One case that involved several recognitions is the case of Nazih Al-Danaf in Lebanon. At a very early age, Nazih described a past life to his parents and his seven siblings, all of whom were available for interviews. Nazih described the life of a man that his family did not know. He said that the man carried pistols and grenades, that he had a pretty wife and young children, that he had a two-story house with trees around it and a cave nearby, that he had a mute friend, and that he had been shot by a group of men.
His father reported that Nazih demanded that his parents take him to his previous house in a small town ten miles away. They took him to that town, along with two of his sisters and a brother, when he was six years old. About a half mile from the town, Nazih asked them to stop at a dirt road running off the main road. He told them that the road came to a dead end where there was a cave, but they drove on without confirming this. When they got to the center of town, six roads converged, and Nazih’s father asked him which way to go. Nazih pointed to one of the roads and said to go on it until they came to a road that forked off upward, where they would see his house. When they got to the first fork that went up, the family got out and began asking about anyone who had died in the way that Nazih had described.
They quickly discovered that a man named Fuad, who had a house on that road before dying ten years prior to Nazih’s birth, seemed to fit Nazih’s statements. Fuad’s widow asked Nazih, “Who built the foundation of this gate at the entrance of the house?” and Nazih correctly answered, “A man from the Faraj family.” The group then went into the house, where Nazih correctly described how Fuad had kept his weapons in a cupboard. The widow asked him if she had had an accident at their previous home, and Nazih gave accurate details of her accident. She also asked if he remembered what had made their young daughter seriously ill, and Nazih correctly responded that she had accidentally taken some of her father’s pills. He also accurately described a couple of other incidents from the previous personality’s life. The widow and her five children were all very impressed with the knowledge that Nazih demonstrated, and they were all convinced that he was the rebirth of Fuad.
Soon after that meeting, Nazih visited Fuad’s brother, Sheikh Adeeb. When Nazih saw him, he ran up saying, “Here comes my brother Adeeb.” Sheikh Adeeb asked Nazih for proof that he was his brother, and Nazih said, “I gave you a Checki 16.” A Checki 16 is a type of pistol from Czechoslovakia that is not common in Lebanon, and Fuad had indeed given his brother one. Sheik Adeeb then asked Nazih where his original house was, and Nazih led him down the road until he said correctly, “This is the house of my father and this [the next house] is my first house.” They went in the latter house, where Fuad’s first wife still lived, and when Sheikh Adeeb later asked who she was, Nazih correctly gave her name.
JIM B. TUCKER, M.D., LIFE BEFORE LIFE
Twenty-Eight
Paul Clifford woke up slowly and took stock of himself. Another day and he was intact—more or less. Maybe his nose was broken; it was sore as hell and he could feel dried blood itching like crazy on his upper lip. Probably not, though. He’d always been lucky that way. He’d get into some kinda deeply fucked-up mess and black out and then he’d wake up and find himself still alive on this shithole of a planet. A disappointing development, as his old AA sponsor had said to him once, when he called him in the middle of a particularly epic binge. Today he was lying facedown on concrete, not dirt or carpet. That meant he was in his mother’s basement.
There was an ache near his balls and he realized it was a Ping-Pong paddle. He must have tripped against the table and fallen the night before and lay where he fell. His lip, too, felt funny, swollen; he moved his tongue around his mouth. It tasted like blood and dirt and bad breath and throw-up. There was a bit of vomit stuck to his hair, though he couldn’t see how he’d had anything to vomit. He hadn’t eaten anything solid in days.
He lifted his head. It was killing him, of course. He set it down gently on the cool concrete. It felt nice, like a pillow. Maybe he’d stay there a while. He couldn’t remember what happened and who he’d fought with, but he had a feeling that it was well after noon and he’d royally screwed up again. No way Mr. Kim would take him back at the gas station now. That meant Jimmy would probably kick him out. He was behind on rent, though paying rent for somebody’s couch never had sat right with him, anyway. He was getting ripped off, anyway, right? So who cares?
The job at the gas station wasn’t too bad, though; the people coming and going kept his mind busy. When he was working his mom got on his case less about getting his GED or going back to AA. He’d tried to tell his mom he wasn’t going back there, but she didn’t understand and he couldn’t explain it. She kept asking him, “Why?”