Gaza — This Bleeding Land

Below is an extract from my novel, Gaza — This Bleeding Land, which is currently available from Amazon in the US and UK, plus all good booksellers in the UK.

CHAPTER ONE

For obvious reasons I cannot reveal my real name. The name given me by my commander, and by which my fellow fighters know me, is Omar. It is a good strong name and like the shedding of old skin, I no longer recognise the man I was under the name that was given to me by my parents.

Speaking of which, my dear mother Mariam was eager for me follow a different path than the one taken by my elder brother, Abu. He was martyred four years ago in a Zionist airstrike and I speak to him every day.

Abu decision to join the resistance had been heavily influenced by the example of our father Uthman’s brother, Walid. He himself was martyred after returning from exile to organise the resistance on behalf of the PLO during the First Intifada.

I was only four or five when my uncle was killed and memories of him are vague. Abu, five years older than, was very close to our father’s youngest brother. Our mother always blamed Walid for planting the seed of struggle in my brother’s heart. Abu was martyred during a resistance operation against a Zionist settlement and I will speak more of him later.

The point is that Mariam was terrified that I too would follow his and our uncle’s example and take up arms for the liberation of our people. She wanted me to be like Mohammed, who studied hard at school before leaving Gaza for Jordan to continue his studies there. He lives in America now and as with Abu I will talk more of him later — though in his case my words will not be kind.

Mariam felt that I too should become educated. She wanted me to become a lawyer. She insisted that it would allow me to argue our cause around the world, especially in America where the Zionists wield so much influence. I could have told her that words in courtrooms controlled by our oppressor and their allies are for Palestinians like drops of rain that fall to the ground and disappear. I could have told her that a brave and dignified people does not beg their oppressor in a courtroom or state room for its freedom but instead asserts that freedom in arms. Yes, I could have told my dear mother those things, but…