Dear sisters and brothers,
Writing to you here represents for me not only a therapy for the soul, but also a joy to be able to share with you the difficulties of life that many of us have gone through.
After my marriage and moving to Syria with my family, I lived in Damascus – at the time, Damascus felt like one of Sheherezade’s stories.
When the civil war began I retired to a small town at the border with my two daughters.
One of the hardest moments of my life was when my boy – almost a man already – left his father to find me. On his way he was caught in an attack in which he died. The loss of my son was devastating me. I was ill for at least 9 months. I was immersed in silence and loneliness until I had a nervous breakdown and struggled with depression.
It is the first time in my life when I tell these things in such a manner…. even now it is hard for me – it feels as I’m reliving those moments. Losing a child is not something that you will get over, but it is something you will learn to live with.
Things got worse and worse. At some point, the city where I lived was bombed, which is why I ended up with three of my children, minors then, in a refugee camp – in tents as it is called.
The camp has been our home for two years… if you can call it home.
During the hot summers our concern was to guard against snakes and insects that you couldn`t stop from getting into tents. And during winters, we could only warm up with old blankets and the hugs of family members.
In this unimaginable life for me, our only help was a small package, a bag with 2 liters of oil, 2 kg of rice, 2 kg of sugar and a small tea box. It was very difficult to get anything else. We brought water from a mountain nearby. The rain was collected there, and so we could get some more water.
The tent in which we lived was represented by a single space (a room) that held the place of the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, everything. We were washing ourselves in the tent, using a bowl. We had an improvised toilet outside the tent, where you had to go out with the children at night, in the cold, in the rain, in the dark. The rain entered the tent and when the wind blew, I surrounded the tent with stones, fearing that it would be blown away.
However, Alhamdulillah, I was pleased that my children were healthy, then, by chance, I met sisters who helped me flee the camp and rent a tiny home for me and my little ones.
To be continued…
Kiran
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