements, thinks that I have been touched by the jinn, or that I am already crazy.. I used to read with my mouth, hands, feet and every movement My body and the muscles of my face were pale scorched by the sun and wind, so my reading turned into something like loud reading filled with movements and memory-strengthening activity..

It is an aspect of diligence in which I found myself better than ever in attention, perseverance and effort.. I felt the importance of excellence, and dealt with my ambition, and what I want with greater responsibility..

In the “proletariat” school, I became more appreciative of the importance of education, and the importance of insight and knowledge… I seemed to have more confidence in myself, and knowledge became more and more pleasurable the more I studied and the more knowledge I gained.

***

(6)

A new epistemological shift in favor of the mind

In high school, I used to read and meditate as I roamed the desert in the afternoons of the days of the week of my choosing, distributing directions and arms every day as a direction in it, and sometimes I meant a destination in the direction at a certain angle in the desert with a wide extension, and then came back without necessarily taking the same road..

I go into the depths of the desert as far as I can, as if I am searching in it for a new world, considering the time of return and sunset, so that no darkness descends before I return to my dwelling in the inner section..

I felt as if I was the first person to wander in that neglected or seemingly virgin desert, and there was no great trace of human labor in it, over a large area.. It seemed as if I was the first traveler to walk on its..

Just as I used to let out my loud voice in the desert, I was also unleashing my questioning mind, and in the face of doubt I would open the door wide.. The questioning bewilderment occupied much of my thinking..

The contradiction was raging between the perceptions on which I was raised, and what I learned in Islamic education on the one hand, and what I learned in geography, biology, philosophy and the rest of the sciences..The questions stimulated my mind and awareness, which is still young and lacking in knowledge..I eagerly look forward to knowing everything possible and new..

I learned through the accumulation of my knowledge that submission does not create awareness or knowledge, but rather creates backwardness, lethargy and dullness… Controversy, contradiction, and the search for an answer to the questions that burn in awareness – even the simple ones – are the ones that create knowledge and add to it, and retreat with what stuck in the mind of Ignorance, false awareness and misunderstanding of things and phenomena..

Doubtful questions opened my mind to more knowledge, including some of those unanswerable questions, which my mother used to get angry at during my innocent and questioning childhood..

I was contemplating the desert and going deeper into it despite its displacement and the blowing of wind and hot sand.. I used to ask myself: Was this desert like this since I found the earth or God’s simple creation?!

I would stop on pieces of small stones that were alien to me, and they were black, lightweight stones that were rounded or whose outer walls were filled with many voids, and they were not homogeneous with the desert and its nature, and it was clear that they came from a place and a medium completely different from it, and most of them were the size of a fist or slightly larger than them, and I ask myself : Were these pieces ever celestial bodies or asteroids swimming in space?! Are these some of the meteors and meteors with which God casts demons?!

And as soon as I saw the various snails in the desert, I would ask: Was the sea covering all this land?! When did the sea rise here, or was the sea here and then recede?! Were snails a step in the evolution of this life?!

***

I liked the Palestinian biology professor who is tall, with white skin and who is politically affiliated with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, as he explains Darwin’s theory of evolution. With evidence and proofs, or that science supported some of them and seemed to be on a certain degree or on some level in the ladder of truth..

What I had heard from a biology professor, I had never heard anything like him before.. It was a remarkable and interesting talk. He talks about the scale of evolution and evolution and many details.. I found some common points or approaches about the origin of man between the theory of evolution and evolution by Darwin, and some of what he mentioned. Engels in his book The Origin of the Family..

Perhaps I felt the logic of the theory or most of it, and in the worst case it is not devoid of true and useful.. I enjoyed the way it was presented, and some of the supports for some of its aspects, which may have shaken some of my convictions and caused many doubts, or cracked some of my well-established and rooted in my consciousness, as well as being Looking for broad prospects..

I was impressed with the subject of philosophy, its tan-leaning Palestinian teacher, who is also affiliated with the Popular Front, and the philosophical question raised, “Does man have a choice or a path”, which for the first time I hear about it, and it has always stimulated my mind and revealed the fragility of my postulates as I felt through it the thresholds and doors of knowledge..

I learned from philosophy the importance of controversy, the collision and cross-fertilization of ideas and theories, their combinations, their historical development, and the process of knowledge in general.. I became aware of the importance of questions and doubts about postulates in favor of truth and knowledge.. I realized my delusion and many of the Muslim women who used to occupy my mind during the past years of my life..

