At first, we did not use the word massacre. We said very little because the flies would move unerringly for our mouths. We held handkerchiefs over our mouths for this reason, then we clasped the material to our noses as well because the flies moved over our faces. If the smell of Sidon was nauseating, the stench in Chatila made us retch. Through the thickest of handkerchiefs, we smelled them. After some minutes, we began to smell of the dead. They were everywhere, in the road, in laneways, in back yards and broken rooms, beneath crumpled masonry and across the top of garbage tips. The murderers--the Christian militiamen who Israel had let into the camps to 'flush out terrorists'--had only just left. In some cases, the blood was still wet on the ground. When we had seen a hundred bodies, we stopped counting. Down every alleyway, there were corpses--women, young men, babies and grandparents--lying together in lazy and terrible profusion where they had been knifed or machine gunned to death. Each corridor through the rubble produced more bodies. The patients at a Palestinian hospital had disappeared after gunmen ordered the doctors to leave. Everywhere we found signs of hastily dug mass graves. Perhaps a thousand people were butchered; probably half that number again. Even while were there, amid the evidence of such savagery, we could see the Israelis watching us."
Keywords: muslimgauze, noise, drone, dub, experimental, oriental
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