Being Woman in Europe

As you know, we are in Europe. In the refugee camp, dreaming about moving to our own house kept our hopes alive. Because of my belief that our life will be organised after moving to our own house, I had a desire the life I wanted. Making myself targets, getting excited with the dream of an organised life.

However, the result wasn’t the one I dreamed of. Now we live in our own house. Having a kitchen stabbed my dreams. Like people on diet seeing a piece of delicious chocolate, my efforts of plans ended in that kitchen. I couldn’t get out of that kitchen. One long year without any concern of ‘what to cook’ lasted with terrible indecision...

This is the inner side of my life. Let’s have a look at the outer side. When you have your resident permit, you need to learn language. Even if you have finished 3 different university courses, you need to know language. If you don’t you can’t adaptate, and even worse, you are good for nothing... The best way to learn a language is to go to a language course. As matter of fact, I am a student too. I wake up at 6.30am every morning, leave the children to the kindergarten, and head to the subway station. I add another sleepless day to my days. Lives of women here are almost the same with mine, but we have different points of view.

I try to act the victim being lonely with the east culture in my DNA, feeding from the pain. But women here continue their lives with only their families. They are active in every part of life. Mastered at painting, shoveling snow, cleaning parks, knitting socks for their children, women here are active in every part of life.

These women know their responsibilities, hang their businesswomen role after work. Showing their children their good mother role and teaching them kindness, they helped me to adapt here.

No Lies, They Live Rightful

My neighbor is in her 70s. I saw her taking her mails from her mailbox at 5.30 in the morning. Waking up early is adapted in people’s lives in this country.

TVs in the houses, closed almost all time.

Making noise after 10.00 pm is forbidden.

Shopping centers are closed around 6pm.

You can’t any children after 5pm outside. Children generally sleep until 8pm.

You can see people starting from 6am, going to school or work.

Babies don’t cry often. You can’t see a parent getting mad at their children, also children turning mad their parents.

We were invited to a clown house when we first came here. Tens of clowns made shows and collected donations. After the show, one of the clowns wanted to distribute the bananas weren’t sold. But none of the kids in the clown house were willing to eat bananas. My children were extremely happy to have free bananas, although they are eating bananas every day. They filled their hands with bananas. My little son cried for another banana, holding one in his hand. My daughter wanted more bananas, trying to finish the one in her hand…

Children also have to obey the rules in this country. Waiting on the line for swing, or insisting to get something they shouldn’t, mothers never capitulate. Children organize the things they disorganized with their mothers and leave as they found.

One of the days we went to gym, one of the older kids bothered my daughter and pinched her arm. My daughter came to my crying, the kid’s mother also came to say sorry. She made his son apologize too.

These people makes great effort to repair a mistake. They don’t use round responds and live a rightful life. They wake up early and sleep early, using the outer external factors as tools not targets.

And, the most important part for me: They never highlight the religion. They never lie.

Child Car Seat, 135 cm

My daughter suffered from her tooth for a couple of days. I couldn’t take her to a doctor as she insisted to not to go. After her teacher said ‘’She had toothache today, you must take her to a doctor.’’ I decided to go. It’s better to call for an appointment but I can’t catch what people say on the phone. So I headed to the hospital the next day. They gave me an appointment for the same day. I went home happily after finished my other works.

My daughter was crying, couldn’t take herself from scaring of the dentist. My little son is noisy as always, tried to find something to make him busy. My older son started higgling, I want to get in too, I want to see what they will do! Everyone around was staring at us. We got into the dentist’s room in a mood of ‘mix salad’. With the assistant, we were 6 people in the room. My daughter cried loudly, started to say ‘’I don’t want to sit there!’’ I gave the tablet PC to the boys and focused on my daughter. Tried to convince her to sit there. After promising to never leave her hands, the operation to fill a tooth started and finished right in front my eyes. And our tooth problem was over.

