Weakened by the thoughts of her mind and the sorrow in her heart, Maryam stood looking from the window at some children playing in the street under the rain. She could hear their giggles and screams as one of them slipped in the mud, a slight smile appeared on her face. Ashraf too loved playing in the rain when he was a kid their age, she thought. “I remember when he used to come back home after playing under the rain, and his clothes were all wet and filled with stains of mud, he used to sneak into his room and dump those dirty clothes inside his closet with the clean clothes, thinking that way he’ll hide them from me so I don’t yell at him..”. She smiles with eyes full of tears as she recalls memories of her son.
Maryam, a forty two years old woman, used to be so full of life, and everybody knew her as ‘Umm-Ashraf’ the very kind woman who always smiles at them whenever they meet her. But now, she looks very much older than she really is, the sadness that is clearly seen on her face can tell a lot about the pain that is filling her heart and the sorrow that is overwhelming her soul.
As the drops of rain where knocking on the window, they also knocked on the woman’s heart … “I really miss you my son, everybody misses you! You were your father’s strength, his arms, and his best friend, but now without you, he feels as lonely and abandoned as a leafless tree in a dessert. Amal, your little sister, is still in denial that you…that you won’t come back. She still awaits you holding the books thinking you’d come and help her do her homework and give her a candy for the exercises she did alone correctly, but she always falls asleep, and you never come back.”
“Everybody misses you Ashraf, your friends, cousins, and even uncle Hussien, our neighbor, the old man who you used to help him in everything, even in taking his medicine or reading the newspaper for him; he always said that you are the son he never had.. I met him yesterday, and he told me how losing you was like losing his own son” she pauses chocking with lump in her throat and the tears that filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks from the pain that was torturing her every second of the day, the pain of losing her beloved son.
Ashraf was a nineteen year old boy, smart, intelligent, energetic and full of life. He learned patience, from his mother and learned how to be caring and kind, from his father. Ashraf learned great values and morals, he learned how to achieve his goals and how to be a good open-minded man. His parents watched him as he grew up, and with him, grew their dreams of seeing their little son become a well educated and a great person in life.
As the drops of rain where knocking on the window, they also knocked on the woman’s heart … “I really miss you my son, everybody misses you! You were your father’s strength, his arms, and his best friend, but now without you, he feels as lonely and abandoned as a leafless tree in a dessert. Amal, your little sister, is still in denial that you…that you won’t come back. She still awaits you holding the books thinking you’d come and help her do her homework and give her a candy for the exercises she did alone correctly, but she always falls asleep, and you never come back.”
“Everybody misses you Ashraf, your friends, cousins, and even uncle Hussien, our neighbor, the old man who you used to help him in everything, even in taking his medicine or reading the newspaper for him; he always said that you are the son he never had.. I met him yesterday, and he told me how losing you was like losing his own son” she pauses chocking with lump in her throat and the tears that filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks from the pain that was torturing her every second of the day, the pain of losing her beloved son.
Ashraf was a nineteen year old boy, smart, intelligent, energetic and full of life. He learned patience, from his mother and learned how to be caring and kind, from his father. Ashraf learned great values and morals, he learned how to achieve his goals and how to be a good open-minded man. His parents watched him as he grew up, and with him, grew their dreams of seeing their little son become a well educated and a great person in life.
Ashraf was very ambitious and thirsty for knowledge, he was always questioning things and wanted to know and understand everything about anything. He liked spending time with uncle Hussien, the old and very experienced man who was always telling Ashraf stories and lessons about life; he told him stories about freedom, dignity and how poor nations became great when they had the will to be so, and stories about how happy Yemen was, and how it was one of the richest and greatest countries of Arabia, stories of when Yemen used to be called ‘Arabia-Felix’ or the Happy Arabia. Ashraf loved the stories of Sheba, Queens Belquis and Arwa who ruled Yemen, and stories of how brave and strong Yemeni people were known and how they supported Prophet Mohammed PBUH and helped in making Islam a wide spread religion with their courage, strength and wisdom.
All that amount of stories inspired Ashraf and made him so proud, but at the same time he felt depressed looking back at his beloved country now and how dictatorship and corruption made it become one of the poorest countries, not just in Arabia but in the whole world. Since then, he made up his mind to live and fight for change, and to dedicate his life for creating a better future for Yemen.
On February 2011, when the revolution started in Yemen, he was among the first group of people in the first demonstrations calling to overthrow the regime and chanting for change and freedom. He made his own tent in Change Square of Sana’a, participated in many marches and took part in many activities to spread awareness among the people of how important it is to participate in the peaceful revolution and being part of making change and building a new Yemen.
