Cyrill Delvin - The Gaza Project

Over time his consciousness returned, like a faithful friend coming home after a long journey. Or like a brother, who… the thought of Qadim abruptly catapulted him into the land of the wide-awake. He felt uneasy. Shouldn’t Qadim also be here? With a bandage around his head. But Abdoul found himself alone in the cabin and the heavy iron door remained shut.

Again he tried to get up, and again he fell back onto the bed in agony. The severe stomach pains were still there. His hand slowly and timidly touched his chest and then went down to his navel until he felt a dressing. He didn’t have the courage to venture any further. The pain had been inflicted by Barek’s attack; that much he remembered. How did I get onto this ship, and what did they do to my stomach? I hope they didn’t take anything out! He was shocked at the thought. In his village there had been rumours that rich Israelis bought organs for their sick children.

»My shell, where is my shell?« he heard himself whisper, now distinctly remembering that he had hung it around his neck after liberating it from its hiding place in the school’s storeroom. But it wasn’t there. Exhausted, he sank back into the pillow. Has it all been for nothing? In his desperation Abdoul cried out for his brother and grandfather; first quietly, then louder.

The cabin door opened with a squeaking sound. A short man entered and introduced himself: »Salām, my name is Ḥusām Ḫalīl. I am the ship’s doctor. And this is Jada. She’s a nurse.« He confidently looked at Abdoul: »And who are you?«

»My name is Abdoul Raḥim…« and after some hesitation, »ibn Amir from…« A moment later he tried again in a more firm voice: »From Gan Or, Ṣadafah – Abdoul ibn Amir Ṣadafah Raḥim, is my full name!«

Ḥusām scrutinised him with interest. »I have operated on your stomach. One of the small organs called the spleen was ruptured and is now sewn back together. It’s fine again. I had to make an incision to the abdominal wall, but it will heal in a few days and then you can get up.«

The little patient gazed enquiringly at Ḥusām.

»That was yesterday, at lunchtime. Do you know why your stomach hurt so much?«

»No. Maybe because Barek hit me?«

»That’s possible.«

Abdoul involuntarily had to think of Qadim. His eyes became moist and he turned his head away towards the window. »Where am I?« he asked in a constrained voice.

»You are on one of the IWAC ships. It’s an aid agency. We’re anchored at the Gaza coast.«

Abdoul eyed the doctor questioningly again.

Ḥusām understood and added: »The ship is firmly anchored and not going anywhere. You’ll be able to go home again soon. But now I have to look at your bandage to check if everything’s the way it should be.«

With the young nurse’s help Ḥusām started changing the dressing. A few times Abdoul grimaced with pain, but didn’t utter a sound.

»You are a very brave boy, and I bet you don’t often lose a boxing match. Am I right?«

A smile darted across Abdoul’s face. Jada tidied up and left the cabin with an encouraging nod. The doctor sat down beside the bed.

»Ibn Amir Ṣadafah, an unusual name,« he observed as his right hand twirled his moustache.

Abdoul looked at him quizzically.

»IbnṢadafah, ibnṢadafah…« the physician pondered. Suddenly he cried out: »But of course!« He was obviously excited. »The seashell!« Presently he extracted the shell from the bedside locker and handed it to Abdoul. »I was surprised that a boy around here would be wearing the sign of the mermaids .«

For a long time, Abdoul held his treasure in both hands before putting it back around his neck.

Startled, he asked: »How do you know the story of the mermaids?«

»I don’t know the story, but for us Egyptians the shells are a special present from the mermaids – for the fishermen. To bring them luck. And what’s your story?«

That broke the ice and the boy talked about his grandfather Amir, the fisherman, and that the most beautiful of all the shells one finds in one’s lifetime would lead the people to the mermaids.

»This is an especially beautiful shell. Do you think it is the most beautiful one?«

»I don’t know …«

»Um. I don’t believe it’s time for you to go to the mermaids. Not yet.« After a short pause, Ḥusām considered it to be the right moment to ask the decisive question. He had noticed how the boy had been distressed at the mention of Barek earlier on: »You told me that you are from Gan Or. How did you end up alone and injured in Gaza?«

Abdoul’s cheerful expression vanished. He was about to turn his back to the doctor, but suppressed the reflex. For the first time in ages he seemed to have met somebody he could trust. Perhaps it was the man’s appearance? He was small and round with a big moustache and laughter lines around his eyes. He had also taken his time with him. Most importantly, he was able to listen without interrupting. Very much like his grandfather.

Once he had made up his mind, the words came gushing out – the seashell hidden in the Qur’anic school’s storeroom, his brother Qadim in the courtyard, Gan Or where everything had started. Ḥusām listened and only interrupted when he hadn’t understood something correctly. The beginning of Abdoul’s tale was simple enough… then the grenades; that’s where the torrent of words abruptly stopped.

As a doctor, Ḥusām always ardently prayed to Allah that taking care of his patients‘ physical needs would also improve their mental state. But scars inevitably remained.

He still carried them himself. His wife had been killed ten years ago following an attack in Luxor. He had been fortunate to be on duty on the surgical ward of the local hospital at the time. But not fortunate enough to be in time to save his wife and their unborn son. He felt a rage unlike any he had experienced for a long time. The radicals had let him know that his wife and the unborn would be received as martyrs in paradise. Collateral damage? He empathised with anyone who took up a weapon in a similar situation – regardless who it was aimed at.

»No,« he uttered instinctively.

Abdoul looked at Ḥusām, who was standing by the window now, wondering what went on inside the man’s heart.

»Why did you bring the boy here?« Ted had confronted the physician after the surgery. »You should have taken him to the hospital in Gaza.«

»Then I could have just have left him where he was found. You know as well as I do that they can only treat what they can see. They don’t have the facilities we have.«

»We cannot fix each individual case. Not yet! It will take years before Gaza has a reasonably functioning healthcare system. You know that better than anyone. We are not the Samaritans and this is not a hospital ship.« Ted was really angry.

Just as enraged, Ḥusām retaliated: »What kind of an organisation are we if we can’t help the individual? He’s a child and wouldn’t have stood a chance!«

Although they both worked for a common cause and liked each other, they didn’t always share the same opinions. Ḥusām lacked the patience and couldn’t distance himself the way Ted could. As the person in charge of primary health care for the Gaza Strip population, he was mainly faced with emergencies rather than strategic developments. He was also responsible for reporting medical shortfalls and possibilities to the IWAC. This was their second year of operating in Palestine. Only two short years and Ḥusām could hardly wait. He clenched his fist: »I would do it again!«

»I know and I’m glad that we don’t have to use our floating surgery for our own people too often. I sincerely hope that the boy will recover!«