For Naji, ناجي , the survivor
In tribute to Naji al-Baba, a 14 y/o Palestinian boy and aspiring footballer from Halhul, occupied West Bank, killed while playing football with friends
Voices of the Children is my love letter to the best of us—the children. It is born from the grief and frustration of those of us who have dedicated our lives to the care and protection of children as we witness their voices silenced and their lives threatened daily. This is for the children—a place to hear their voices and tell their stories. Thank you for reading and honoring the lives of children as you do so.
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His name was Naji,
playing in the forest,
amongst the trees,
with his friends.
The ones that had not died.
The game was close,
but then a point scored,
followed by shrieks of joy as they ran
through the dirt.
Hidden deep within the land,
hoping to have moments of freedom
away from the ongoing violence
that defined each day.
Alive with each other.
Living fully in their love story
that never broke their heart
- football, faithful and loyal,
always there to comfort amid sorrow.
Suddenly, in the light of midday
their elation was shattered,
interrupted by gunshots,
bullets soaring
from every direction, and
Laughter now replaced
by high-pitched screams and
then silence.
His friends, desperately trying to wake him up
Unaware of the four gunshots that sliced
through his pelvis, foot, shoulder and
the one that would take him away from us forever
-piercing through his heart
Evading soldiers to
return to their homes,
without Naji,
to give the message that no one wanted to hear
A father screams to see his son and is beaten
Hand severely broken but the pain is not felt
It is swallowed up by the pain of losing his beautiful boy.
He did not know Naji’s body lay on the ground
for so long,
no help given
no humanity offered,
as blood seeped onto the tan dirt
and his life escaped him.
His last words remain unknown.
There he was,
waiting, hoping,
as the beating of his heart slowed
the only sound in that forest
amidst the silence—
and then gone.
They said that this part of the beautiful land
that his ancestors once played in
no longer belonged to his people.
It was forbidden.
It was not his to play in.
Was the football they played a threat
Was seeing the joy of Palestinian children doing
they loved
the crime?
He was a master
Scurrying his feet
in rapid zig-zag motions
across a makeshift soccer field,
where a forest was transformed into a football stadium—
It was here he could fly.
He had on his favorite sneakers,
only bought a few days before,
wrapped around his feet.
Ecstatic each time he put them on.
And as the pulse left his feet that day,
the sneakers still gleamed in the sunlight,
black, shining,
just as bright as his hair
and his eyes.
There is no reason
for his father to cry, or
for his mother to see his motionless body
that can justify
his unexpected transition to the ancestral plains
where Naji, now watches over us.
He embodied his name
in every facet of his life,
he was indeed a survivor-
there by his grandmother's side,
a calming presence for his siblings,
a motivator for his teammates
during their matches.
He wanted to be big.
He wanted to be bold.
He wanted to be known as the best
while living
amongst those committing the worst
crimes known to humanity.
And he now covers us,
finally realizing
the many meanings of his name —
survivor, rescuer, close friend, savior —
in life
and in the afterlife.
Naji,
you are a savior,
powerful
and beautiful.
The light of a thousand suns
hitting your skin,
recreating the warmth
that is the lifeblood of your people.
You lived strong.
We continue for you,
fighting for you,
loving for you,
hoping for you.
And we will never relinquish
this mission for freedom—
it must continue for you,
and the many children
whose eyes closed far too soon.
You are the stars that stay steady
And in this darkness
we will look up
and follow you
until the light comes.
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You can learn more about Naji’s story by clicking HERE.