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Name: Muhammad Merei
Age: 19
Address: The Old City of Nablus.
To some people this information is not important but to me it tells a story, the story of a young man who was born under the Occupation, lived to see its crimes and died because of them.
"Asem, answer me. Where are you? Asem..."
I looked at my neighbor Ahmad who had insisted on coming with me to the hospital where the martyrs’ bodies lay but he didn't know that one of them was my friend.
"Asem... are you listening to me?"
This time I responded, with tears streaming down my cheeks. I told Ahmad, "I am now going into the hospital, I am going to the cooler, to see the martyrs. You don't have to come but I have to."
He didn't dare to come. I understood that it’s not easy for someone to handle such a scene.
I was crying as I headed to the room where they kept the dead bodies. I stopped at the door and started to look around, looking for a familiar face. There were so many people there before me. Finally I heard someone calling. It was my friend Saed who was also my and Muhammad's school mate. He told me to come in and then closed the door quickly.
I asked him, "Is Muhammad one of them? Is he one of the guys who’ve been killed?"
He looked at the cooler and asked the guy who worked there to open it. The guy opened it and there it was, a sort of metal table with blood all over. I saw a human body. It was a person that I knew, it was my friend Muhammad, Muhammad the polite young man, Muhammad my friend and my school mate for years.
"There's no god but Allah, the Prophet Muhammad is the prophet of Allah."
That's what everybody was screaming when they saw the bodies of the martyrs. But me, I couldn't help it, I just bowed and kissed his forehead and left. The feeling I had was too much for me to handle. I couldn't stand the bloody scene any longer. I just went out and surrendered to tears. Some people gathered and started to console me. I went to pieces when I heard a familiar voice.
It was Muhammad's father. I thought, "Oh my God, he is trying to console me while his own child has been killed."
I couldn't say much, I just hugged him. He was braver than I expected. He told me not to cry, saying it was God's will. He always advised us not to cry when this day came so I paid my respects and excused myself to leave and to be alone for a while.
I started to feel that my feet couldn't support me any more. I walked untill I found an empty corner. I sat down and started to remember all our moments together.
We first met when we were in the third grade. I had just moved to a new school. I remember how alone I felt at the beginning. I started to look at the faces. Some kids were too noisy and others were quieter. I remember that the first class we had that day was sport. The teacher came in and introduced himself, then asked us to accompany him to the playground. He asked us to divide ourselves into two groups. Those who wanted to play basketball went together but I preferred football.
I went with four other kids and started to play. I didn't recognize any of the kids except one. While we were playing I passed the ball to someone but it flew out beyond the school fence. The teacher told me to go after it. I told him I didn't know the way but that boy smiled and told me not to worry.
After school when I was walking home I saw the boy again, walking in the same direction, so I approached him, shook hands with him and told him my name. He told me his and said that he knew where I lived and that he lived nearby.
And that's how I first got to know him. We remained school mates for several years and during that time I started to understand him better and I realized how polite he was. He was a quiet person, but a patriotic young man who was always talking about Palestine and how proud he was to be a Palestinian.
In the seventh grade he started to change. He started to skip classes and there were some days when he didn't show up at school at all. I found out that he was working in a small carpentry shop to help his family. I started to look for him and for the place where he was working. I wanted to know the reason behind the change so I went to the place and there he was in his working clothes, working. I went in and asked him what was going on.
"Why did you leave school?" I asked.
He answered me with a serious look on his face that I hadn’t seen before.
He said, "I have to work. My dad used to work in Israel but now the roads are closed and the situation is different. My dad is unemployed and I have to help him. I have to support the family. That's why I left school."
I didn't know what to say. If I told him to come back how would his family manage? So I preferred not to comment and just wished him luck.
Later, we met one day at the funeral of a man who used to be our neighbor. He had been allegedly killed in cold blood by the Israelis. We were very sad especially as the man left behind seven children, the oldest one only ten. It was really tragic and I felt that Muhammad was deeply affected by the event.
He was enraged and talked about defending his city, but I thought he meant what everybody else talks about-- like throwing stones or something. I didn’t take it seriously.
Our last meeting was at a wedding. He greeted me and told me that he was planning to go back to school. I noticed how excited he was. He asked me to bring him some books. I was very happy and welcomed the idea. I gave him my cell phone number and told him to call me to see how I could help, but he didn’t call.
One day the Israeli soldiers invaded the city and besieged a small house not far from my own home. They used all kinds of weapons that night. I couldn’t sleep because of the explosions and the shooting. I switched on the television and heard that the Israeli occupying forces had killed six activists who were resisting the occupying forces.
They mentioned the names but at the time I didn’t realize that my friend was one of them. Later, when I heard them listed again on the radio, I heard his name - Muhammad Merei. I was stunned. Could it be the same Muhammad I knew? I couldn’t believe it. I hoped it wasn’t the same Muhammad but I had to be sure. That’s when I left with my neighbor for the hospital to check whether it was him or not.
The sound of the cell phone woke me up from my daydream. It was my neighbor Ahmad who was still waiting where I had left him outside.
"Asem, where are you?" he shouted. "Are you ok?"
"I’m coming." I said. "Ahmad, wait for me."
"What happened, Asem, tell me? Why are you so upset? Do you know the guys?"
"Oh... my friend, what can I say? One of them was an old friend, but now…."
We took a cab and headed home. The driver switched the radio on. It distracted my attention when he mentioned a number. Muhammad was martyr number 3300. That’s what he became, just a number to be added to the hundreds previously killed by the Israeli occupation.
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© Copyright World Internet News 2006-07
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