On the way out, we higgled again for chips, chocolate, surprise eggs… I made my warnings as always when we got in the car, made them wear their seatbelts. We just got on the way, and a police car started to follow us. The officer may found us so cute, he started to send signals. I didn’t understand it first, but then I realized that those signals were for us. I pulled off and the officer made his first warning: Please stop when you see a police car behind you, lighting signals, you must pull off. I was a little scared, I got lather. I was trembling inside…

He asked for my driver licence first and children’s id cards. And the second warning came: Children are important for us, they must wear their seatbelts. The height is not 135 cm, you must two more child seats.

‘’Child car seat caused all these mess?’’ I said to myself. He was right. They don’t accept anything symbolic, they have standards. Standards are for applying in Europe. The officer takes care of the children and warns us for the child seats.

‘’I will only warn you for this time. If they take the seatbelt off, stop driving. Buy your child seats.’’ and he warned children to not to stand while talking to the officer.

We thanked and left, I couldn’t feel my knees later. I made a U turn and went to see Annica. She gave me a piece of paper and said ‘’There is a free second-hand bazaar between 18:00-19:00. You can find something there.’’

I didn’t understand anything. Why for free? Is it today?

I went to the place at the time and hugged the child seat waiting for me. All my troubles were gone that moment. My children took some of the free toys. . I felt like I shopped from the heaven.

The next day, there was a child seat in front of my door. Dear Annica, told about it to dear Kata, and my two dear friends gave child seats. Thanks to them, I had 4 child seats without paying any money.

I, kind of terrified because of the police officers in my country, awaiting to salute the police officers of this kind country.

Crazy Turks, Calm Europeans

The only thing I needed was someone to adopt me when I came this country. In Turkey, people look at Syrian emigrants like they don’t want them. I am talking about it.

I have a reverse situation. People smiled and said ‘don’t bother’ when I went to a library and my children went side to side, making noises. I don’t remember how many times I apologized, but the respond was always the same with a smile: no problem.

My dear flight attendant friend Kata, texted me that she doesn’t have flights in next two months and she wants to invite us for Wednesday. I, always the quickest and never learnt to take something easy, sent the answer with smiles: Ok, what time?

Kata, is the woman who held my hand in the refugee camp, I met while she was an intern in the same camp. And now, she is inviting us to her house. I was wondering about her house and where does she live on the way. I realized that we were visiting a family above the population standards.

Kata welcomed us with a big smile on her face. She called her three children, older than my children, to the sitting room to meet. Her smile on her face when I gave her the flowers I bought, recalled spring.

All toys in the house were in front of my children. Kata’s daughter took children to the game room and they played all together. My little children met with Katas’ little hamster. Then we all had dinner. At the dinner, I saw the thing what it had to be the same, but I never did. Creamy mushroom stuffed crepes was the meal, creamy crepes with strawberries was the desert. And tea… That’s all. After the meal, Kata played her piano and sang children songs with us.

After two magical hours we had, I asked for permission to leave. Kata’s children gave my children Easter gifts. I hugged her, and could say nothing but ‘thank you very much’ as there was a knot in my throat…

Kata, gave us the wolds that day.

Next week, Linda came for new-house visit with her two sons. It was her first time visiting our house. She was in front of the door at the time we discussed. Annica also came. Linda gave children toys, and gave me fresh bread and salt as symbols of plentifullness in their culture.

I cooked too many things for my visitors… Trying to express Turkish hospitality. But they took little pieces from all kinds of meals. They just tasted them. For two hours, children played. After that they left with best wishes.

We had Turkish people meeting program last weekend, between 14.00-17.00 clocks. Including me, we all arrived at the restaurant at about 15.00. I saw that, none of us could finish our plates. We couldn’t take ourselves from talking. At about 18.30 we decided to combine all tables together. We left the restaurant at about 20.00. While taking photographs, I recalled European hospitality.

I think we, the Turks, are successful with dancing the halay and other folkloric figures. We are crazy Turks.

Europeans are experts of tango and waltz, which are esthetically on the forefront.

We have so much to lean from Europeans, who solved the time waste problem.

