Fear and Faith

Dear reader,
Today I shall continue to tell you a little story from the everyday life of refugee women (more like prisoners) in the camps in Syria. This story is not mine, it belongs to one of the Sisters I met in the camp. This is her story and these are her words:
„It was morning. Nothing predicted anything unusual, no one could predict that trouble and misfortune was about to happen. The women and children were going about their usual daily routines in the camp. Some sisters were bringing water supplies, while others were watching over the children playing around and were enjoying the chilly, fresh morning air. As I have already mentioned and many of you, my dear readers, might know, the climate in Syria means very hot weather during the day and equally cold weather during the night. That morning, my teenage daughter, had left for her Arabic lesson and was planning on showing her teacher one of the Surah she had learnt. As time passed, I began to realize my daughter was running unusually late. My heart started pounding and my motherly instincts were starting to tell me something was not right. After some time, I received news (usually, these kind of news, the bad kind, spread rapidly throughout the camp) that the place where my daughter was had been surrounded by soldiers. I rushed to that part of the camp to see what was going on: a place where the saddest and the most tragic event of my whole stay in the camp was about to take place. The area was in the opposite side of the camp from where my tent was at that time. While I was running towards that place, I saw that a significant number of women were surrounded by soldiers, while others stood aside. I tried to find my daughter, and I gazed and gazed above the crowd looking for her. I asked everyone I met if they had seen her, but no one knew where she was. It was as if she had vanished. I could not comprehend what could have possibly happened to her. I could not understand why the women were surrounded by soldiers and I could not find out where was my teenage daughter. When I finally received an answer to all my questions from some of the other Sisters, I began to see what had happened. It seems that the women from one of the tents not far from where the Quran lessons for girls were taking place had decided to gather together and counsel each other on various daily subjects, to drink tea, keep each other company and bring each other some joy and light during those otherwise gloomy and dark days. I later found out that someone heard about this sisterly reunion and informed the soldiers, blatantly lying that the Sisters had gathered with a different, more insidious purpose.
The soldiers held the women at gunpoint, and the Sisters were all confused, could not understand what they had done wrong and were trying their best to get out of this situation unharmed. By the time I arrived, a part of the women had been already taken to the prison, while others remained enclosed in a tight circle, surrounded by armed soldiers and could not go anywhere. Fear and concern were starting to grow amongst them. Some other Sisters tried to help the women and were bargaining with the soldiers, but they were unrelentless and refused to reason. Everyone was trying to explain that the Sisters had done nothing wrong but, alas, to no avail. All this time, I could not find out were my daughter was. But I did my best to help out the other Sisters that were in trouble. Just as my stress level was reaching a peak and panic began to take over me, another Sister approached me, and she began comforting me by telling me that my daughter, through the will of Allah Almighty had managed to escape the soldiers and ran home. The fear I had for my daughter subsided, but the fear for my other Sisters in Faith had not. I stayed on for some time, trying to help, but with no result. Because of the stress and of the panic my fragile heart started to ache and I had to slowly try and return to my tent. I asked Allah to forgive me for my failed attempt to help my other Sisters in Faith, I said the Dua prayer, as I walked straight through the empty market place in the camp. I stopped in front of another tent, realizing I was having a minor heart attack, I turned around and I froze. Just a few meters in front of me a woman holding a small child stood still. A bit further was an old lady, and this strange „row” was ended by another Sister. At first, I did not understood who was in front of them, but after a few seconds I realized it was an armed soldier. He stood there yelling something and pointing his automated riffle at the women. After a minute or so, he stopped yelling and opened fire. As I turned around, I saw that the Sister holding the small child in her arms collapsed to the ground and started moving uncontrollably: the bullet went straight to her heart. The child started to cry, as other Sisters began to run towards that place to take him away from his dying mother. Next, the old lady fell to the ground: the Sisters rushed to her as well. I look at the third Sister, as she collapsed to the ground. As I run towards her, I realize I know her: she often came to the market looking to buy sweets for her children. I grab her by the hand, even though she is heavier than me by roughly 15 kgs, and I start to pull her to relative safety, towards the corner of the nearest tent. Just as we reach the corner of the tent, behind her I hear the sound of the bullets from the automated riffle, and I understand that those bullets where meant for her… for us. Allah helped me to save her life, Allah took mercy on this Sister with 3 children, the smallest of which being only 2 months old at the time. The panic had set in, the other Sisters that at first tried to help began to run away, and all that I could do was to cover the wounded sister with my own body. After a few more minutes, probably the longest and most horrible minutes in my entire life, the shooting stopped. The other Sisters came to their senses again and began to run towards us to try and help. There were five of us gathered around the wounded Sister, and someone found a blanket. We gently placed her on the blanket and began carrying her to the hospital. Other Sisters started to come running to help us carry her further on.
But this story is a long and painful one so, to spare my own weak heart, I shall tell it in two parts. The first part I choose to end here, as I need some time to settle my own emotions and recover from this painful memory.
As my final thoughts for now, I just want to tell you, dear reader, that during those awful times it was only Allah that protected us, through the power of our Sisterhood, as I felt the help and support of all my Sisters in Faith in the camp.