I liked the science and social subjects in general, and I felt that they shape my awareness and make a difference in my school and general knowledge.. I used to ask my mind many questions that lead to new knowledge or brighter knowledge in the face of ignorance.. Many things have changed in my young mind than I thought and believed. I felt that it was adding something new to me that I was not familiar with and did not know before.

In the third grade of secondary school, the distance between me and what I thought began to shift in favor of doubt or some of it.. I brought up those questions that I used to ask when I was young spontaneously, spontaneously and innocence.. New convictions began to form, which are more logical and reasonable convictions and some of them are supported by evidence.. I felt that new concepts were taking shape. It forms in my mind far from sentiment and emotion in favor of reason, more doubt and a lot of questions and questions..

***

(7)

Without a defect.. A school without mixing

The students of the “proletariat” school, who numbered in the hundreds, were all male.. There was not a single female student in the school.. A desertification bare that did not know green plants or a cool breeze even in the last third of the night.. Not a drop of dew or a drop of rain except a severe drought. The dry land is cracking… “No water, no green, no good face”… No joy, no hope, no hope… Barrenness, dryness and dust wherever your face turns..

The past and those burdened with it see that segregation and segregation of the sexes is a right behavior dictated by the values of good morals, then they resort to the rugs and the station until what is under the aprons tops the heads generalized with shame and firm fatwas, while we see that equality and a healthy and fortified life are awareness, high morals and good education..

Mixing attracts and competes, transcends our heavy heritage, and uniquely overcomes a deep-seated social contract.. Separation and isolation weigh us down with alienation from the times, walking backwards against the future we want and aspire to, and life under the pressures of the repressed knots swollen with intense congestion, and sexual obsession that takes over thinking, strays, and possession. The extravagant for awareness and attention, abnormal venting, disgraceful behavioral deviation, and leaving what is supposed to be normal and a normal, healthy life..

It is not right to wait for the New Year’s holiday to cover a distance of more than ten kilometers to take a look from a girl you love, you may or may not find her, and it is up to coincidences alone, and coincidences were between few and rare..

It is not right to love so deeply for three years in a row with great secrecy without knowing where you are from the person you love!! Never recover if you spend three years in unrequited love without being able to reveal or reach your love!

It is not normal for shyness to overwhelm you, and to remain possessed by it until your forehead bulges from its overcrowding, and you miss opportunities in turn, and your cramped love only reaps disappointment, misery and loss.. A bullet on an unblessed morning.. This is what I wished for on a stifled and raging day with revolution and volcanoes crowding inside me.. It is suffering with a tyrannical instinct, intense sexual hunger, and a predatory and terrifying jaw..

If mixing is the most I can imagine that it will happen, it is the search for love and the desired happiness.. the search for a dream knight, or a suitable wife in the future.. As for the situation is different and isolation exists, I found someone who travels miles to have perverted sex with a female donkey, and some of us used to go to “Al-Sisban” to extinguish the burning violence of sex in exchange for paying money..

Some of us watch TV and watch series and movies, then live the role he imagines and direct it with actress Shams Al-Baroudi or artist Yousra, while I was arguing with some about the sweetest and most beautiful women until we split into two teams, then we argue to the extent of the heat, and review their charms, and we bet on the most beautiful that suits their fans Then we search for a ruling regarding what we argued about, and whoever judges in a way that is not in his favour, he goes in search of another ruling, until the rulers themselves are divided. So that they, too, search for a new judge.. Who is the sweetest and most beautiful, Warda Al-Jazaeryia or Aziza Jalal?? And I was lining up a rose..

Our dream was to learn and find a livelihood that would help us withstand in the face of hunger, and when this dream or some of it came true, we started seeing mixing as a dream and a need.. Human aspirations do not end when a certain dream is achieved.. Dreams also reproduce like light..

My friend Muhammad Abdul-Malik and I used to go to Aboud High School because there was a residence with a relative on the campus of that school.. I could see freedom there pulsing with light, love and reconciliation with oneself, while I silently squeezed pain, strangeness and loss..

I felt overwhelming sadness when comparing the “proletariat” school with the Abboud school, which lived in mixing and was vibrant with life, love and joy.. Our school seemed in this comparison as oppressed as we are.. it looked like a barren desert and winds blowing our tired eyes with dust throughout the year, while the secondary school of Martyr Abboud in Dar Saad It was more than a dream that could not be realized.

I have always wished for a protest to demand the right of Antar and the leadership in Aden to mix, as was the protest for better nutrition, but I was shy and did not dare to declare such a desire even in a whisper.. Inside me a volcano erupts and boils, while my shame and shyness are layers on top of some steel and ice that prevent And suppress the announcement of what is going on inside..

