Down through the Red Sea and out past the gulf, turn towards starboard and keep sailing south.
Ashraf had left to join the Ottoman army to fight in the Great War. It wasn't his choice, but none of the men in Aqaba had a choice. They faced an ultimatum: be an Ottoman citizen and fight for the empire, or be deported from the region by any means necessary.
We weren't the first village to face this fate. Passing travelers had told us stories about the treatment of the Jews in Jaffa. People were forced out of their homes and shipped west towards Alexandria. Some did not survive the trip. The grain shortages across the empire left many starving to death, and the exiled were always going to be a last priority.
It was a nightmare, but we knew to prepare for the worst. Jaffa was just the start. It was only a matter of time until the empire came for the rest of us. Tension had been on the rise ever since the war broke out. The leaders questioned our loyalty to the empire, often accusing us of collaborating with enemy forces to revolt. Jews, Arabs, Greeks, we were all the same in their eyes. If we weren't Turkish, we were a threat to the empire.
Ashraf and I never planned on being a threat. We were happy with leading a simple life. Aqaba was no Kostantiniyye — it was a small fishing village, insignificant to anyone who didn't live here — but it had enough to keep us satisfied.
Paddling out to sea in our dugout canoe was one of our simple pleasures, whether it was for work or for relaxation. Ashraf worked hard, selling more fish than anyone else in the region, but he also knew when to lean back and enjoy Aqaba's beautiful weather. The scorching sun sat high in the sky even in the late afternoon, but the breeze drifting in from the gulf would balance out the heat. After a day of work, Ashraf would take me with him and teach me how to paddle the canoe.
"Aliya," he would tell me, "pull the paddle back towards you. Keep it straight. Otherwise you will find yourself spinning in the gulf."
We spun around several times. The oar was heavy, and it took me a number of tries to find my rhythm. Once I got the hang of it though, Ashraf would let me paddle us up and down the gulf. He had to get us away from the shores of Aqaba first, as some people were not very fond of seeing a woman do a man's work, but I had total control over the canoe when we were in the open waters. We would only alternate when it was time to head home.
Looking back on those days made me realize how much I wished Ashraf was here to paddle with me now.
The men were deployed on their first mission a couple of months ago. I heard through the grapevine that Ashraf and the others were sent as reinforcements as the empire fought to control the Suez Canal. I had to excuse myself from that conversation. People were saying that it was one of the bloodiest campaigns, with tens of thousands dead and more expected to follow. It pained me to think that Ashraf might be just another number in a statistic.
Sleepless night after sleepless night followed. All I could think about was the dangers that Ashraf faced in an unknown battlefield. He could have been dead at any second. Those thoughts kept me up all night.
I worried about Ashraf's safety, but things weren't much safer back home. The forced deportations were moving south of Jaffa and closer to Aqaba. Many people lost their homes as the empire demanded a fight or flight decision. Some of our neighbors fled immediately when they heard the news. I applauded their decisiveness; I supposed it was smart to leave on their own terms.
My mind was torn between two places. On one hand, I prayed for a return to normalcy so we could continue living our simple lives along these shores. But I knew it was easier said than done. Many strong men fell in the lines of battle, sacrificing in the name of world peace. Even if Ashraf's unit were successful at the Suez Canal, the empire would simply redeploy them to another battlefield. This war had dragged on and there was no end in sight.