Immigration Office

September 11th, 2017

It had been a month since we came to this country. After the first week, I started going out with my children. Market, park, bazaar etc. Our adaptation process was short. My little son make noise all the time… Except that, we are all good. I think we got used to it.

One of the interviews with the immigration office is done. An appointment with a nanny is already made, to take care of my children when I am away for the interview. So I headed to the office with a clear mind…

A free travel card in my pocket, for today, I was in the office right on time. They took me to the interview without waiting. There are an inspector and a translator in the room. The translator translates the conversations, while the inspector records them. The inspector is so relaxed, makes me feel relax. Being under care in a foreign country as a refugee makes me feel happy and dragged me into the deep thoughts about my country. It was like, there was a psychologist in front of meç

Two people in the same statue, we talked. He listened to my story with my documents. The he wanted me to ‘explain’. A sample of my columns on a newspaper, bank account document, health assurance documents… Everything put me in danger in my country. They just listened in this interview.

In the second interview, they asked questions, asked about the events.

In those times, chocolates were protested in my country. There were no one doesn’t like the chocolate wafers, but people stabbed those wafers and hanged.

During the interview, I talked about my people attacking on wafers. I felt that the inspector didn’t understand (like I did) and finished my words by saying ‘’Imagine people, attacking on wafers, attacking on us.’’ About shift ending time, the inspector summarized his notes and we both signed. This part of the process is done!

It’s time run to the subway, to my children. I feel like I need to hug them immediately…

Our new life just started. Next step, living in a Settled Refugee Camp.

The Key

January 17th, 2018

The door was knocked this morning. Sanna, one of the camp officials, came. I immediately wore my slippers. She was surprised. I thought she came to remind me my duty-cleaning turn. Didn’t let her talk, I directly headed to the staff room to take cleaning stuff and asked her to open its door.

‘’We are going to sign a contract.’’ said Sanna. I stopped. ‘’I’m so stupid!’’ I said. Well, I wanted to make an image of how my moves changed so deeply and how I made things so inner...

I don’t go out often. Barely. So I wouldn’t see the things other countries’ Muslims do. The things, never gets along with a Muslim. I never visit the camp office if I am not in a serious trouble; it was already full with the people goes there in every 3 minutes.

And in the process of moving a house, I was like a dead body in dead-washers hands.

As long as I was playing the dead one, my expectations got lower. I knew it would be much more quickly if I make it harder. But I never did, considering how much hard I got, I never made things harder.

And what happened today?

We made the last things to do with Sanna. The conrtact is signed, and they gave me the key. I wasn’t waiting for this. My eyes filled with tears…

Like discharged prisoners…

I have lived so many things in a year. All are memories now, passing in front of my eyes.

My refugee camp life, was ending.

I was scared. In a country, I don’t the language, I was scared of holding life with three little children.

I wasn’t looking scared, though.

Considering what I had in this long year, I feel like I reached to the presence from absence.

I tasted the secret of weakness, and realized how delicious it is.

I prayed God. I never wanted the key in my hands to be changed with the key of weakness.

In my lifetime, being Yousef was written for 11 months. I bended my neck down for the ones, whose being Yousef time is not ended yet…

The ones who had the key of weakness payed with their lives and went away quietly.

And I? Oh I…

May I survive? Despite of staying away from all people, without any friend, renting a house in a city I don’t know and leaving this worldly life… Could I stay alive?

I realized.

This path is too long. And there sure are deep waters…

They Have no Tombstones...

February 11th, 2017

They perform ablution minutes before their death. Their preparations are ready for the place they’ll go…

The ones in the world lose them. Their lives are like a bridge between the world and the heavens, lightning conductors.

They are lessons for tomorrow. They are buried quietly, slowly…

The earth, accepts them with an expression of ‘’I’m next…’’ And friends get deeper than ever, hearts accept it.

And we, those left behind; prayers on our mouths, patience in our hearts, deep looks in our eyes, half breathes in our lungs, pains in our lives…

They have won. Their lines are organized. Yet the lines in their funeral prayer are so little…

They have no tombstone. They have wooden tombstones.

