They were four - four good friends. They played together. They read together.
They shared their worries and secrets.
They grew up in the middle of the Jewish district in a non-named town.
One of them was a Lebanese. She had a dollhouse.
One had only one doll, a plastic beautiful doll almost as big as she was.
They didn't have a bike, but their Jewish girlfriend had.
One friend had beautiful and long curly hair and two big brown eyes.
She had African relatives back some 200 years ago.
They didn't have many books, but the African girl had some.
Their neighborhood was quiet.
There were not many cars on the streets.
At that time, not many families had a car.
One had a garden, where they met to play, to talk and to hide.
One usually would bring a doll, another the dollhouse.
The quartet played for hours.
The African would bring some books. Through them they traveled far away.
When they got tired, they would take the bike.
One after the other they would ride up and down the street.
They had so much fun!
In the middle of the Jewish district, the German, the Lebanese, the African and the Jewish girlfriends played for hours without any strife.
They grew up together.
Later life sent them away to four different corners of this world.
One went to Israel, the other to Palestine.
Now they might meet each other not in the green grass of my garden but facing each other across a fence of wire, in a garden of irrationality.
My beautiful African friend went to America. I just read in last night's news she died in New York City.
Who built walls between us without asking permission?
Where are my friends?
Maybe now they are all in God's garden, where there are no races and no fences, where there are no colors but many faces!
by Rejane de Santa Helena
(written in 2001, under the impact of 9/11) (Em 2001, sob a emoção do 9/11, minha alma chorou pela perda da inocencia no mundo)
