Sound of Music and Missiles

I woke up today and, as usual, headed from my sleeping spot at the school to the bathroom in the European Hospital where my injured father stays. It took me about five minutes, and as I passed through the hospital market street, I remembered a vendor who plays music there daily, so I went to talk to him.

"Salam, are you the one who plays music daily in the hospital courtyard?" He looked at me with a fearful expression and said, "If the music bothers you, this will be the last time." I laughed and told him, "Not at all, I was just curious and will come back to talk to you at night because the temperature is scorching now, but I want to know one thing: what makes you the only one who plays music loudly in the market?" He chuckled and said, "To make people happy!" And I left. I understood the reason for the young man's confusion because my stern demeanor as I walked down the street never left me. Why do I laugh when there's nothing amusing me? The young man thought I was a security officer with strong features who wanted to stop the music out of respect for the martyrs and their families, considering their feelings of loss.

My conversation with this vendor was prompted by thoughts of my friends. I remembered my friends from Al-Nusairat. I used to sit with my friend, the writer, and oud player Mohammed Ghanem on the rooftop singing together. We had a group of friends whom we met at Mohammed's house weekly. Most of them had beautiful voices, and the rest wrote poetry and played musical instruments. These times were like a respite from life's struggles. There was a famous saying by Mohammed that I remember vividly: "We must lower the world's voice and let the music rise."

I miss those sessions and evenings we organized with the writing team affiliated with the institution where I worked as a creative writing trainer. The team organized a musical event every three months or so. Each person in the team prepared their poetry, and Mohammed and another friend of ours coordinated the music with the texts. It took us about a week to prepare, from editing texts and choosing suitable music to preparing oneself to perform for the audience. These times were tough but enjoyable and quick because they were beautiful. And they also ended with great admiration from the team's audience. Our lives were filled with music, beauty, and poetry. Now, everyone in Gaza hears the sound of rockets raining down on them.

At night, I went to the vendor as agreed, but I didn't find him; instead, I found his brother. I introduced myself and asked him the same question, but his answer was completely different. He said he plays music because he feels bored at work and wants time to pass quickly. I asked him about his name, and he said, "Khaled!"

Khaled opens his shop from nine in the morning until one in the midnight. I asked him if there were martyrs in his family, and he said yes! Then he became strangely silent. I don't know why Khaled and his brother are afraid of their music's sound, and why music is even a suspicion that someone would stop you for. Perhaps the state of aggression has created in us some fear towards what we love to do and what used to be normal!

The text was published in German in Taz newspaper