Their precious fund is their faith, of course there are conclusions.

My father’s life is over, but his fight is not. Says the Saint of the sons... While some get rebellious, losing the most beloved, some keep being patient and never have break down.

The flag never falls, it flaps.

 

It flaps and gives hope for the end, the end of the slander.

Hopes inside, standing straight outside!

Superman Accumulator!

March 20th, 2018

Last Friday...

I feel sleepless, like every morning I do. It’s 06.20 am. Get up, prepare children, get prepared, leave the children to the kindergarten, catch the subway, run to the language course building. And the routine goes on. I run back to the subway as the lesson ends. I plan lots of things. On my way home in the subway, I sit in the car and list the places I’ll visit, mentally. Even the earphone cannot take me dreaming, travelling in my imagination. I always have problem with focusing on the moment I live. Always! My hurry also comes from the very long to-do list…

I went to my car and clicked on the key button. But the door didn’t open. I tried to get into the second-handed car I bought. I looked for a key image and BINGO! I found it!

I got in the car but I couldn’t ride it. I told all the beautiful words I knew ‘’Come on my beauty, you are also a veteran, don’t leave me, come on…’’

It didn’t help… My inner voice started to push the outer. It’s time to talk like madly. Everything goes to a side, the most important thing is to start the engine.

I don’t need to think much about who to call in such a situation. I texted to Teacher Annica.

The accumulator is over…

After two minutes I receive the answer:

I’m coming.

An angel in our life! Annica, keeps her mission ongoing all the time, comes with her car. Her superman husband follows her with a minibus. An amazing, impressive view… Annica the Angel’s husband, comes like Superman and charges the accumulator.

The car will charge for an hour. Annica offered me to go to the shopping center I wanted to go three weeks ago. Annica raised me up while my plans and to-do lists were all ruined. We went to the shopping center half an hour away and bought what I needed.

While we were shopping, my phone rang. I willingly answered ‘YES’ to the question asked to me on the phone ‘’Can you give lesson for 1.5 hours at a public school?’’

My battery was low; due to sleepless nights, ruined plans, and broken key. But I fulfilled my accumulator of hopes with Annica the Angel’s help, and the phone call right on the Jumuah.

Kindness Game

August 20th, 2017

I am the secret leader of the camp, and the queen of my room.

One of my sons gave me a nickname ‘’male mother’’…

And my secret mission is to spread kindness everywhere.

Small things to make people happy.

I start smiling before I leave my room. I never pass without saying ‘hello’. I spread the kindness of ‘hello’.

In semester holiday, I opened the game room every morning from 9 am to 12 pm for children in the camp. If there is no adult to be with them and no promise to keep the room clean, the game room never opens.

Women with children from Afghanistan, Syria, and Nigeria leave their children to me when they have works to do. Why? Because no one else would want to babysit other children.

I talk to my children. ‘’We are playing a game. We came here to learn a foreign language. Let’s see who will learn this country’s language first?’’ I say and they start to list the words they know…

The one who learns the language first, will visit grandma’ and papa.

They have missions too. Being kinder every day. I care about their kindness even if they are being used. They come up with different stories every day, trying to convince me they helped people…

Mommy, a woman asked me hold her baby, I helped her.

Mommy, Abbas was crying, so I gave him my toy to play.

They are beaten hundreds of times while trying to make some friends in common areas. They were coming home crying and hurt every day.

‘’Even they don’t understand you, talk to them, explain them that you are hurt.’’ I say. After about three months, cries decreased.

I follow whatever makes life liveable.

However, even my breath leaves me halfway. Writing these, I remember little Betül Seda, went hundreds of miles to see her father but died on the way.

And the words her mother said to her father;

She ran to the prison building as we arrived. I couldn’t hold her…

Words to describe this pain deserted the colors.

I don’t have the definition of this pain.

I start praying with Betül Seda…

My Tears Became My Profits!

