PEOPLE OF THE TRAFFIC LIGHT

By: Naaman Ismael Abdulqader - Morocco

Translated by Hassan Sarsour

The road I use to take in my travel from my village to Nazareth is the shortest one. It only takes one hour or so.. Nevertheless, when taking this road you'll come across the Valley of A'ra, and you'll see several Arab villages adjacent to the Green Line. In addition, you will have to stop at traffic lights spread in road junctions, waiting for cars and travelers moving back and forth. There, your eyes will catch the sight of little boys of which some are less than eight years of old, with their rags , bale faces and innocent souls, bathing in a waterfall of burning sun rays, fighting their way valiantly between lines of cars, asking for help. When you give them something, they will pray for God to bless you, and thank you with a smile showing their content with the situation and their acceptance of the fate that neglected them, and gave its most attention to the sons and daughters of Jacob and Isaac . On the other hand , if you refuse to give them anything , they will leave you and go for another as to find something useful .Little boys under the harshness of life forcing them to be miserable and beggars . Fearing the victory of hunger , they surrendered to life lest they leave it .

One morning as I was traveling to Nazareth with my friend " Naief " , I decided to give something to every one I meet on my way .When I reached the road junction of

" Kufur Qarrea " I started scanning the place with my eyes . I found two little children . One of them was taking refuge in the shade of the traffic light while drinking water from a bottle that was in his right hand .. The other one was biting a candy that someone gave it to him as charity. The traffic light didn't give us time to stop and we were forced to proceed towards " Um Alfahm ".

Seeing the red light of the traffic light from distance we stopped .Little children approached us and I gave them enough money to buy a meal or two . A little girl stood behind . Her clothes were rags and her shoes were torn as if they were expired sixty years ago with her toes coming out from the sides . Without saying a word she looked at me with her sad and shy eyes which made me feel pity and sorrow . She mumbled few words of prayers and praises that she had learned by heart . There I remembered my little girl and her doll that she used to hug and kiss all the time .

- What's your name my little one ?

She answered with a fading and shy voice :

- Manal ….

- Here… take this please …

She reached out her tiny hand and took the money after reciting some of her prayers and showing a smile that appeared on her dark mouth … She almost flew out of joy with her gain and lavish fortune ...

" Naief " awoke and started bluntly rumbling :

• Damn those fathers … they enjoy in their beds while planting in the wombs of their mothers human seeds without knowing the consequences … After that you get miserable children , like these , that are stepped on like cockroaches by life in their chase after bread … The don't learn . The don't smell the flavors of childhood . They are deprived of everything…

• " Naief " , I think they are from Jeneen and its camp … May God help them .. In 1948 they were forced to leave their villages and cities … and they are beggars … just like gypsies …" Naief " ! do you know that if the rich Arab people gave only one penny each month as a charity , you would never ever find a poor person in this nation… Where are the alms ? Where is the oil? Where is the foreign aid ? Of course , all dried on the desert way …  
  Things went fast at Nazareth and we headed back while complaining from the oppressive heat of July , the long distance and the short time . It seems as if the tragedy was roaming in the sky , waiting for us in contempt . It waited for the clock to reach two and thus forcing us to meet the little girl again … Perhaps it was waiting for me so that it could surprise me with a shock that would never be cleared , even with the waters of Tiberias . … Is it because I'm an emotional guy that gets excited vary fast , or because I cry in such situations ?? maybe ..

It is said that when a child dies , the world becomes sad , the sky feels pain , the fate cries out of regret , and the letters fall from the books out of anger ..  
Why doesn't the Earth shake when it hears the moaning of " Manal " as she lies on the sidewalk struggling against fate as to win her last seconds of life ? She wanted to cross the road and to catch up with her cousin but Fate was faster than her and it received her soul after a fast car had hit her … People of the traffic light , with their sad looks , gathered at the scene . Passengers rushed spontaneously out of their cars in an attempt to lend a hand and help …

• Kids ! do you know her ?

Pointing at the child on my left they replied :

Yes , she is his cousin …

Another added with a grievous voice :

Her father died five hears ago and her brother was arrested three years ago .. She came here to find her daily bread … she's been with us only a week … 
The body was removed and life returned to its regular course with the ambulance and its noise.

Overwhelmed withy the feelings bitterness and anger Naief said : 

Damn you life … What daily bread these children pursue ? Oh humanity …Alas … Where are you freedom ?? Oh , he who died and left Life for the miserable , weak and the hard workers …alas .