Yazan (11) is strapped to the front of an Israeli bulldozer. His mum had strictly forbidden precisely what he had been doing 15 minutes ago precisely to avoid this kind of outcome. 

The sun is setting his skin on fire. He’s surprised the Israeli soldiers are not laughing at his unpleasant situation. He’s hanging upside down and his neck hurts and his head feels as if it’s going to burst. The soldiers are too tired and sullen from their defeat. 

Yazan had been checking out blown up IDF equipment downstairs, too fascinated to run home. Yazan had seen the whole thing unfold. IDF soldiers were shooting through a window at literally nothing for one of their Tik Tok videos. Yazan could clearly see how they were filming themselves. They’re always very distracted by their phones.

Yazan watched Hamas fighters sneak up on the soldiers. They thought they were safe on the top floor with their armored vehicles blocking the entrance to the building. 

Yazan had hid in a closet. The wall behind the closet had a hole in it leading to the apartment next door. Through the key hole he’d seen how the bedroom he found himself in was occupied by IDF soldiers. 

Although he loved to observe the fire fights, his main reason for scouting the mostly abandoned buildings was to find food left behind by Israeli soldiers after they skedaddled. 

The soldiers in the room had been blown up by a rocket. Followed by grenades being thrown into the room. He’d remained  silent in the closet for what seemed an eternity, but none of the soldiers moved anymore, so he had ventured out. He found three tuna cans intact, along with boxes of crackers, pots of olives, not standard army rations, but robbed from civilian homes. 

Unfortunately for Yazan his celebratory mood was torpedoed when he could not stop himself from inspecting the destroyed IDF vehicles outside. More Israeli soldiers had arrived to pick up the dead bodies of their colleagues. 

And now he was hanging on a bulldozer heading towards Israel. He was still picturing how his mum would have upbraided him for hopping through ruins like a crazy bunny risking his life for a bit of food, but the happy look on her face would belie her words. He imagined her eyes as she would eat the food he’d found. 

Yazan felt his lips crack open, also the skin atop his nose, right between his eyes cracked, his eyes hurt from his own salty sweat. He was terrified when they reached the Israeli border. They cut him loose, which made him drop to the floor from quite high. The fall hurt his head and neck. 

They told him, in Arabic, to start walking back to the city with his hands stretched out above him. 

Then he heard the soldiers ready their guns. Click clack. Yazan was sure he’d be shot in the back. His mum would never know what happened to him. She’d wait for months, maybe years, for his return. 

Where the reflex came from Yazan did not know, but he jumped round and pulled down his pants. He stood in front of the soldiers with his pants on his ankles, in his underwear. 

The soldiers all started laughing, they laughed for a long time and said nasty things in Arabic and Hebrew. One pushed him over and urinated on Yazan’s feet and shins, but they didn’t shoot him and crossed the border into Israel. 

They didn’t even spot the cans of tuna tucked into his underwear, the children’s underwear adorned with an image of Spiderman which had made them laugh so hard.          

Yazan arrived home late at night, dead tired. His mum welcomed him by slapping him hard with her slippers and kissing him on the forehead and cheeks in between. 

In that moment Yazan vowed to find other, safer, ways to show love to his mum. 

They ate tuna the next day. 

It would forever rank as Yazan’s most enjoyable meal ever. 

The light in his mum’s eyes was the best sauce.