My friend Bakri, from the Bekaa Valley, tells me that when his father was able to save some money from his business, he would quickly purchase land, like all villagers, because it was the only guaranteed investment. He purchased land in the Ghouta suburbs of Damascus.
Up till recently, Umm Mahmoud and her children would cross the Nahr al-Kabir river on foot to visit relatives on the other side, and sometimes spend the summer there. They would return the same way, to where their home happened to be.
It was said to me that one day, a large number of Palestinians sought refuge in Lebanon, fleeing from the fire and destruction and awaiting their “imminent” return.
It is said that one year, Lebanese fled barefoot in the direction of Damascus, fleeing from those who turned their land and sky into pieces of fire; they remained there as honored guests until it was time for them to return, which didn’t take long.
It is said that one year, large numbers of Syrians crossed into the “Land of the Cedars,” fleeing from the fire that surrounded them on all sides.
It is said that some of them set their own fires in their country of refuge; it’s said that most of the refugees were only members of poor families who were being forced to battle their need, the cold, and the injustice until it is time for their imminent return.
It is said that some of the hosts made things even more desperate for the refugees, adding to the bitterness of their exile.
It is said that many of the hosts worked quietly to safeguard the dignity of those who had lost their homes.
It is said that in the same period, Egypt launched a campaign entitled “I don’t get it anymore.”
It is said that…