Chronicles of an Elder

I’m old now. I didn’t take that in until my latest February birthday. Reaching it, I’m three years older than my mother who died at eighty. It’s startling to find myself in territory she was not around to explore. I grope my way around in my newly acknowledged elderhood, looking for anchors that make sense, before there are no more anchors, no more journeys,

Endless articles tell me what a healthy old age looks like, what I should do to enjoy it, to feel positive. Of course I read them. Sometimes I snort with contempt. I’m not going to take up power gliding to prove a point. Other times, I think maybe it is important to up my intake of chickpeas. On good days, the thought of death keeps its distance. On bad days, mortality hovers around me like a nimbus, wisps of fear encircling my body. It’s mostly a quiet fear, though sometimes I erupt into panic, trying to mentally outrun the images. What will happen and how will ‘it’ happen; will it be me first or my partner; how will I/he cope? I try to limit the time I give these thoughts; some days are better than others.

A mirroring of my adolescence revisits me in elderhood. Now as then, things are in flux. Lots of unanswerable questions. The younger me kept searching for meaning and direction. The old me does that too, still impatient at how incomprehensible things are. There is no whole to be discovered. Only random fragments lie about which I occasionally assemble into coherence.

Often I feel I’m failing to ‘do old’ properly. Shouldn’t I be a wise old woman, cheerfully dispensing advice to generations below me as I pass around homemade chocolate chip biscuits? Alas, I’m too ill-tempered to measure out the ingredients, too full of rage to focus on the oven. All my life, I’ve waged battle with my temperament, all that Vilnius/Kiev-persecuted-Jew DNA knotted in my interior.

As I’ve aged, I’m more fully convinced we’re born with indelible patterns, ways of being which we can challenge but never fully overcome. For me, the DNA I inherited holds depression and anxiety. I think part of it comes from those times when Jews were slaughtered or conscripted into the Czar’s army, precarious lives subject to random death. Second generation American that I am, those ghetto fears shouldn't still be there. But they are. My genetic test indicated I’m 98% Ashkenazi Jew and 2% Neanderthal. These days, the Neanderthal is the upbeat part of my inheritance.

Curiosity is one of the main engines that keeps me going. That and a strong desire to be seen, acknowledged. Having no biological children, I tussle continually with the knowledge I’ll leave behind no genetic traces. That’s a hard one, though I have no regrets at being childless. I have mothered without giving birth.

So let me continue to be curious, though afraid. Creative, though depressed. Giving, though withheld. Thoughtful, though confused. And all manner of things shall be clear, if only for a brief moment..

……………………….

Thatch House: Bringing Positive Change Through Threatre in the Community

Thatch House (Abuja, Nigeria) Theatre Initiative is a not-for-profit theatre organisation. Its mission is to utilise theatre to bring positive change to Nigerian society. It mounts professional performances that create awareness, inform, educate and entertain its various audiences. We are artists who are passionate about performing arts.

Our major strategy in carrying out our activities has been a community theatre approach. Most of our activities deal with grassroots issues that affect us as a people such as domestic violence, child abuse, rape, women’s empowerment, child marriage, female genital mutilation, drug abuse and human trafficking. Using the storytelling technique, we create drama from first hand information gathered in local communities. 

We perform in the language the people speak and understand at mingling spaces such as marketplaces, motor parks, community halls, village squares and schools. An important aspect of our activities is the interactive session that takes place after every performance. The audience gets the opportunity to ask questions, seek clarifications and make necessary contributions to the drama presentation.

On top picture:

1. Eucharia Ella 

2. Ruth Tamti Loyi

3. Chukwuebuka Ifebunso

4. Unah Michael

5. Abraham Omale

6. Nyam David

7. Mark Musa

8. Alex Oba'a Ella

OUR VALUES

THEATRE FOR EVERYONE

ARTISTIC AMBITION

COMMUNITY

Thatch House Performances

In Memoriam: We Are Not Numbers

In Memoriam. We pay tribute to four young Gazans, all of whom were part of the We Are Not Numbers community.

Huda Al-Sosi

The WANN Family

October 31, 2023

We Are Not Numbers is sad to announce that we have lost another member of our family. Huda Al-Sosi was killed in an Israeli air strike on Oct. 23 which also took the lives of relatives. The status of her two children is unconfirmed.

