Because we had another bomb in town. Four dead. One of them a girl who survived three previous explosions, and had been wondering if she’d make it through the fourth one. She did not.
It wasn’t in my neighborhood. But still, in town. It sounds like a big deal, but I heard from an acquaintance in Tripoli that they’ve had 3 days of uninterrupted street fighting, so what’s one bomb?
We do not even mention it anymore when we come home. “Did you hear about the bomb?” It is ignored, not important enough to talk about it apparently. It may pop up during dinner, as a side note. “Oh, that street is probably closed because of the bomb.” What bomb?” “Oh, there was another explosion today.” “Oh, really?”
It is unavoidable, I guess. It is not numbness, nor are we trying to erase it from our lives. It is just becoming part of our lives, and so it is not worth mentioning, I guess. “Ne pas s'habituer.... Ne pas s'habituer... Ne pas s'habituer... Ne pas s'habituer.... “ an acquaintance wrote as a Facebook status.
But the truth is, dinners are no longer cancelled over a bomb, and schools remain open. The first jokes are popping up; a new one for me.
What do you call a bomb in a coffee shop? ‘Infinajjar’, a word play on a local coffee chain and the word explosion. Rather crude, although I had to laugh because it is the first Arabic wordplay joke I understand.
‘Officials call for unity’, the paper reads. A little late, no?