My father and brother could obtain three onions, two tomatoes, and one eggplant when a food truck filled with fruits and vegetables passed our house.
Minutes before the truck arrived, my father was resting after spending the day chopping wood, while my brother was experimenting with new methods and ways to lift barrels of water. We heard the sound of people running in the street, mimicking a hysterical alarm clock forcing us up.
Around the world, there is a “rush hour” in the early morning or late afternoon — people rushing home, to work, to do holiday shopping. In Gaza we have an equivalent, except I call it “rush minutes” of people snatching real food before being carried on aid trucks before it vanishes into the city of rubble that has consumed our world and spat our people out, leaving them famished for not only food but also life.
The truck had large wheels, sealed windows, and cracked side mirrors. It seemed like a living being running for its life. People raced to jump on its flatbed. One had to be light-footed to climb it quickly and safely, avoiding being crushed below. The real battle began once you were up, with mere seconds to pick something up and hop off. But no one taught us how to quickly open boxes on the back of a moving truck as hundreds of starving people clung on. It’s a good story to tell your kids if you succeed. My brother refused to chase a food truck in a forest of hungry mouths, but when my mother announced that we didn't have flour, he decided to risk his life rather than watch us starve.
I looked at the crowd that appeared from thin air, all of them trying to take whatever their hands could reach. I saw some young men strip their shirts and use them as bags. My father scurried behind, late and lost in the crowd, there wasn't much to gather. İf the truck had stopped in the street we could have taken an entire bag of veggies, but unfortunately, it had only passed by the house and lucky us we were not ready!
My brother wasn’t empty-handed when he returned. He brought three onions, two tomatoes, and one eggplant. We were mesmerized by their vivid colors, the smell of the tomatoes, and their soft texture. My father was able to gather some smashed tomatoes from the ground… Better than to be wasteful.
Before the war, I used to role-play as a chef, though the only thing I could make was cake in all its flavors; Date cake and apple cake were my favorites. I loved using healthy ingredients in my recipes. In the kitchen, when my family would prepare dinner, I was in charge of cutting and slicing the vegetables. I don't know where is our cutting board these days, we no longer need to use it. Most of my sisters now theoretically know how to cook, it is a progress to celebrate because we all know what every meal requires. When we ask for a certain meal to prepare, we immediately group the unobtainable components which leads us to cancel the entire idea as they are what makes the dish the way it is.
A family meeting was conducted to decide the meals to be prepared using the treasure my brother found. My younger brother wanted a salad, but two tomatoes can’t satisfy a family of nine, so we rejected his suggestion. My sister suggested making stuffed eggplant, but our eggplant wasn't large enough and could barely feed one person. We were running out of suggestions but thankfully my mother spoke, "We will use one tomato, one onion, and the eggplant to make Maqloba, and the other tomato and one onion to make Maftool. The last online we will keep for other dishes.." We all wanted to bite into the raw, fresh vegetables. But alas. We strived to include fresh, organic ingredients in at least one meal every three days during the genocide, so we could attempt to change our palate from canned foods.
On those days, we’d set up nine mismatched plates — as we each had a preferred shape and depth — and sit anticipating to eat an old taste of a dish we’d recognized before the war. Excited, we’d greet the food: long time no see!
Those meals, made with fleeting ingredients from passing trucks, were more delicious than the meals we’d make with a complete set of ingredients and seasoning. Or perhaps, we’d forgotten what that tasted like. I stay by the window most days, waiting for a truck to drive by.
Aug. 4, 2024
5:43 p.m.