August 17th, 2017

I want to cry, wound my feelings again and again and scream.

My children are sleeping. I hold myself very tight.

I no more have dark hair, all are grey. There five eye bags on my eyes.

Nights are coal black in here. May be because everyone has their own sorrow, it doesn’t work to feed some hope. Somewhere, somehow, my tears flood.

I always hide my eyes from people, especially from my children, I hide my tears…

But I can’t hide from myself.

I no longer have strength. I hear bad news every day.

Tyrannies banish Nuriye and Semih. Those two determined heroes are going to lose their minds. Number of imprisoned babies increases every day. People cannot have their medication. People die because of torture. People are kidnapped, no one knows what happened. These are the ones we hear, we know. What about the others we haven’t heard of yet? I can’t imagine…

Oh nightingale, I say. Mourning is not your right, be quiet, it’s my right.

Ahmet Kaya, I listen. How would you know that I am burning?

Nights never end… I fail with troubles. I end up failing every day.

Just like today.

And a sentence appears in my mouth.

The Creator of all, holds responsible for all opened wounds.

I recall the wounds I opened.

I pray.

Ahmet Kaya - Nereden Bileceksiniz (How Will You Know?)

Turkish Airlines, A Memory of A Logo

March 27th, 2018

Today’s language course is over. I headed to the subway by half-running as always. No delay, I wait for the subway in the cold weather for two minutes more. I step right and left to not to freeze. Cold wind slaps to my face like little knives. A plane, with Turkish Airlines logo, flew through the sky. I had a time travel when I saw the logo. The plane disappeared, and left a grey cloud of thoughts.

It reminded me that I was far from my home country for more than a year, and for so much long I will be. The stell stiches I’ve made to stand straight and be far from all troubles, broke into small pieces. To be the hero mother of my little children, I didn’t cry for a year. I promised my heart to stand straight. But this view, meant ‘game over’ for me... Recalling the song ‘’Birds may fly above us, one of their feathers may fly in front of us...’’ the plane took me here flew above. I was alone with my heart. It was time to cry...

 

The thoughts the plane left me, rained in my mind drop by drop.

Who is in that plane? Women? Yes, of course women... Women continue the life stories. And the stories contiune women lives.

Even if the life fights with them, they are targetted to win what they deserved.

My deserve is to live the hejira I have been longing for. I try to exchange sorrow with happiness by playing with my children. They are asking their father, grandmother, and Turkey... Not all the women are lucky. Some collect food from trashes, some try to earn money in all impossibilities, some look for ways for their children’s cure... Women, on the ways of prisons, to visit their husbands, despite of 10-hours of tiredness, they go to kitchen, and cook. Seeing their husbands, causes them to lose their energy, leaving their one side with their husbands...

And also, women, lost their life-long friends. Burrying their pain with their husbands, and turning into a bunch of mercy for their children. Angels, turning around and sharing kindness.

If you are a woman, you have the work. In war, you think about the hungry ones and feed them. In silence, you organize people and break that silence by clapping your hands cheerfully, singing songs happily. Even in the hardest situations, you take the biggest risks to keep alive. Because life keeps living with WOMEN.

Mirrors

February 25th, 2018

I had one last thing to do before I leave the camp. A little money I had to take. Jutta, one of camp officials, texted me ‘’Could you come for the money you’ll take?’’. The day had come and I headed to the camp with my feet, eager to go to opposite way, but I did.

I felt like I was being squeezed; thinking about the day I first came here and the days I lived here. I arrived the building. Looking around made me more squeezed. My heart stuck inside the storm of memories. I stepped inside slowly. My Arabic neighbour was moping the floor. It is her turn then… I remember the times I moped the same floor. Another squeeze… How hard could moping be? It was too hard for me. Thanks God, my camp life ended.

