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“My Boyhood” from When I was a Boy in Palestine by Mousa Kaleel, 1914.

It is not so very long since I was a boy in Palestine. I was born in Ram Allah, Palestine, in the year 1892. I left my home country at the age of sixteen to come to the United States. You can easily see, therefore, that I spent only my boyhood in this old-world land.

My birth was welcome news to my father, and the woman who told it received as reward a large silver coin. In most Oriental countries, particularly in Palestine, a boy is always prized more than a girl; and the minute the boy-baby is born, a mad scramble is started by the women attendants to reach the father first and thus win the prize money. The natural division of the people into clans causes this desire for boy children. Boys grow into men, who not only strengthen the tribe, but also increase the earning capacity of the family; while girls marry after attaining maturity, and become members of their husbands' tribes and families. Arab chiefs in the past have been known to bury their baby daughters alive at birth, fearing that in the future they might be captured by the enemy, and thus their fathers be disgraced. Although this relic of savagery has long been abolished, to this day a father who has only female children is considered, by himself and others, a most unfortunate man.

After hearing the news of my birth, my father had to furnish refreshments to all who were present. The men guests were served the usual coffee, while women and children were given candy and cucumbers, the latter being in season at the time.

No doctor attends the birth of a baby in Palestine. A nurse, usually a very old and experienced woman, is called, and she takes full command. Her absolute control continues until the mother is well enough to have the care of her child, and woe befall the poor individual who tries to pass a suggestion or make a comment while the nurse is performing her duty! No powder, but red soil, and often salt, is used on the baby. If, upon arrival, the baby is weak and inactive, its nose is rubbed with a strong onion, and the sneeze of life usually responds. My grandmother used to say that I would never have lived, if it had not been for the quickening perfumes of the onion.

When I was strong enough for it, I was baptized. This was done, according to custom, by immersing me three successive times in cold water prepared with oil and blessed by the priest. I was not drowned, so the priest delivered me to my godfather, whose duty it was to watch over me while a boy and guard my spiritual life, and, when I became a man, to induce me to join the church of my baptism, thus giving back to the church the charge received from it.

Baptism is a time for celebration. It was then I became a distinct individual with a name. They called me “Mousa," which means “saved from the bulrushes." The practice of using Biblical names is very common among the Christians in Palestine. In many cases the name of a boy suggests the name of a newly born brother. I know of a family where all of Christ's twelve disciples, with the exception of Judas, are represented in name. This is due to the common belief that these saints will watch over their namesakes.

The celebrations consisted, as most of our celebrations do, in eating and singing, or rather shouting, the men enjoying the former and the women reveling in the latter. Both, however, joined in making gifts, which consisted mostly of hand-made baby clothes. This was my only celebration and the last sign of my popularity. Henceforth I was either a noisy baby or a mischievous child.

As a baby, that is, during the years before I started going to school, I had many playthings. There was a large, nicely painted, hollow rubber ball, which I valued greatly because it came from Jerusalem. Then I had a little pistol, a home-made reed whistle, and marbles. My most valued plaything was a horse I tried to make of wood and clay, which never was strong enough for my weight. Another thing I enjoyed was the hammock-like swing. When I cried, my mother swung me in it to dizziness and sleep, which naturally made me stop crying. This swinging is usually the cure for crying, but I often cried to get it. My first recollection is of a lullaby song which my mother used to sing to me. Among other things the song contained a simile likening my eyes to those of a gazelle. I had never seen a gazelle, but I did see a horse with large, clear eyes, so, not wishing to take a chance on the brightness of the unknown, I made my mother substitute the horse for the gazelle.

Another early recollection is being stung by a scorpion. I was playing building a house, when the poisonous thing bit me on the toe. The pain was terrible. My father wanted to take me to a doctor, but my old grandmother scoffed at the idea. She brought a ring which had magic in it, and placed it on the painful toe. I could tell by the moving of her lips that she was repeating some sayings, and in a short time the pain stopped.

My first trial was great. I had a baby brother, and he usurped my playthings, one by one. He began with the most dear, the swing, and later on he took the rest. I was not as dejected as you might think, for I had already begun to find interesting things outside the house and in the garden. I had grown to an appreciation of punishment, and had to do my dodging to keep away from school. I was not very successful, however, for I had an older brother who was faithful to his task of seeing me go through the trials and tribulations that he had had to go through when he was young. He was ten years older than I, and there was no feeling of comradeship between us, so I bitterly resented his seemingly uncalled-for diligence.

Kaleel, Mousa. When I was a Boy in Palestine. Lothrop, Lee, and Shepard Co. 1914

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