I was swollen with repression and congestion.. I was trying in my consciousness to destroy every tradition and belief.. Look at it more than perhaps a thousand years from what is prevalent.. I wanted a world with the space and orbits of the universe.. A world not burdened with restrictions, limits and traditions.. The consequences of the conflagration of the sex burdened with shame and heavy habits walled in isolation and separation with fire and iron..

I was an extremist to the point of madness, and this madness would not have been possible without my feeling of this tyrannical defect, strict social oppression, and great repression engulfing.. I testify to my friend Muhammad Abd al-Malik his poise against my thoughts that drifted between the hammer and the anvil, and the fire of the pent-up and rebellious desires of sex against a shameful reality..

I studied and graduated from high school in the proletariat school in 1981 with a rate of 82%, and it was not easy to get this rate at that time, a percentage that qualified me for a scholarship abroad, but I was also shy and little “knowledgeable” and there was no helper or support for me.

***

(8)

My adolescence..and my first experience in a dream

My depression intensifies and intensifies.. Deprivation explodes me and makes me cry in my depths, and ignites its fires in the farthest extent of my life.. Obsessed with my sexual emptiness.. Obsessed all day long.. Obsessed in waking and sleeping.. Prohibition exercises its tyranny, leaving no place for love.. Love is forbidden and love is forbidden. My society explodes my skull, searches for what is hidden in it, and what is hidden by the treasonous eyes..

My community is under the delusion of chastity, and suffers from squinting.. He hits the eye of an ant, and misses the size of the elephant.. He does not see the plank in his eye and sees the speck in his brother’s eye.. He abandons major issues, and pursues a night lover.. Busy with the breath of a woman, at the expense of a thousand cases..

My society is fond of criminalization.. handicapped and mentally retarded.. its disabilities are greater than it.. my society is ruled by predominance.. blood is very cheap, and with poverty normalization is underway.. poverty is a norm in this world.. death is very lavish, and intolerance is a familiar fate.. disclosure is a crime and a taboo. An upbringing from the era of infanticide.. The mother’s name is a disgrace among boys.. My society is doomed to shame.. My society is doomed to fire..

Prevention increases desire.. my eroticism is looking for pleasure.. my destiny is besieged by narrowness, confined to its blindness by resourcefulness.. fire flashes in my veins, and the horses of love falter in the blood stream.. lost in the first wandering, I run after the panting of the wind, looking for a woman who extinguishes the lights..

Under my skin, a thousand watchdogs.. the defect lurks in the breath of eagerness.. stifles the passion of desire.. the oppression that comes from the era of bygone valley, wants my valley in my exiled school in a barren desert, blazing, and spitting up and grilling.. and a question that grows between my aching ribs, stinging me with a whip of fire: Where do I unload the loads of lust?!

***

I swam around the fever several times.. I swam to fall into it.. I want to break the latch, and take out the red wax in countries that are burdened by prohibition, and surrounded by what is forbidden.. My curiosity invites me to probe the depths and explore the deepest depths.. The homeland of the female is very deep.. The female voice is calling me: Today is lonely Do not hesitate, do not delay, realize your desire, for the unseen is tomorrow, and tomorrow at noon is not guaranteed by anyone..

I long to navigate the self, explore the mystery of the valleys, reveal the map of the female, and the details of sex.. A witness that calls for lust, is more delicious than honey bee, and better than the brine of heaven.. Thus said the devil, and invited me to travel in the space of pleasure, and the higher heavens of love.. Like light or like a star without shining or ascending..

It is my first adventure, in which I discover myself, and discover the opposite sex. I prayed the Hallaj prayer.. I prayed the prayer of the soul so that I can use it for guidance what I do! I prayed for rain.. I called the rain to the wasteland.. I chose to cross the unveiling, to answer the questions of confusion.. I wanted to know myself, to answer questions that spur and whisper.. Questions invoked my subconscious mind, like a lion in the cages of its cages.. Questions that ignite in the depth of consciousness, To light up the unknowns of the soul and the halls of darkness..

***

The beautiful voice called me: Hey, come on.. Have the first experience.. Try once.. Travel in the body of a woman.. Speak your secret.. What do you do with the sheathed sword.. You are not a treasure trove.. You are not a museum or a showroom.. Come on. I tear it in the face of the sun.. I polish it and sharpen it in the fire.. I blow it to the end..