It wouldn’t be nice if I’d go without saying goodbye to everyone. People in there are sharing the same fate with me. Not because of the same reason but of the similar reasons, had to leave our home countries and trying to continue our lives in these refugee camps. Afghan, Arabic, Syrian and many other nationalities. I saluted them all one by one. Seeing happiness in their eyes made me happy. We spent a whole year together. The taste of all memories is great. I went through the way near the washing machine. Women are arguing for the laundry line again. Every time, the same view like they’re going to lose the machine after one wash.

I just continued walking. I came to Jutta’s room. After 10 minutes my work was done. I left the camp one last time. With the wind’s help from my back, I walked away quickly. Freedom, became a very deep breath taking me to the future.

What is in the future?

Future is a very mysterious period of time for humankind. Like Tolstoy said, tomorrow wasn’t given to the human. Only could make some predictions with the thoughts. Those predictions sometimes give hope; sometimes collects together the clouds of anxieties. So, what was my predictions when I left the refugee camp?

I think it was just a face-off! Facing- off with myself. And of course it is going to be with the material humankind had been using for centuries: Mirror.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who am I among all?

Mirrors never lie. That may be the reason, the reason for I have been looking at the mirrors since I left the camp. Every time I looked at the mirror, there was only me. The mirror explains me to myself. Sometimes I look at the mirror so long that my children noticed. They come and make funny faces on the mirror. That means I can’t ask help from them for now. Once the saints said, ‘’The hardest thing for a person is to facing-off with himself.’’

Mirrors show me to myself, explain me to myself. I was getting to understand the truth and it looks terrifying…

Looking at the mirrors, I thought many things. It really is the hardest to face-off. Words split from my mouth with no permission…

Life stories, ending between the cogwheels of the despot regime. Lives exposed, lives fallen in the gutters.

I can’t see my front. People are so silent.

We hear genocide from everywhere. The tyranny we wait for its end, remains by increasing. Swallows whatever gets on its way…

We are trying to do what we have to do by walking inch long, with piles of materials, little bit and without any plan.

I know the enemy laughs at me. But I know we will proceed. With a group of volunteers, we are in an endeavour.

There is a slander, far away but there sure is. We cannot appear intoxicated with our own freedom.

Reading the stories, and deciding not to follow anymore. Lives… Lives in so much pain that no one can stand reading… In prisons, out prisons, struggling and trying to survive with their families. Giving their lives away, others burn with more pain by making no concessions to anyone.

We, the ones who tastes freedom, the lucky ones! The mirrors scream this truth to my face and my soul is racked with pain. The pain says I have to climb to top of a mountain and shout out the truth.

Master Necip Fazıl once said;

Don’t wait for me, I can’t come
Mirrors cut my way.

Crying, not because I was lucky, but because I had a lucky piece from life.

And more, and more sentences. I realized that I was already facing-off with myself. It was really hard… The future will come somehow. Now I have to decide who I am.

EID...

August 31th, 2017

Muslims of Arakan, Rohingyas, give their children earth to suppress their hunger and they could only eat plants.

A year old baby, looks everywhere for his mother crying ‘mommy, mommy…’

An old mother looked for his son kidnapped by secret hands 78 days ago, asked the officials and had no respond; even a voice to help her.

Mothers went 10-20-25 hours away with their children changing 3-5 vehicles to see their husbands only for half an hour.

I received messages, more like cries, saying ‘’Sister, I was eight-month pregnant, my husband is reported by his own uncle…’’

Everyone waited for the Eid, for the happiness, for the sharing. But there are young people say ‘’I wish the Eid wasn’t coming; it’s the hardest to have Eid without family.’’

And more, and more…

I can’t say ‘Eid Mubarak’ to anyone… Eid means festival, Eid means happiness, Eid means family all together.

Words cannot translate your pain. Our sentences expired already…

But know this!

The Eid didn’t visit you, didn’t visit us too.

My Child is Sick...

Weather is cold. First days of autumn…

My son is sick. He coughs and has a runny nose. I believe that he’ll get over after a couple days. Air is so clean that microbes don’t stay in your body for long. Those come to stay go quickly.

An ordinary situation for mother of three. We took our medicines with us.

