I flew to San Francisco to be there for the arrival of Mustafa Ghazwan, his father, Ghazwan al-Nidawi, and Cole, as they flew in from Jordan on December 31st, 2008.  A very excited group of local volunteers from the NMV Bay Area chapter, and a crowd of print, radio and television reporters were also on hand to greet Mustafa and his father.  Lead local organizers Amy Skewes-Cox and Ruth Friend of the Ruth Group, as well as Dr. Daniel Lowenstein of the Iraq Action Group, Ilona Sturm of the Bay Area NMV chapter, and many other friendly faces who’d worked so hard to make this happen also waited anxiously for the plane to land.

Four of us were allowed security clearance to approach the gate to greet them.  Amy, Ruth, Mohammad Salim who’d graciously offered to translate, and I, stood at the gate, talking, laughing, checking the time every few seconds, and staring out the window, watching for the flight.  When they finally landed, we rushed to greet the tired trio, and walk down the long hallway of the terminal toward baggage claim.  Prior to baggage claim, there was a huge glass wall behind which the reporters and community volunteers stood in wait.

They motioned for Mustafa and Ghazwan to approach the glass so that they could film, take pictures, and simply gaze and cry at the sight of this precious child, deafened by our bombs.  As they stared, laughed, smiled and sobbed, Mustafa perfected what I came to call his “pageant wave”!  His beautiful smiling face stared out at these strangers and he raised his little hand and waved and waved and waved.  Later in the car, gazing off into the distance at far-off friends, he’d smile and wave again and again.  It was good to see him so happy.

Once past the secured area, reporters approached, interviews were conducted, and the community showered little Mustafa with gifts.  He especially liked his balloons and would run through the airport, watching them as their colors floated and bobbed in his wake.  One of them broke loose and burst loudly as it hit the ceiling.  Another child would have been startled.  Mustafa, of course, couldn’t hear the sound.

Soon it was time to settle in at Ronald McDonald House and, after the excitement of the press and the crowds had died down, Mustafa was content to play with the multitude of toys in the RMH playroom.  He loved building with the wooden blocks (and especially loved knocking down whatever he’d built!)  He loved paging through books, pointing to the colorful illustrations, and smiling at his favorites.  He loved drawing, making others draw for him, and then copying their pictures.  And, he loved a special little snowman which, when a button on his hand was pressed, would play Christmas tunes, and spin and dance.  Mustafa, of course, couldn’t hear the music, but as Ghazwan explained, he could feel it.  And, feel it he did!  Mustafa LOVES to dance!  He’d put the little snowman on a table and smile and laugh and dance, playing the little snowman over and over again, as his hands felt the vibrations through the table.

Cole and I were able to spend some time with Mustafa and Ghazwan before we had to leave for home, and, though I’d been anxious to meet the little one, I’d never expected to be so entirely smitten!  He’s funny and filled with joy.  He’s smart and creative.  He’s kind and loving and sweet.  When I was sitting on the floor in the playroom with him and he came up to me, gently placing a tiny hand on each of my cheeks, and leaned forward to kiss me on the lips, I melted.  After that, he’d touch his cheek if he wanted a kiss and I’d touch mine if I wanted him to kiss me.  I’d blow kisses at him, and he’d laugh and turn his head and then, when I’d least expect it, pretend to blow one back.

And what a wonderful father Ghazwan is!  Having already been away from his beloved wife and younger son for over six months, the stress he must be feeling has to be incredible.  Yet, he was kind and compassionate to everyone, patient though obviously exhausted, and incredibly attentive to his little one.

At some point, Ghazwan had told Cole more of the story of the day that the US air strike hit his neighbor’s home and deafened Mustafa.  An old man in the home was killed, along with three children on the street buying ice cream.  The woman in the house across the street had been trying for ten years to conceive a child.  She’d finally become pregnant through fertility treatments and the blast caused her to miscarry.  She had a breakdown and is now in a mental institution.

This beautiful little boy, his life forever altered by our bombs, represents so many more lives lost and devastated.

Since Cole and I left for home, the Bay Area chapter has been wonderfully attentive to Mustafa and Ghazwan, scheduling medical appointments and making sure that they have whatever they need.  Mustafa will have his surgery on January 16th.

I hope to see Mustafa again, and when I do, I pray he’ll be able to hear and be starting to make the sounds that actually form the words he longs to say.   I know how grateful his parents will be for the wonderful community in the Bay area, in America, who made it possible for their son to hear and speak again.

But, I know that neither they, nor any of us, will ever forget that it was also Americans who took his ability to hear away in the first place.

We can’t forget.  Because we have to continue working for Peace.  For Mustafa.