It was the morning of December 23, just two days prior to what I now know and celebrate as Christmas Day. I was helping my mother prepare a breakfast of acidah mash. My father, my brothers, and my little sister were sitting nearby waiting to eat, before spending their day in the fields, or in my sister Asia’s case, attending the school. I stirred the acidah mash, peering into the pot to check on its consistency. Too thick and it would stick to the bottom; too thin, and it wasn’t possible to scoop it up with one’s hand and throw it into one’s mouth. In the far distance I caught an odd sound—a faint thrumming in the air. I listened hard, as the strange thwoop-thwoop-thwooping grew louder. It had to be some sort of airplane, but it was unlike any that I had heard before. Little children ran out into the streets, jumping up and down excitedly and pointing in the direction from where the noise was coming. “Khawajat! Khawajat! Khawajat!” I heard them singing. They clapped and danced about in time to thwoop-thwoop-thwooping.
What do You think about Tears Of The Desert (2008)?
