Dark red

Ammar Hassan el Hissi
12 years

Inside the grove of my grandfather everything is pretty, the open roses with their red and white colors under the olive trees and pomegranate, as if it is a beautiful piece of art, also inside this grove there is a tree which I do not know the real name of, but the inhabitants of my village young and old call it the “tree of henna”.

I was watching the boys and girls of the village picking the leaves of this tree, and putting its green leaves under the sun to dry, after that the women of the village crush these dry leaves. When Abboud. the son of our neighborhood got married it was a nice party, my uncle played the ‘Oud and we sang popular songs and the young men danced to the Dabkeh until midnight. In the end the women came and on their heads big plates inside them there is the dough of henna, I got close to them to watch this. One of the women put in my hand some henna, and its smell of henna spread everywhere, its smell is strong, I found this strange, I looked at the boys of the village and found them laughing and waving their hands to the sky with the music. My friend Ayman swayed next to me and said: close your hand and do not open it until morning.

I lay on my bed closing my hand; I slept waiting what will happen in my hand? In the morning I looked at my hand and found its color dark red, I tried washing with soap, and the color of henna became even prettier, I was very surprised with this. When the children of the neighborhood gathered in front of our house, we looked at the hands of each other, contemplating the lines and shapes and the drawings of the henna on our hands, we laughed and our hearts danced with joy with the dark red color of the henna.