Blow it until it spreads and turns red.. Sow it in living flesh.. Come do this.. For the first time you will feel that you are a living being, filled with happiness that explodes with joy.. You will feel that you have not lived before.. and do not let the earth decay.. the earth is for those who revive it, and I ask Resurrecting the dead..

Satan said, “Oh, take it easy.. your life is wasted.. don’t let your present shrivel with sorrow like a candle on a cold night.. don’t let the years of the coming life be plundered by the wind.. so that you don’t cry over the past, and youth squandered by ignorant people.. your present bites it, with your faces.” And the canine.. Hold it with both of your hands.. Make a great deed, and crown the female kingdom, so that you will not regret it, and weep tomorrow lost youth..

The beautiful said: You, this one..Reveal the closed secret..Break the shackles of piety..Take the burdened delusion, and break the siege of solitude..Break the secret locks and code numbers..Sex is more delicious in the era of repression, and freedom is more enjoyable after oppression, and desire is more passionate and wild. In the era of the forbidden..

The beautiful woman said: You ..Reveal the closed secret..Break the shackles of piety..Take the burdened delusion and break the siege of solitude..Break the secret locks and code numbers..Sex is more delicious in the age oppression, and freedom is more enjoyable after oppression, and desire is more passionate and brutality. In the era of the forbidden..

Satan said: Taqiyya is imprisonment and hypocrisy.. Taqiyya is falsehood and a mask.. Tear down your prison, and remove the mask of falsehood. To see the world from its end.. Taqiyya is a sentence of death.. Taqiyyah does not reconcile with a soul yearning for freedom.. Freedom is stifled by walls, and Taqiyya is a wall that kills us so and so times a day.. Taqiyyah is a betrayal of the soul.. Nudity reconciles with its companions, and the worst ugliness is to wear a thousand masks..

The beautiful woman said: Do not decide to die, and do not blow yourself up for the sake of heaven and the daughters of the poplars.. seize your present until you get drunk.. salute the earth and do not kill a human being, and God is merciful and forgiving.. oh this is a rebellion and explore the map of women for the first time.. you will discover that God is in the eyes of a woman Forgive, and in the pulse of the breast you will hear all the beautiful names, and in the sanctuary of love glorify in the kingdom of God.. God is merciful and merciful..forgiving and forgiving..

***

The excitement of pleasure in my joints.. I overcome my fire.. the situation overwhelms me.. the fire of lust engulfs my sagging body.. the first time in my life I see a woman undresses.. the first time I see the details of a woman condensing under my ember body.. the first time I dive into the terrain of a woman who gives experience. The female’s groans at the height of her pleasure are resurrection.. it gives you ecstasy.. makes you feel that you are the king of the universe..

Satan said: Rain it with longing, rain it kisses and longing for pleasure..discover all dimensions..discover all universes..write your tattoo on the female memory..at the gates of love, and on the balconies of light..roam over the breasts until they are dazzled..discover the secret in the sanctuary of love..

Kiss a neck that smells of enchanting perfume, the neck lengthens with kissing, and becomes as long as the palm tree.. How wonderful to climb a palm tree to taste a mouth dripping honey, and happiness fills the universe.. A longing neck for the under-twenties, unleash your lust in the plowing, and split the Al-Wasl Canal from the first strike..

Your ships are burdened, oh this, with the loads of lust.. Empty your ships from a long load.. Don’t hold your nerve while groaning for pleasure.. Break the locks of revelation.. The breath of the knights of love mingles with the neighing of the horses of desire and the blissful revelation.. Breasts shake with the burning love of a revolution, and shivers unleash lust in The land of God, and the heavens that are pleasurable.. rain that matters, and contentment deceives you, and tranquility after the end of the journey..

Without it, my possessions are lost, and al-Shamraikhi collapses from the top of the isthmus.. I fell like a martyr; And I ask myself: Will this woman marry me.. I love you girl.. I am looking for you to the point of being lost.. The female’s mind wandered when I asked her.. Her astonishment was greater.. She was. He was silent for a while and then said, “Ah, you are different from all people.”

I cursed Satan with my secret, and I took pleasure in it several times, to repeat it, and he says: Enjoy and give life its due.. You did not kill.. You did not spoil.. You are not wronged.. You adore and pray to the Lord the prayer of infinite love, and I know that God’s forgiveness is greater than this universe.

It was a nap full of pleasure, I woke up from the depth of the nap, and I repent and ask forgiveness for what the pens have been lifted and the blame has been removed..

***

He follows..

Important note:
What was written is still under correction, deletion, modification and addition.

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