Please do not ask me to be silent. Allow me to breathe (29)

Caution: I do not advise the merciful-hearted to read this episode.

 

After my grieving mother found me under a tree in Al-Asli valley, she took me with her to the tree under which she left my brothers with the family of “Sayed Al-Bashir”. When I arrived, I did not see my two sisters or my father. I asked my older brother about them and his eyes filled with tears, I understood that something big had happened in my absence.

After I insisted, he told me what happened:

After the bombs started falling on the neighborhood, we ran into the house and as soon as entered the living room, a huge explosion occurred that shook the house and rubble fell over our heads. I no longer saw anything but smoke and dust, then a concrete block fell on my neck and I fainted for a while.

Once I woke up, I found myself at the door of the house and my little sister “Maaluma” lying on the ground with blood flowing from her head and making a snorting sound. Then I turned around, our father was standing near the window with his face and his clothes covered with blood. On the side, there was our mother hugging our sister “Fala” And “Ghalia Mint Al-Mustafa”, while carrying “Al-Hafiz” over her back.

Father came closer to me and we removed the little “Maaluma” from the side of the door, she had passed away. Near her in the hall, we saw legs under the rubble, my father thought it was you until we removed the rubble and found out it was our elder sister “Batul” who also had passed away.

 On the other side, there were two other dead bodies. One was of our cousin “Mint Shuyikh” with her belly cut open by a shrapnel and her unborn baby falling beside her in its entirety. The other one was of her younger brother “Bashir”  with his head separated from his body.

 

My father and I collected the bodies and body parts of the four martyrs and covered them before we got the rest of the family out of the house. He said he did not want our pregnant mother and the children to see these hideous images. Then we took out Mother and the children, she knew what happened but you were still missing.

I took Mother, Fala, and al-Hafiz, who were still alive, to the house of our aunt “Safia Mint al-Arbi”, the mother of Muhammad Ali's family, the son of Sayed al-Bashir. Then I came home to help our father search for you. In the house, I only found the four bodies that I left covered a few minutes ago, so I went out to find him in the vicinity asking people if anyone saw you or had any news about you.

 

Meanwhile, the car of the prefect “Habuha” stopped by us, with Sheikh “Brahim Ould Ahmim” and an ambulance. 

They asked our father to ride with them to take him to the hospital, but he apologized that he could not go until he knew the fate of his son. His wound was bleeding a lot and his clothes were red from blood, so they forced him to go with them in their car, and they loaded our neighbor, Sheikh Aly Ould Muhammad, who was also wounded, in the ambulance that was accompanying them.

 

After my father went, I went back to our mother with the family of Sayed Al-Bashir and told her that they took him to the hospital and that we have not found you yet.

After a while we heard strong knocking followed by pulling off the door of the house of Sayed Al-Bashir's family. Polisario soldiers entered and asked us to go out and get in their cars parked in front of the house. They brought us to the valley.

When we reached the valley, our mother asked me to accompany her to ask people under the trees whether anyone of them had seen you, she did not despair of ever seeing you again .. And here we have found you.

 

According to our father's account, after his arrival at the hospital, the hospital was bombed as well before he was even treated. He fainted for hours and when he woke up shortly before sunset, he found no one in the destroyed hospital. He was in great pain and was unable to move until “Ammar Adres” came to him, he was the first to tell him that the front took all the people of Arbib, including the rest of his family, and that his daughters and the martyrs who fell with them were buried in the city cemetery. 

Our father asked him to take him to the home of the governor's family in Smara, where he spent two days without movement being treated by their mother “Elwaara” who was removing the remnants of shrapnel from his eye from which he would lose sight later, the same way he lost his daughters, the rest of his family, relatives, friends and home. He became alone.

No matter how much I try to describe my father's feelings at that time, I will not be able to. When I ask him, he says briefly: I was a man over fifty, who lost everything in an instant, God was my refuge.

 

As for my mother, I never asked her about what happened to not poke her wounds.

May God have mercy on our mother and all our martyrs and all the dead. May God extend the life of my father who still lives in the city of Smara and does not want anyone to remind him of that day when he lost everything.

 

The story continues....