start to walk and the boy follows us.
âMy uncle and I are from Aida refugee camp. Are you from there too?â
âCertainly not!â I cry with indignation. That Mama was born in a refugee camp and lived there until she was married isnât something I like to advertise. Anyway, Mama generally doesnât approve of me mixing with children from the camp. âGod knows our life is hard, Hayaat. But in the camps it can be unbearable. I donât want you to mix with people with no hope, ya Hayaat. Some of them have nothing left to lose and sometimes they feel there is nothing to live for. People prey on that desperation. They play God with peopleâs lives. Promising heaven and meetings with angels and twisting Godâs words to suit them.â
I didnât ask Mama if, since the settler roads took my fatherâs land, weâve become desperate too.
For some reason, looking at that scruffy, skinny boy makes me angry. âWhy donât you wash?â I ask scornfully. âIâm sure thereâs soap in the camp. You smell! And your clothes are filthy.â
The boy shrugs. âTell me about your
mission
. Iâm bored.â
âGo away,â I say, flicking my hand in the air as though Iâm trying to get rid of a fly. âWe donât have time for you.â
âWhy is your face like that? What happened to you? Does it hurt?â
I turn around swiftly and glare at him. âShut up! Leave me alone, you filthy, stinking refugee!â
His eyes suddenly moisten. And what stabs me is that he tries to hide it. He makes as if to tie his shoelace. But his slippers donât have laces. The shame I feel in that moment is overpowering. It floods my body with such force I feel as though I might topple over. To think that somebody has to protect their self-respect and dignity from
me
. After all the teasing Iâve endured at school. After all the times Iâve looked in the mirror and felt embarrassed by my reflection. I have to redeem myself.
So I buy his entire bag of tissues.
âWhat are we going to do with all those?â Samy asks as he watches me stuff the small packets into my backpack.
âWhat we do with them isnât the point,â I mutter.
âI saw an episode of
Spider-man
,â the boy says thoughtfully, âwhere he rescues someone who tries to climb up a building with bedsheets tied together.â
I give the boy a funny look. Samy is interested.
âImagine if you tied the tissues together and climbed the Wall.â
âImagine if the soldiers saw us doing that,â Samy says with a laugh. âI think theyâd let us over to reward our pure genius.â
âA tissue crumples with a bit of snot and you two think itâs going to carry our body weight?â
âWhereâs your imagination?â the boy asks, giving Samy a knowing look.
âSheâs being Miss Practical today,â Samy says.
âCome on, letâs get moving,â I say. âIf you both shut up Iâll show you the kite I have stuffed in my bag. Weâll get Spiderman here to hold it over the Wall while you and I dangle off the ribbons, Samy. Now
yallah
. We need to find out how to get to Jerusalem.â
Chapter EIGHT
Â
Â
The dirty boy from Aida refugee camp who has no tissues left to sell is named Wasim. We let him walk with us because heâs been recruited by a United Nationsâsponsored soccer team to play in international tournaments. Samy is instantly impressed. I donât know whether he wants to embrace Wasim or hit him.
âWhy you?â Samy asks, his voice drizzled with envy. âHow did you get picked? I mean, youâre a refugee.â
Wasim grins. âThatâs the point,
ya zalami
.â I canât help but snort in laughter.
Ya zalami
means âoh manâ but only old people say such things. It sounds funny coming out of Wasimâs mouth. âBecause Iâm a