May Huda and her deceased family members rest in peace.

Huda was a member of the newest, 18th cohort of We Are Not Numbers. She was an ambitious journalist who was eager to write about the people and conditions of Palestine.

Although she had not yet published at our website, she published two bylined pieces in The Electronic Intifada. Braving Israel’s bombs to hug my parents was written after an Israeli bombing of May 2022 and described her family’s insistance on “resuming our lives” despite the destruction. Gaza’s queen of quilling, published in August 2022, profiled the artist Eman Al-Tayeb, whose “daily practice is impeded by the Israeli occupation and blockade.” Huda reported:

Al-Tayeb considers herself fortunate to be able to pursue art. She believes it allows her to persist in the hardships of daily life in Gaza.

“There is always hope,” she said.

According to Huda’s friends, when she was informed that she had been accepted into WANN, it was the happiest day of her life; she was “over the moon.” She attended all the training sessions before the schedule was interrupted by the Israeli aggression. She loved writing, and she also loved art and reading.

We are adding tributes to Huda as they are able to come in, given the challenging communication circumstances.

Ahmed Dremly

Huda, an aspiring writer, dreamt of being a voice for Palestinians like Ali Abunimah.

Ahmad Abo Rizik

Huda Al-Sosi was a beacon of strength and kindness. I met her during training sessions with We Are Not Numbers. She was full of power and energy and was fueled with passion and the love of Palestine. She longed to reveal to the world the stories and struggles of those living in the shadow of the Israeli occupation, painting a vivid picture of life in this troubled region.

In the short two months that I had the privilege of knowing Huda, I quickly realized that she was a force of nature. Her strength and determination were matched only by her kindness and willingness to help those around her. She had a way of lighting up any room with her infectious energy and her radiant smile.

Huda was not just a teammate, she was a source of inspiration. Her dedication to our common cause was unwavering. Her boundless compassion and selflessness left a lasting impact on everyone fortunate enough to cross her path.

Huda’s words held the power to bridge cultures, to create understanding, and to advocate for her homeland. In a heartbreaking twist of fate, Huda’s dreams were shattered by the relentless violence that plagued Gaza. An Israeli airstrike, intended for reasons unknown, took her and seven members of her family from this world.

The news of her tragic and untimely death struck our hearts with a profound sense of grief. The loss of such a beautiful soul is a stark reminder of the fragility of life, and it’s a pain that we all share.

Huda’s absence leaves a void that cannot be filled, but her memory and the impact she made on all of us will live on. We, her friends on the We Are Not Numbers team, are deeply moved by her spirit and her unfulfilled dreams, and we have vowed to keep her legacy alive. We pledge to continue writing, to carry on her mission of sharing the untold stories of Gaza’s resilient people.

Huda Al-Sosi will not become just another number in the relentless cycle of war; she will forever be remembered as the voice that spoke for her people, an enduring testament to the human spirit in the face of adversity.

Zaina Al Qudwa

From day one of writing training, everyone recognized Huda’s passion and dedication to writing. She never arrived late for any training session and was always the first to engage in any activity. As a mother, she would leave her children at a nearby daycare to be able to attend all sessions. During a class discussion, she mentioned having a story that she believed deserved worldwide publication, but she chose not to disclose its content.

Just a few days after the war began, the members of Cohort 18 of We Are Not Numbers decided to create a video to showcase how life in Gaza is under Israeli aggression. Each participant was required to write and record a short message. Huda wanted the world to understand that “The situation here in Gaza during this war is so difficult and indescribably bad. We prepared our bags with necessary things in case we need them to rush quickly from our homes due to nearby bombardments or Israeli evacuation messages. We didn’t sleep well last night, and I consider myself the luckiest one in the world to have just one hour sleeping this morning. The heavy Israel bombardments is everywhere, attacking residential buildings without any prior warning!”

Unfortunately, no one ever will see and hear Huda sharing her message. Her beautiful dreams came to end when an Israeli missile claimed her life. This is merely a glimpse of her larger story, which was filled with ambitious dreams, a promising future, and a loving family that the occupation ultimately destroyed.

Refaat Alareer

Mohammed Zaher Hamo

Yousef Maher Dawas