On February 2011, when the revolution started in Yemen, he was among the first group of people in the first demonstrations calling to overthrow the regime and chanting for change and freedom. He made his own tent in Change Square of Sana’a, participated in many marches and took part in many activities to spread awareness among the people of how important it is to participate in the peaceful revolution and being part of making change and building a new Yemen.
Days passed, a month after another, and Ashraf’s determination never wavered, he would still participate in marches and call for change, he was always optimistic and kept the fire of hope lit within his heart.. Until… - and a strong sound of thunder echoes- “until that fateful day..” Maryam says as she was looking at the room’s door, “until that day, when you stepped out of this door and never came back… That day, when you came back from the Square, I made you your best dish, not knowing it’ll be the last time you have it, and that it will be your last meal. You ate in a hurry because you wanted to be on time for the march. I don’t know why or how, but I felt something would go wrong, and I didn’t want you to go that day, I wanted to tell you not to go, but what stopped me was knowing it’s your struggle for so long and I also knew you wouldn’t be convinced to stay and nothing could have stopped you, so I kept it to myself. I am so sorry my son, I wish I did, I wish I stopped you from going…oh I wish I did, I wish I did..” she cried and hugged the last shirt her son wore, weeping over it thinking it was her fault when her motherly heart warned her from letting him go but she never did. “Maybe…maybe he would have listened if I told him to stay, maybe he wouldn’t have been killed if I tried to convince him! But why didn’t I?! why?!” She walked in the room and held a frame of his picture, and she remembered “ that day, before you went, you promised your sister Amal that you’ll come early before she sleeps and will buy her a new coloring book, you made her so happy, and she still waits for you, everyday to come and give her the book, but you’re gone! That day, before you left, you came and kissed me on my forehead like you always do, but this time you whispered “pray for me ,om” and I watched you stepping out the door, and that was the last time I saw you…”.
On that day, Ashraf went with some of his friends to participate in a march, on the way, he was telling his friends how important the escalation is and how they all should keep the revolution alive until all its goals are achieved.
Saleem, one of Ashraf’s best friends said “on the way to the square there was an old man sitting on the side of the road with some coins on a piece of cloth spread in front of him, Ashraf took a coin from his pocket and gave it to the old man, smiled and said “don’t worry uncle, soon insha’Allah you will not have to beg anymore” ” Saleem continued “I wanted to tease him, so I sarcasticly said “when is your ‘SOON’ going to come?! We’ve been protesting for so long now and nothing changed! I am about to give up!” I remember how he took it so seriously, he held my shoulder, looked at me in the eye and said “Saleem! Don’t you ever say that again, never give up! We struggled for this for so long and victory is very close now, every day of protesting proves how weak the regime has become, the blood of the martyrs will not go in vain and the revolution will win no matter what! Even if I had to give my life for it!” Now those words keep echoing in my mind all the time and I can never forget them.”
Saleem added with sorrow on his face, describing the last moments of Ashraf’s life “Ashraf was smart, brave and full of enthusiasm, when the march started he was in the front lines, chanting for freedom and liberty, I still remember some of the slogans he made up and was chanting “Revolution won’t go in stray, these dictators must go away..Revolution Revolution, it’s our only solution..The people want to build a new Yemen..”. Not knowing thugs and snipers of the regime were lurking on the rooftops of the buildings ahead, the march kept going on, and Ashraf kept motivating the crowds of protesters with the powerful slogans he chanted and they repeated after him.
The march reached Victory roundabout, or what was called Kentucky roundabout, and that’s where all the chaos started suddenly. When we were just a few meters away from the regime’s security forces, live bullets were fired on us like rain, they were coming from the buildings to the sides of the street, and also from behind the barracks of the security forces where they were stationed wearing civilians clothes. When the gun firing started I with some protesters ran looking for shelter from the bullets, and I could still hear Ashraf’s voice as he shouted at us to come back and not to be afraid in an attempt to urge the march to proceed. “Peaceful, we are peaceful… look at us we are unarmed”, Ashraf shouted with all his voice as he spread his arms and was looking to the buildings where bullets where coming from.” Saleem said “his courage and bravery impressed all of us. He was left with a few group of protesters around him, but then he made us go back and join them, so the march kept going on despite the rain of bullets that was targeting us. In every step, one of us would fall down either injured or dead, and I was praying and thinking I’ll be next..”
