Samara is a small village just outside the city of Karak in southern Jordan. It is the place where my father and my uncles were born,where they grew up,and where they suckled the bosom of life.
By tradition,I belong to Samara as well. I am ever so proud,but I do not think I was made up more from my father’s side rather than my mother’s. I am a creation of both “breeds” of the human race.

This,although not so obvious at the moment, is not an entry tracing back my lineage. I visited Karak yesterday and I can not relate to you,Dear Readership,how much in love I am with that place. This sentiment was not triggered then, rather it existed since the dawn of my time. 1984. But I am speechless as to what memories and passion Karak holds. It is not the greenest of places, nor is it the number one tourist attraction in beloved Jordan. But that does not make it any less important or magical.

As I sat to admire my Samara from the porch of our house which overlooks it, I reflected upon the tragedy that many people have to endure,having never seen their homeland. I know of many people who long to smell the earth of their homeland,Palestine. I was overwhemled with utter sadness just at the thought of never having known Karak, never having seen it.

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This entry was posted on Friday, September 9th, 2005 at 12:33 pm and is filed under Bits & pieces, Jordan, Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.