From the International Solidarity Movement
Nayif Qarmout was murdered yesterday; he was also buried yesterday, in a small cemetery in the heart of Jabalia, the refugee camp where he lived. He was only 14 years old. He was murdered by an Israeli missile while playing football with his friends. He was a handsome young man, the photo on his martyr posters make that obvious. It was something that I never would have guessed at his funeral, looking at his bloody bruised face.
Today, Nayif’s family mourned. The reception line of men lining the entrance to the mourning tent was the most shattered group of men I have ever seen. Their faces were blank, dead, as though Nayif was not the only murdered yesterday. Nayif’s photo was on the wall, he looks so young, a child just turning into a man. We sat down and ate dates as a young man brought coffee around. Nayif’s uncle, Abdullah came over to talk to us.
Abdullah tells us that not only was Nayif a handsome child, but he was also a joyful child. He was always laughing, always making jokes, always helping his parents with his younger brothers and sisters. Nayif was the oldest child; he had three younger brothers and two younger sisters. He was not only the oldest child, but also the oldest grandchild; he was named after his grandfather. After school he worked with his father in family’s pharmacy, helping customers and keeping track of the accounts. Nayif hoped to run this pharmacy someday, after university, when he was a man. That is a chance that Nayif will never have. more