Mukhmas Marah Siyam
When I was ten I went herding sheep with my uncle under the close Mukhmasi sun, I drank water out of the same stone bowl as the sheep. I even waited until all the sheep drank as much water as they wanted leaving me the rest. I was sick for a month but I felt as if I had done something good.
Every small shop in Mukhmas is named after the owner. I used to beg my grandma for shekels to buy pop rocks and ice cream. Scaring people walking by while keeping cool with ice cream was an everyday activity until I got too old and began embarrassing my parents.
The Dwar is a long trail off the north of Mukhmas that leads to huge cliffs and many different people’s orchards of olive trees and other plots of fruits and vegetables. After Maghrib is the best and worst time to go. The wind blows strong swerving in and out of the cliffs and caves, cooling me after those long summer nights, but the dogs have chased me out once or twice when I stayed too long.
Most of the scars on my body have been from climbing mountains, riding skateboards down steep Mukhmasi hills, running away from wild dogs, and jumping fences in Mukhmas. I love these scars. They connect me most to the land through both the physical scars and the memories they hold. My appendicitis scar isn’t as cool or important. My grandma and grandpa on both sides, and now my uncle are buried in Mukhmas. It’s very important to my father to keep that cemetery clean and quiet even while we are here in America. He keeps tabs on the graves as if keeping the line of communication to them while he is away overseas working to bring them something.
Tel Mariam is a mountain next to my house that is believed to have been the cave Mother Mary stayed in on her journey while pregnant with Jesus. The cave is mostly still there but for my entire life, me and my friends have had picnics in the cave until I saw a bus of Christian foreigners coming to see the mountain without climbing up to the cave, just sitting at the bottom of the mountain crying. So now my friends and I try to not leave even crumbs in the cave after our picnic to keep it clean and be respectful. We understand now how much history this village holds that we may never even know.
I always fall asleep during the drive from Jericho to Mukhmas and yet I have the road memorized. I wake up right before we make the last right turn into Mukhmas. Those last few seconds before driving up the hill to my house are satisfying, to say the least, especially after the 24-hour journey from Jersey to Mukhmas to eat some figs and see some people before going back.
Mukhmas is surrounded by three Israeli settlements and they often release wild boars with huge husks to destroy crops and hurt people. Once, while on my roof, a boar climbed up the path to my house reminding me of the views I stay up all night to watch are actively being stolen and threatened. The land and the skies aren’t safe.
Palestinians know each other from one look. Many people have told me they know I’m Mukhmasi from my “blood,” common Arabic saying that does not translate well. I always thought the Falahi accent gave it away. Being from a village comes with pride, it’s like a club that not many people have experienced and I’m grateful I have. I have felt the freedom of space and a true connection to Palestinian land that still stands. I pray my house in Mukhmas continues to stand high, despite the occupation, for as long as I live.
A Palestinian radio show host once asked, “What’s the greatest village in Palestine?” The answer was Mukhmas because they have mukh or brain in Arabic and mass as in… mass. The most repeated joke I’ve ever heard, but I still laugh every time. 8
