اخبار تونس- وطن نيوز

اخر اخبار تونس اليوم – اخبار تونس العاجلة

W6nnews.com  ==== وطن === تاريخ النشر – 2026-04-09 20:33:00

…the message that preceded the angel of death, and he preceded it.. In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. Al-Marnaviyah Prison, March 26, 2026. My beloved family: May the peace and mercy of God be upon you. I am fine, and praise be to God. I hope that you will be in good health and in good health, and that you – as I promised you – will be in harmony like “the servants of Al-Basisa,” and that you will be the keys to good and the locks to evil.. I kiss my forehead. Congratulations and I accept all of you, brothers, sisters and their spouses, sons and daughters. I thank you all and I miss you and miss the “interview” with you… and it will happen soon, God willing.. I wanted this message to be a song dedicated to Mabrouka, to write it in her life and for her to hear it from me (from us)… Distance helps in remembering and in revealing… but in the case of presence, we often forget to express our feelings… about Our love… we consider this to be an achievement. But we all need someone who can be honest with us about his feelings… and we also need – for the sake of our balance – to express our feelings to those we love… This is a message of recognition… and gratitude, a message of thanks. We need to tell Mabrouka how great she was, and how much we love her, and for her to know that… but it is important that we say it to her now and not tomorrow… because everyone can say beautiful words in the face of loss, and in the presence of absence, I want This song is in the presence.. I want it to be an addition to what I wrote previously, whether in “The Little Hand Does Not Lie” or to the other texts I published.. I am keen for you to hear it, and I am keen for all of you to see it.. and for it to reach “Azza”.. Today I can write a message as cheerful as her spirit.. Yesterday I could not have written it.. My sister sent this message to Monia and Maryam. 1- The visit that I did not expect for anything more. I envy you all… I used to live with Mrs. Al-Mabrouka the least… I am similar in this to “Azza”… I flew out of the cage early… I was not even like a migratory bird, as these return at certain seasons to their first nests and settle there for a little while, but I was the son of all places… and I was the son of nowhere. During my previous stay in the pit, Mabrouka was visiting me… I traveled with her in the north and center of the country. Her health condition allowed her to do so, and her psychological condition was better than that of her cousin – my father – may God have mercy on him. She did not stop visiting until the door was opened… This time her health condition did not allow her to visit. I considered my visit to her on the morning of my arrest a gift from God… and I used to conjure her image. Constantly, I was longing to see her and I was recalling my story with “Al-Muddeb”… He was cut off from me for many years due to illness.. He waited for me for a long time.. He waited for the first year and the doors did not open, and he waited for the second and third, and he waited for the tenth.. and the doors did not open… He extended the waiting period and then left without me hugging him, without hearing his last words, his last advice, and his last prayer… No one knows what might happen… But I was not prepared to be deprived. From hearing Mabrouka’s voice. Maryam also did not visit me this time…. But we always imagine that death has something to do with age… and we still have plenty of time to embrace… and the visit came suddenly… I asked for it a while ago from Minya… and from the lawyers… but I did not promise it, nor did I insist on it… I understood from you that her health could not bear a visit across the checkpoint, nor perhaps even a visit without a checkpoint… until she entered Minya that day, her eyes were laughing and she asked: Did the lawyers tell you the good news? I had not visited the lawyers that day. She broke the news to me… My eyes laughed too.. That week had passed.. I was longing for that moment in which I could hug Mabrouka… 2- The visit that I was dreading would happen. However, I was dreading the visit to happen. I did not know what the three years had done to Mrs. Mabrouka… Today is ten days into our first years, and it is ten years when we reach the stage of aging… What… What did the three years do to my mother’s body? What did they do to her memory and her mental abilities? Do you remember me? Will you understand what I’m saying? How will you interact with me?