The march reached Victory roundabout, or what was called Kentucky roundabout, and that’s where all the chaos started suddenly. When we were just a few meters away from the regime’s security forces, live bullets were fired on us like rain, they were coming from the buildings to the sides of the street, and also from behind the barracks of the security forces where they were stationed wearing civilians clothes. When the gun firing started I with some protesters ran looking for shelter from the bullets, and I could still hear Ashraf’s voice as he shouted at us to come back and not to be afraid in an attempt to urge the march to proceed. “Peaceful, we are peaceful… look at us we are unarmed”, Ashraf shouted with all his voice as he spread his arms and was looking to the buildings where bullets where coming from.” Saleem said “his courage and bravery impressed all of us. He was left with a few group of protesters around him, but then he made us go back and join them, so the march kept going on despite the rain of bullets that was targeting us. In every step, one of us would fall down either injured or dead, and I was praying and thinking I’ll be next..”
Saleem sighed with tears filling his eyes as he said “then for a moment, I didn’t hear Ashraf’s voice, I thought maybe he just got tired of chanting?! A moment of silence in the march, but for me it was like a year, the group of protesters in the front stumbled as some of them tried to grab a protester who was shot. I still didn’t hear Ashraf’s voice and knew something went wrong. I ran through the crowds having millions of thoughts crossing my mind “No! it can’t be you! Please don’t be Ashraf..” the guy was held by some protesters who were taking him to the back of the march –towards me- to be transferred to the hospital, and I was praying ”O God, please don’t make it him, not Ashraf.. anyone but him..” as they came closer I could recognize the youth“Oh! That is his shirt, but it is full of blood! That lifeless hand hanging over someone’s shoulder..that silver watch in his hand! Could it be?! “ I stopped walking as they kept coming closer, time stood still as I stood in disbelief! I watched them as they passed next to me holding him, Yes! It is him! It is my dear friend Ashraf and he was shot in the head.. The blood on his face woke me up from the state of shock I was in and I ran to hold him with them. We stopped a motor bike and I took him to the field hospital.”
At this moment Saleem couldn’t talk anymore from how badly he was crying. Then after a minute he continued “on the way to the hospital, and as I was holding him on the bike, I could clearly see his face, and how blood was heavily pouring from his head, I was begging the bike driver to go faster, I had some hope that we can save his life. I kept telling Ashraf to hold on “we’re almost there my friend, please don’t die! Try to hold on just a little bit more! We’ll be in the hospital where doctors will take care of you. This is not how you’ll die, be strong like you always have. You won’t die before you see your dreams come true…” Saleem lowers his head looking down trying to hide the tears that dropped from his eyes, and he continues “But by the time we reached the field hospital, doctors said it was too late to save his life, Ashraf was already dead.
Maryam, Ashraf’s mother, remembered every single word of what Saleem said about her son’s last moments of life, she was so proud of him because he died for what he believed in, for freedom to millions of Yemenis, and for building a new Yemen. But there was still one thing killing her “my regret of letting you go that day even though my heart felt something might go wrong, my regret will follow me till the day I follow you, my dear son, please forgive me, I’ll always be proud of you, and I promise that your blood won’t go in vain, we’ll prosecute those who killed you and killed many other heroes , rest in peace, rest assured that you didn’t die for nothing, we’ll make your dreams come true, and Yemen will see the light again..I really miss you my dear son, everything will remind me of you; See? Even your room is still the same way you left it, your laptop, your bed, and your clothes, I kept them as they were when you last left your room..and even this book you didn’t finish reading ‘A journey to Freedom’ it’s still on your desk the same way you left it, but I will finish reading it for you, and everything will be…” A knocking on the door cuts her thoughts and she hears her daughters voice “Mommy? Are you there in Ashraf’s room? Would you come help me do my homework? You know I can’t do it alone mom.” Maryam quickly wipes off the tears on her face and replies “yes I’m here sweetie, I’m coming.” Maryam looks at herself in the mirror wiping her tears and trying to act normal, then she opens the door and fakes a smile on her face as she says “here I am Amal, let’s go..” before Maryam closes the door of the room and walks away, she takes another look and whisperes “you had a dream for a better Yemen and a bright future for your little sister and for millions of Yemenis, we’ll make it come true, and your blood won’t go in vain, bye my dear son, bye Ashraf..”
End..
This was an imaginary story of a woman who lost her son during the revolution of Yemen. Although I tried to show the pain in a heart of a mother, I am sure I expressed nothing of how reality is for all the mothers who lost their dear sons. This is just one of hundreds more painful stories, and just a day of the pain and sorrow mothers live and feel every single day.
P.S - The only thing that is true in this story, is the name of the martyr, Ashraf, who was one of my friends.
P.S - The only thing that is true in this story, is the name of the martyr, Ashraf, who was one of my friends.
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| Martyr Ashraf Al-Madhaji Killed by a bullet in the head Kentucky roundabout September 18th 2011 |
Heart-Breaking story, couldnt control my tears, well written Nasser. keep it up.
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