And suddenly I became homeless!
Our village was demolished! It was old, older than history books. It was there when Richard the Lionheart stayed and met with Saladin. Nearby Jesus was seen three days after the crucifixion.
But that did not make a difference, it was demolished, we were forced out and we had to learn a new word: refugees!
We had to learn how to build a tent, how to live on food portions and handouts, how to accept with grace all the name calling, accusations and misery, because we are refugees!
It was not something I did or any of my forefathers, we had no idea!
A man in an office in London, promised my land, my home, my sky, my identity, to another man, who his ancestors happened to be passing through my history...
Balfour Declaration...
This when the story started, and it is still going..
My village is called Beit Noba, my country is Palestine
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