…Also, I was afraid of what she might say to me…what if she knocks me? What would I respond if she said: My son, I bore you young and young… There was strength in the body and strength in the nerves… How could she do to me what she did when I had reached this age, when the body was weak and the nerves were weak? And so I lived for a week between eagerness and fear… 3- The visit that happened, I prepared myself to receive… I must be a boy in front of her because we always remain children in the eyes of our parents… And there has not been found to date a recipe to change this situation… There is no recipe that makes us We surpass our fathers in age. And when I am a boy in front of her, I take her back to those years when she was a young wife… I revive the happy days… and stimulate her memory… I prepared myself with a small gift, and I found that she had also thought of a gift… I received her at the door of the hall that had been prepared for the visit, and Mounir was pushing the wheelchair with her. I kissed her, hugged her, and received from Mounir the wheel of the chair… I rushed to her. Just as a little boy runs to his mother and clings to her lapels. I sat on a chair, and “Munawwar” sat next to me… and the queen was on her throne in front of us… nothing had changed about her… the three years were companions to her, and to me as well… I placed her hands between my hands… two veined hands, their color was white… it seemed that the movement of blood in them was slow and weak, but she was still Mabrouka Al-Mazina… I noticed a ring on her finger… and the earrings In her ears… and a necklace around her neck… I asked her: What, Mrs. Mabrouka? Are you getting married? I threw the ball to her.. She picked it up: – What do you want me to do.. You are all stable in your family, I must also look for my stability… I asked her again: Will you have children who share our inheritance? We will not accept them between us, and we will not accept your husband… She picked up the ball again… and she was laughing… as usual… 4- Mabrouka, which I found. While I was recovering the tape of the visit, audio and video, I found that I had played tennis with the lady, the mother… Her memory was the court, and I was throwing the ball/questions all over the court… that is, in the nooks and crannies of the memory. Sometimes I throw the ball to the right of the court, and sometimes to the left of the court.. Sometimes I throw it close to the net, and sometimes close to the back line… I found her to be a skilled player in catching… Her memory is alert, and her mental faculties are ready… Perhaps she too has prepared herself for this visit… In her presence, I regained my childhood, and the misery of her birds. Some of these conversations we shared, and some of them passed through my mind, but we did not find the space for it. Time to deliberate on them, and some of them I recalled later..* I remember the rainy winters in that house with mud walls, a roof made of straw and sticks, and an earthen floor… The rain was seeping through the cracks in the ceiling, and in the light of the dim gas lamp, Mrs. Mabrouka was like a hen protecting her chicks from the raindrops, looking for a dry corner in which to park them..* And I remember a spring day, like these days, Perhaps it was during the spring break as well, which is the season in which reptiles wake up from their winter hibernation… That day we were playing in the courtyard of the house… and we were surprised by Mabrouka engaging in her battle with a snake that tried to hide in one of the holes in the house designated for cooking… She was sneaking between the mud holes… The mother grabbed her – without barriers – by the tail… and threw her away… Then she followed her, and did not leave her a chance. To escape… she got rid of it and went back to her endless work… as if nothing had happened. She did not allow anyone to get close to her chicks… The mother’s instinct withheld from her what the snake could do… *And I remember I was fifteen or sixteen years old, we were on vacation… and we were sleeping… and I heard Mabrouka and “Al-Maddeb”, her cousin’s son, as she affectionately called him, whispering and showing off their battalion… at that time it was not Khadija had been born yet… They were proud of their offspring… And I heard Al-Muddeb make this remark about me: He was thanking me… But he saw that I was very thin… So I took this remark seriously – as we do with the teacher’s remark in the numbers book – and I got rid – as you can see – of my thinness… *And I remembered with her our story in “Henshir Hamdan”, and she remembered the details with me… It was summer, and we were working in one of the In the agricultural estates, our day began at dawn and ended around sunset, and we were in the month of Ramadan… We were watering water in a cocoa field… Mabrouka was not taking kindly to herself, and she did not straighten her back from time to time… I would abuse her… and tear the mop from her… She would laugh and get angry… She was afraid that we would be deprived of our wages, and she was afraid that what she was getting would not be lawful… I was reassuring her on this last point… We were We pour out many times more sweat than we get. We did not have to justify our actions before the Lord… The owner had to take care of this matter in the hope that he would save his soul from our sweat… I said to her: Do you remember that scene? He is the one who has been expressing me since that time… And she was remembering..