A Cactus Memory
by Nasser Abufarha
I have both an emotional attachment, and great appreciation to the cactus
tree.
My grandpa (Sidi) used to wake us up early every morning in the month of
July after he had collected two big buckets of cactus fruit from the nearby
hillside. He used to get there at dawn, before sunrise when the fruit is
still cool before it is hit by sunlight, and before there is a breeze in
the air so the tiny thorns don't blow at him while picking.
At home we the children would all sit around my grandfather and my father
and they would cut the cactus fruit open and feed us. As they handle the
thorny fruit with their fingers to cut it open and put the sweet juicy fruit
in my mouth, those bites also carried love, care, and sacrifice. In this
setting, the cactus fruit is building the bond of love and appreciation
to one another in Palestinian society.
I appreciate the cactus tree for its resilience and patience. As the
Israelis continuously plow the outskirts of the over 400 Palestinian villages
they destroyed, this resilient tree keeps coming up again and again. It
has been my guide to destroyed village sites in Palestine. This tree is
so patient which is what the name for it means in Arabic, "Sabir".
For over fifty years those cactus trees in stolen Palestine produce their
fruit every season and don't find the people to pick them (they are surrounded
by strangers who don't know how or when to pick them, or what they taste
like, or if they are even edible). They are patiently blooming their beautiful
yellow flowers every spring and fruiting every summer hoping that the people
who know them would come the next season.
We shall return,
send e-mail to Nasser Abufarha |