In my neighborhood

In our neighborhood, there were less than 5 houses when I was growing up in the streets of tabarboor. Who am I kidding, there were no streets. Everyone knew everyone. Who am I kidding, there was barely anyone. On four hills, 5 houses resided overlooking the valleys down below. Shepherds driving their sheep roaming the hills of this once beautiful majestic land. Few army jeebs pass by and on occasions, the soldiers would stop to get a drink of fresh milk and chat with the shepherds.

In our neighborhood, there was no traffic lights, nor there were any streets. Few tents here and there parallel to the camps. I remember when one of the residents there lost a son due to natural causes. The whole neighborhood came out to pay tribute. Who am I kidding, the whole neighborhood fitted in one tent.

In my neighborhood, there were no stores to sell anything. When one needed to buy anything, they had to go to to the city. Usually, one person would buy for the whole neighborhood all they needed. Sellers would walk door to door to sell fresh produce, fresh milk, and even live stocks.

In my neighborhood, we used to wait eagerly for the Eid to go to the city and walk in down town. Flashing our new clothes and showing off the new chocolate bars we just bought. Stop by a pastry shop to buy few pieces of baglawah.

In my neighborhood…..who am I kidding…there is no more a neighborhood in my neighborhood anymore.