* And she remembered another story… that happened soon… A few years ago, she shared her Hajj expenses with her chicks, and she traveled with some neighbors. She lost her phone during Hajj, and was about to get lost in the crowd. She returned to her companions… but we did not find the phone… It will remain among the wasted property for which we will not forgive the Hajj authorities there.* And in her presence, I remembered Zaghruda at the airport.. On that day, “Azza” returned from a forced migration that had lasted for more than twenty years, and a number of his friends returned with him. The reception hall at the airport was crowded with recipients… and when the plane’s arrival was announced, Mabrouka took a seat in a far corner of the airport and raised her sweet voice singing… and ululating… she did not care who was watching or what was commenting… a song of joy and sadness from the depths of our Tunisian memory… perhaps she was saying to her companion there: The last birds have returned The cage… “Al-Muddab” did not need this media, as he was watching the scene from there. She did not bring me tabouna bread.. and I asked her about her chickens. The same sense of humor, quick wit, presence of mind, and ability to pick up messages and interact with them.. the same tolerant heart.. and it was a session in the presence of “Al-Muddeb”: Of course the father would not have been absent from us… I asked her about him and asked her: Was he satisfied with us? I was surprised by the question: How could he not be satisfied with you? He was proud of you…and she told me that he saw a vision and told it to her, the first of which…he said to her: The seed that we planted will bear fruit, and you will realize its fruition…as for me, I did not…she always brought it up…I almost said to her: give him my greetings, but I did not…just politeness…I know that Mabrouka does not fear death…because she is certain that it is not an end, but rather a transition from one state to another, not a leap into the void, but rather a transition from one state to another. I joined a long caravan of loved ones… And so I found nothing of what I feared… I found a woman who was content and happy with her old age, understanding of her children and loved ones… As usual, she did not utter a word of reproach, even though I was keen to be sure. I wish for a healthy heart like Mabrouka’s… I also remembered… I used to be away from her for weeks… and I would cut off calls… and when I spoke to her, I would attack: Mrs. Congratulations.. How are you doing what you are doing?.. She laughs… She has memorized me and knows my tricks.. And she asks: – What did you do? – You have not called for a while.. – You are the one who should call.. – No.. You are our mother… Every day you must call us and check on all of us, boys and girls… You cannot bring us into this world and leave us alone… And this is how the conversation goes… After I inform her that I have… I forgave her… 5 – The conversation I wish for. Many ideas are bubbling within me for future book projects… including something about the journey of three generations: Mabrouka’s generation and “Al-Maddeb” – that is, the generation of the ant and the philosopher, the generation of the transition from nomadism to stability, and our generation, the generation of us children, the generation of the petty bourgeoisie, as they say, and the generation of our children… I need Mabrouka’s testimony about the area extending from “Lubna” and “Taflon” to “Mina.” The valleys, Al-Qaitoun, Sidi Hassoun, and the foothills of Jabal Ibn Al-Walid and Bu Habib.. The transition from the “House of Poetry” to the brick building…and from the brick building to the stone houses. Perhaps “Mounir” or “Abdul Rahman” or “Majid” or “Shaima” can record this testimony.. Maybe I need it. For a while I refrained from reading novels.. but I finally returned to it. By Radwa Ashour: “The Granada Trilogy”, and two books in her biography: “Heavier than Radwa” and “The Scream”… also the novel “Thorns and Cloves”… The purpose is functional: perhaps I can give my writing, whatever its category, a literary robe.. I also returned to Munif: “East Mediterranean” / “Now… Here” / “When We Left the Bridge” / “The Splendid Handhold of Time”… 6- Finally.. as I received it. I bid her farewell, pushed her in the chair to the door, kissed her… and we said goodbye to each other… Monia noticed my joy during the visit… and some of those who saw me noticed that Abdul Hamid was a child at that time… and this is what I wanted to be in the presence of Mabrouka… may God protect her for us, and protect you. “I am old, so send back the stars of childhood so that I can share the path of return with the little birds… to the nest waiting for you, my mother!” Mabrouka: Thank you for taking me back to my childhood… Thank you for being my mother…