In memory of Ouda Al Haw, August 18, 1988 – January 3, 2024

I would never have thought
to write an ode to Ouda’s vocal cords,
but here I am searching for words.
I can picture him now laughing,
as he did whenever we teased him.

Ouda was the loudest guy
I have ever known, louder than loud Essa.
More fun always meant more decibels.
I want to hear him now, shouting back to me
at every good morning I send to heaven.

In one of our tashas, I joked about
how a physiotherapist should use
Ouda’s voice for ultrasound therapy.
His laughter kept us all relaxed and warm.
It seemed to penetrate our muscles.

I miss his “ya Soma!” as he called me,
but his voice rang out with greatest force
chanting “Barcelona! Barcelona!”
when Barcelona beat Royal Madrid.
I would tease him with that chant.

The day before he died, we spoke of dreams.
Now I imagine him in heaven playing a match
and leading cheers for Gaza’s children.
He dreamed of being a sport physiotherapist,
but in Gaza, dreamers die mid-dream.

He often joked that he was born
in January, the month he loved,
for new beginnings, Fatah, the New Year.
Did his killers know the month he loved
and set the date to mock him?

They killed him while he looked for water.
He joined Essa forever that day.
I miss his boisterous voice, the therapy
of his laughter, his greetings, his good will,
with Essa and I his faithful chorus.

Surely now in heaven he still laughs,
but Ouda always kept a heavy blanket,
even in summer, draping his shoulders.
I used to laugh at that, but now I know
he felt the coldness of this world.

Editor’s note: Ouda is also commemorated in another of Basman’s poems, At the door of Jannah.