Teacher Mohammad, stood by the gate, began to walk towards us. Did something happen to Mama? Or Baba? Maybe it was Abbas. Why didn’t one of my family members come? What if my family was dead? The workers around me were talking, but all I could hear was Teacher Mohammad’s approaching footsteps growing louder and louder. ‘The Israelis are holding a maths competition for students in their last year of school,’ he said. ‘You could win a scholarship to the Hebrew University.’ For a moment, I felt exhilarated. And then, just as fast, I remembered. ‘I don’t have time.’ ‘You cannot throw away your gift,’ he said. ‘I know it seems like there is no way out right now, but you can choose a better path.’ If only I could believe him, but he was suggesting the impossible. What could I do except what I was doing already? Abbas’ injury had happened five years ago, but I was still paying off his medical bills. Abbas was improving, but he couldn’t work. The only jobs available to us involved physical labour, which Abbas would never be able to do.
