By Candlelight in the Heart of Darkness

A silent moment speaks after the power prefers to leave us, alone, on a journey into the heart of darkness. A sigh would be our usual provision on these excursions, but today, we unwillingly decide to leave behind that sigh, only to unveil the secrets of darkness, which seemingly appear like a strange epidemic spreading around our bodies faced with no defence.

“Oh, Mum! Where are you? I can see nothing. Mum. I am afraid!” is my little brother’s horrified cry as our enemies announce the launch. Horror—horror—everywhere. I am secretly trying to seek security by feeling my way to mum’s serene touch. Mum successfully lights a mere candle. Helpless thoughts occupy my mind, mourning their birth in the middle of “this hell on earth.” How much good can one-living candle do on this seemingly endless course?

The journey begins. Mum eases the unbearable conditions with the making of mint tea. I really can’t figure out its magic. I offer up to Mum an enthusiastic hand, preparing cups, the cookies, if we have some, sugar and, most importantly, the lush fresh already-washed mint. Mum’s eyes express her gratitude in non-spoken words and a smiling look. “Tea is ready,” says she, strong enough to dissipate my silent childish fury. The smell of mint comforts our anger with other thoughts taking them to peaceful sleep as my Dad calls a family meeting, around the table, to drink mint tea.

How we, Gazans, spend our time in blackout.

Candle light in the core of this romantic scene is set to celebrate the fourth anniversary of our unbreakable ties. The meaning of family is here clearly embodied before my eyes. I am on this journey endowed with the indefensible gift of acute observation. The cosiness of darkness painted by a golden light from the still living candle. I, undoubtedly, can live in the pleasure and pain of these dark moments. My Dad adds some more bright colours with his words. And while recalling some attention-grabbing stories from the undead past, he takes us with him on a visit to our original Palestinian hometown, along a winding journey for which the ticket is the word.

My younger brother is all ears, but speaking with no tongue. Sometimes, words can disguise intense emotions more than they reveal them. This journey still—and we continue—the darkness getting brighter and brighter. No time restrictions imprison us here. Hours pass so smoothly that we have not noticed the moving leg of time. Our journey to the heart of darkness in progress, and our candle still breathing.

My Dad has stopped narrating stories now, giving Mum a chance to enjoy this tranquil darkness, listening to Oum-Kolthoum. We in turn, my brother and I, seek refuge in exploring the books of our small library. I, shamefully, must confess that I had not the stomach to leaf through these texts before. Reading pages from some books can be like eating cool ice cream in hot stifling weather. Relax, just enjoy.

The contract of friendship between the books in our library and I is executed and signed only by me. In the heart of darkness, my eyes have opened to the things I used to overlook. In this colourful darkness, I have figured out my potential for blindness during daylight hours. There, my secret out now: How I have learnt to enjoy The Blackouts, starting with mint tea, moving to the gathering of family, narrated stories from the past, and finally, resorting to our library—my new friend—

a traveller!

ENDS

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