Post by Ebrahim Hanna Bin Abba on Jun 22, 2011 7:25:50 GMT -5
Hanna had really gone all out on his room. Honestly, he was truly surprised that he was even going to be given a room, at all, but apparently if you were a country enough to have your own personification, you got one. Very nice, that, as he could try to gain more supporters this way. The state had painted each and every single one of his walls in the pattern of his flag, with statues made of his coat of arms in the corner, the eagles’ with their majestic wings outspread. In the background, both pieces of music that had been his national anthem, Biladi and Mawtiny, had been burned onto a disc, and were playing softly, on repeat and rotating between the two whenever the other finished.
He had a table set up, with falafel, balls made with chickpeas and fava beans, as well as his national dish, Musakhan, roasted chicken baked with onions, sumac, allspice, saffron, and fried pine nuts upon taboon bread. It was a good treat, he thought, and Hanna had take great care in making it, wanting it to taste the best he could. On the wall hung a map of Palestine, or, at least, Ancient Palestine, his mother’s country, and his gaze softened slightly as his eyes fell upon it, remembering the brief moments that he had with her. He also had a bookshelf, filled with all sorts of books related to Palestine, with things from Ancient history, to nationalism, to sports. Hanna had tried to get quite a variety, in all sorts of different languages, and hopefully he succeeded.
There was a rack of traditional Palestinian costumes hung up, as tourists quite liked dressing up in them, for some reason. Had Hanna not planned on perhaps going to visit the other nations, to maybe gain more allies, he would have already been in one of his own, though his were not costumes, but rather, his old clothes, that he tended not to wear anymore. He had handicrafts set up, as well, with examples of his own successes into the arts, as well as supplies to make soap, to embroider, make pottery, and to do Mother-of-Pearl carvings. Hanna had wanted to do glass-making, as well, but after some consideration, tossed that idea. Some of his examples were up, but no one would be making any.
There was a sign up on his door, as well, stating the times for his shows. He was going to do Palestinian folk dancing, the Dabke dance, both the men and women’s parts, as he knew both, and was going to tell some folk tales later on. Hopefully, that would be enough to attract people. Adjusting his Keffiyeh, Hanna allowed himself a small smile, pleased with his work. Now, if only someone would come…
He had a table set up, with falafel, balls made with chickpeas and fava beans, as well as his national dish, Musakhan, roasted chicken baked with onions, sumac, allspice, saffron, and fried pine nuts upon taboon bread. It was a good treat, he thought, and Hanna had take great care in making it, wanting it to taste the best he could. On the wall hung a map of Palestine, or, at least, Ancient Palestine, his mother’s country, and his gaze softened slightly as his eyes fell upon it, remembering the brief moments that he had with her. He also had a bookshelf, filled with all sorts of books related to Palestine, with things from Ancient history, to nationalism, to sports. Hanna had tried to get quite a variety, in all sorts of different languages, and hopefully he succeeded.
There was a rack of traditional Palestinian costumes hung up, as tourists quite liked dressing up in them, for some reason. Had Hanna not planned on perhaps going to visit the other nations, to maybe gain more allies, he would have already been in one of his own, though his were not costumes, but rather, his old clothes, that he tended not to wear anymore. He had handicrafts set up, as well, with examples of his own successes into the arts, as well as supplies to make soap, to embroider, make pottery, and to do Mother-of-Pearl carvings. Hanna had wanted to do glass-making, as well, but after some consideration, tossed that idea. Some of his examples were up, but no one would be making any.
There was a sign up on his door, as well, stating the times for his shows. He was going to do Palestinian folk dancing, the Dabke dance, both the men and women’s parts, as he knew both, and was going to tell some folk tales later on. Hopefully, that would be enough to attract people. Adjusting his Keffiyeh, Hanna allowed himself a small smile, pleased with his work. Now, if only someone would come…