I noticed he was holding a deflated ball in his left hand and pointed toward it. "What are you holding, Omar?"
He shifted his gaze to the ball as if he had forgotten it was there. "A ball," he murmured. "I was playing soccer with my friends, and I kicked the ball so high. I came over here to get it."
I nodded and listened closely as he went on. "I heard a very loud sound while I was trying to take it with me and leave, so I tried hiding among the big rocks. But my hand got stuck here."
Among the destruction was a group of kids playing soccer barefoot; he pointed to them and said, "They're my friends."
He called them, and they all turned to face me. I smiled and waved to them. They all had the same expression on their faces, their clothes were ripped and bloodied, and their right hands had injuries and dried blood. Before I could ask them anything, they all turned to face me, fixed their gaze on me, smiled, and waved goodbye.