It started with two cups brought by an older woman. But it's the keys that are most important
Photo: Miłka Fijałkowska
– I did it for our culture and history. I wanted to leave a trace of the life that is no longer there. It is proof that we existed on this earth – these are the words with which 76-year-old doctor Mohammed greets me when we begin our conversation. We have just sat down in a dark room, by the light of a kerosene lamp, in a Palestinian refugee camp.
We meet in front of the museum. It has neither a respectable seat in a historic building nor a modern designer building whose photos millions of people would share on Instagram. This museum doesn't even have an exact address. In the winding and crowded streets of the Shatila Palestinian refugee camp in southern Beirut, it's hard to find this place. The doctor – as he's called here – says that first I have to find a pharmacy, and that the museum is in a dark alley opposite. When I arrive at the appointed time, he's waiting for me at the entrance.
Entrance to the Museum of Memory in the Shatila refugee camp in BeirutMiłka Fijałkowska
In a room without a window, hidden in a dead end, Dr. Mohammed al-Khatib has collected objects commemorating the history and culture of the Palestinian people. What was lost and will never return. It is one large, dusty room, barely accessible by daylight, full of human stories, contained in hundreds of different objects. I cannot see them all, because when we enter, there is no electricity. The camp has electricity only a few hours a day, usually one to three. Additional electricity, from private generators, must be paid for, and most residents cannot afford it.
– Let's talk first. Then, when the electricity is turned on and the lights are on, you can look at the exhibition – the doctor suggests. We are sitting at a table with a chessboard on it. The doctor likes to play chess. In the flickering light of only one oil lamp, we can barely see each other's faces. In addition, there is cigarette smoke, because the doctor is smoking one cigarette after another. There is no ventilation in the room, so in addition to the darkness, a cigarette fog swirls around our faces. After a while, my eyes get used to the semi-darkness and the darkness stops bothering me.
Kerosene lamp at the Shatila Camp Memorial MuseumMiłka Fijałkowska
Aluminum for water, silver for ash
– It all started with two cups that an elderly woman brought me. One was aluminum, the other silver. She said they belonged to her father, who had brought them from Palestine. He drank water from one cup and used the silver one as an ashtray. She asked me to keep them. I wanted to pay her, but she said she was giving me the cups as a gift and I should just take care of them – recalls Dr. Mohammed.
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