The Jibla gang (1955). Look at these young men’s faces carefully. If you’re from Jibla, there’s a good chance your grandfather is one of them. Source: Personal records.
I am not a big fan of Kuwait Airways. In fact, I avoid traveling on the National Carrier like the plague for many “technical” reasons. But, the thing I dislike the most is going to their downtown office, and my reasons are strictly personal. You see, I was born in a house in an area which is now a parking lot opposite KAC building.
This residential area is no more. Not only that, but there is zero evidence that this once bustling neighborhood, which many Kuwaiti families called home, even existed. I say this because I hear many references to it being thrown about in the socio-political discourse, but I seriously doubt if any of the young people using it as a metaphor today know where this “Atlantis” actually was. I was born in my grandfather’s house which existed somewhere between KAC parking lot and The National Assembly’s cargo bay. This space was called Jibla.
Music about hometowns
My City Was Gone-----The Pretenders
Streets of Philadelphia--—Bruce Springsteen
Midnight Train to Georgia----Cladys Knight and the Pips
California Dreaming--—Mamas and Papas
Home of the Brave (Credit Racket)-—Laurie Anderson
2 comments:
I think I'm from jibla too! And how come were you born in a house (and not a hospital)? Out of all my siblings, I was the only one born in Adan Hospital. I used to cry when I was a kid because my brother and sisters used to taunt me by saying, "Haha! Intay bent el badoo!" I was also told that I was found in a basket by the mosque. But that's another story.
PS Did you get it? :)
Zules,
I was born in the old Amiri Hospital (Google it), then immediately whisked away to Gramps' house (superstition?). So, technically I was born in a hospital.
P.S. Yes, I did. Today in fact :)
Post a Comment