I remember my grandad telling me that the Americans were sending rain to the Olympics in Moscow to sabotage it. But can they do it, I would ask, Of course they can. My awe was then broke by rational triangulations, Of course it is impossible to make rain, that surely is a mix between conspiracy theories and magical beliefs in science. Well, if an Independent journalist can be more reliable than a grandfather, here's the confirmation that my grandad always knew more than his contemporaries.
Sitting on the riverbank I watch what floats by. The stream brings a child sitting on a hospital bed. He must be 12, about my son’s age. A bandage hangs from his left shoulder where his arm should be. He cries conpulsively, in a foreign language, so I can only imagine what he is saying. His wailing reminds me of phantom pain, and the tearful words seem to mourn the sudden amputation of his childhood, possibly performed without anaesthetic. But then I realise that his cries may refer to a deeper pain. Maybe the blast that took his arm also took his mum. Maybe all his family, as many in Gaza these days. Before this story enters into a loop, I flick it away with my thumb, making the stream move forward. Another image stops in front of me. Three young men on a desert road dance to Staying Alive by Bee Gees. Their faces look very familiar to me. But it’s not easy to see their faces. They are partially covered with helmets and their bodies are surrounded by military gear. They don’t sp...