Waiting for the rainfall
I have a small garden behind the townhouse I rent. Nothing terribly impressive. In fact the soil is so acidic that it is inhospitable to most plants. Its mainly red clay, not unlike Gaza. Good for cucumbers and the like. But mainly, just mint grows in my garden. Lots and lots of mint, interspersed with some thyme.
And a small Loquat tree.
Last year, my sister in law's Syrian father gave me the Loquat sapling from a larger tree that he smuggled in from Syria more than twenty years ago as a seedling and transplanted in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Now, two decades on, I transplanted it in this small, acidic mint garden of mine.
The insects ate of the leaves what the tired soil did not. But it is spring, and somehow , new life has been breathed into it. new leaves are coming out. It has survived.
But today, as North Carolina faces a continued drought, I contemplated for a moment whether I should even be watering this sad little garden of mine. Or the brave little Loquat tree.
My mind travels. In Gaza, due to the Israeli imposed power shortages, nearly 20% of Palestinians there receive water sparingly, for only 3 to 5 hours every four days.
The fuel shortages have cut the energy supply by 31%, and have caused the suspension of garbage collection in Gaza City for the past two weeks.
And last week, 21 more dead. Five children, a farmer, a young cameraman, hit by a Flechette shells ...but who cares.
I decide not to water my the mint; or the Loquat. They can make do with the occasional rainfall.
Last week my parents left to Egypt to try and return to Gaza. They were stuck here for 9 months. They grew tired. So they figured they'd change pace, and grow tired somewhere else; And wait; and wait some more, for the border to open, So they can return home;as if borders open on their own.
And if after a month of waiting, or maybe two, there is no hope in waiting, they will return here to wait again.
And contemplate the ethical dilemmas of watering a mint garden during a drought.