bags two months ago were made. My lone, large suitcase was in my bedroom for nearly six weeks, so full Clothing and personal items to close the zipper needed the help of E. and our neighbor for six years.
Make that suitcase was one of the hardest things I had to do. It was "Mission Impossible" Your mission, R., should accept that it consider carefully the things you've accumulated over nearly three decades and decide which ones you can not do without. The difficulty of your mission, R., is that you have to put these things in a space that measures 1mx0, 7mx0, 4m. This, of course, includes the clothes you put in the coming months, plus all your personal belongings - pictures, diaries, stuffed animals, CDs and stuff similar. I did and got rid
the case four times. Each time the melted, swore he would delete some of the things that were absolutely necessary. Every time I did it again, adding more "gossip" than before. In the end, E. came a month and a half later and insisted zip up the bag so I tried to update its contents constantly.
The decision that we each take one suitcase took my father. He glanced at the various memory box we were starting to prepare and it was the end: it bought four identical suitcases, one for each family member, and a fifth smaller was rescued from a closet to need all the documentation: certificates, personal identification documents, etc.
hope ... and hope ... and waited. It was decided that we would leave mid to late June - the exams have ended and as we were planning to go with my aunt and her two children, that was the date we thought best for everyone. The day had finally fixed as the day, we awoke to an explosion less than 2 km and a curfew. The trip was postponed a week. The night before the day on which planned the trip, the driver who owned the GMC that would take us to the border, he apologized trip. His brother had been killed in a shootout. Again, it was postponed again.
At one point during the last days of June in which I simply sat on my suitcase shut and cried. In early July, was convinced that we never would go. I was sure the Iraqi border was as far from me as the borders of Alaska. Had cost us well over two months to decide go by car instead of by plane. We had taken another month to decide for Syria rather than Jordan. How we were going to take to reschedule the game?
happened almost overnight in the morning. My aunt called us with the exciting news that one of his neighbors would leave for Syria in 48 hours because their son was being threatened and they wanted another family hiciese the road with them in another car, like gazelles in the jungle is safer to travel in groups. It was a hubbub of activity for two days. We check to make sure that everything we might possibly need was prepared and packaged. We got a distant cousin of my mother who was staying in our home with his family, came the night before our departure (we can not leave the house empty because someone can take).
was a tearful farewell as we left the house. One of my other aunt and uncle came to say goodbye the morning of trip. It was a solemn morning and I had been preparing the last two days not to mourn. You're not going to mourn, I said, because you will return. You will not mourn because it is only a short trip as you used to do to Mosul or Basrah before the war. Although I assured myself that the return would be safe and happy, I spent several hours before the game with a big lump in my throat. I burned my eyes and nose dripping, to my regret. I told myself it was allergies.
The night before having to leave not sleep because it seemed we had so many little things to do ... It helped that there was no electricity supply - generator was not working neighborhood and "national power" was hopeless. There was simply no time to sleep.
last hours in the house were like a blur. It was time to go and went from room to room saying goodbye to everything. I said goodbye to my desk - which had been used in high school and college. I said goodbye to the curtains, and bed and sofa. I said goodbye to the armchair E. and I broke when we were younger. I said goodbye to the silly board games for those who inevitably discussed - the Arabic Monopoly in which letters and money was missing and nobody had the courage to shoot.
I knew then and know now that that they were just objects, people are much more important. However, a house is like a museum where they have some history. View a trophy or a stuffed animal, and opens before your eyes a chapter of memories. Suddenly it struck me that would leave a lot less than I thought.
finally gave six in the morning. The GMC waited outside while we gathered the things of first necessity: a thermos of hot tea, biscuits, juice, olives (olives "?!) That my father insisted that llevásemos with us in the car, etc. My aunt and uncle watched us afflicted. No other word to describe it. It was the same look I had in eyes when I watched other relatives and friends prepare to leave. A feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, tinged with anger. Why did the good people go?
I cried as we were leaving, despite promises to do so. The aunt cried ... the uncle cried. My parents tried to be stoic but there were tears in their voices when they said goodbye. The worst thing is saying goodbye and wondering if you'll ever see these people. My uncle I adjusted the shawl that I had put on the hair and advised me firmly "Leave it on until you reach the border." The aunt rushed out behind us as the car left the garage and dumped a bowl of water on earth, which is a tradition to wish the travelers a safe return ... over time.
The trip was long and smooth, apart from two controls by masked men. Asked to see identification, took a look at the passports and asked us where we were going. So did the car behind us. These controls are terrifying but I've learned that the best technique is to avoid eye contact, answer questions politely and pray quietly. My mother and I had been careful not to wear any apparent jewelry, just in case, and the two went with long skirt and headscarf.
Syria is the only country apart from Jordan, which was allowing people to enter without a visa. The Jordanians are being horrible with refugees. Families risk being turned back at the Jordanian border and denied entry at Amman Airport. It's a risk too high for most families.
waited for hours despite the driver that we had had "contacts", which meant he had been in Syria and returned many times he knew all the right people to bribe for a safe passage across the border. The tears had stopped about an hour after you leave Baghdad. Just seeing the dirty streets, the ruins of buildings and houses, the smoke-filled horizon, helped me realize how lucky I was to have the opportunity to something more secure.
As soon as we were outside of Baghdad, the heart stopped hurting as he did while we were leaving. The cars that were next to ours at the border were making me nervous. He hated being in the midst of so many possibly explosive vehicles. Part of me wanted to study the faces of the people around me, mostly families, and another part of me that has been trained to stay out of trouble during the last four years, told me to keep the light on myself, had almost finished.
Finally our turn came. She sat rigid in the car and waited while the money changed hands, our passports were examined and finally sealed. We did pass and the driver smiled with satisfaction. "It was an easy trip, Alhamdulillah," he said cheerfully.
As we crossed the border and saw the latest Iraqi flags, the tears began again. The car was silent except for the chattering of the driver who was telling us stories of adventures she had while crossing the border. I looked furtively at my mother sitting beside me and she tears surfaced. Simply not had nothing to say as we left Iraq. I wanted to weep but I did not look like a baby. I did not want the driver thought was ungrateful for the opportunity to leave what had become a hell for four and a half years.
The Syrian border was equally crowded, but the atmosphere was more relaxed. People came out of their cars and stretching. Some recognized and greeted others or shared sad stories or comments through the car windows. Most importantly, everyone was equal. Sunnis and Shiites, Arabs and Kurds ... everyone was equal before the Syrian border personnel.
All were refugees - rich or poor. And they all look like refugees - is a unique expression you'll find on their faces - relief mixed with sorrow, tinged with fear. Almost all the faces look the same.
The first minutes after passing the border were overwhelming. Overwhelming relief and overwhelming sadness ... How can it be that only a stretch of several kilometers and maybe twenty minutes, so firmly separating life and death?
How is it that a border no one can see or touch is erected between car bombs, militias, death squads y. .. peace, security? It's hard to believe, even now. I sit here and write this and I wonder why I can not hear the explosions.
I wonder how the windows do not rattle as the planes pass overhead. I'm trying to get rid of having the expectation that armed people in black will break into the door and into our lives. Try my eyes grow accustomed to streets free of gatekeepers, Hummer military vehicles and portraits of Muqtada and the rest ...
How does all this disappears with a short drive?
- posted by river @ 12:06 AM