What happens to you when you got sick in this country? In weekdays, there is a nurse for you can visit at limited hours (two hours in the morning). A nurse means a doctor! You go to a hospital only in very serious conditions. We don’t go to the nurse much. She will give some pills, that’s all. Since we came here with our medicines, we use them. So there’s no wasted pills. I finish my own problem with my own solutions.

Yet there are problems we cannot solve…

You cannot make a solution when your little child says with his eyes light has gone ‘I miss daddy…’ Your emotions are locked, and you’re supposed to deal with the emotions of your little innocent child. But you can’t…

If your child cannot sleep at night because of coughs, turns right and left, sleepless and in pain, you cannot end his crying and cry with him from the inside.

Even more, if you cannot drink the most delicious drink, tea, you love as you are too tired, it means you cannot push yourself anymore as you barely can come to yourself.

So it’s the time.

Time to refresh, not to push.

Time to face-off, time to question my own life for me…

The Fate of The Road

August 26th, 2017

With the amazing interpret of Mrs. Gökmen, I listen to this amazing masterpiece. If my brother Faruk was here he would love a lemon soda while I prefer tea.

  It had been a week since I started to write.

   Some said that I should carry my family.

   Some referred to the files of divorce lawsuits and     told to never return.

   Some told about their mothers’ funerals they had     no chance to go; some told about the                 impossibility of running away. 

  Some said there was nothing to be afraid and     recommended to leave and live in camps. Some     were worried and kept saying ‘Sister, don’t stay     there, come to our house.’ and asking if we need     anything. Some asked for visits too.

 Oh my dear sisters, brothers, and friends, may fate spread water on the way you will walk. May your fortune be always good.

People see the life with the perspective where they stand. This causes to misjudge and misunderstand the events. I am worrying about my sins and keep myself on my repents. The tyranny is on the stage of history, roleplaying. Taking his throne above, on the victims’ shoulders. We are ones of those victims, never forget and always remember: the example family of surrendering. When Hajar (ra) asked Abraham (ra) ‘’To whom do you leave us?’’ Abraham (ra)’s voice was like a roar in the desert: ALLAH!

Hajar (ra) was relaxed, the creator of everything wouldn’t waste His creatures. She was heralded with Zam-zam water in the middle of the desert.

We are having our shares from fate. We all struggle in the claws of disaster, in different ways.

Although, we are all breaking the statues blocking us and building houses for our soul.

With(out) Identity

January 11th, 2018

We are stepping into a beautiful life with our new id cards today. We are from here, from now on. We have resident permit for 4 years.

I wanted to send a photograph of them to my mother as soon as I held it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t share my happiness with my dearest mother. Because, she doesn’t know anything about all these. I couldn’t tell her that… When I was a child, we used to play Polyanna game. Now we’re playing ‘Life is Beautiful’. I sweat to make an image of ‘everything is fine’ for my mother all the time. As a matter of fact, I can’t share my happiness with my family. I stared at the cards with a half happiness. At the same time, surprisingly, an old friend texted me: ‘How are you? How are your children?’. I turned my eyes to the sky and thanked silently for the friend to share my happiness.

I called my friend I couldn’t answer on the way home. She’s in Pakistan. She told me how her husband left the country in a hurry, her two children’s passports usurped by the ambassadors, their expired visas, her household items on sale, the things she sells/tries to sell… She said she would go to any country to accept them. Yet, she can’t go anywhere.

God gave me and my children id cards. My friend talks about how she lost theirs. I was already too tired of daily routine, I collapsed where I was standing.

The news that we had our resident permit spread in the camp with a great speed. Afghani Hala (big sister) Sheyma, waiting for the deportation, came for a visit and greeted me. I cried sobbingly as in front of her negativity, I had a positivity. I felt the same when I talked to my friend in Pakistan. While we are having new identities, they lost theirs.

I could do nothing.

While I was about to drown in the whirlpool of sob, I walked in the prayer hills.

I cry again and again. How we came to this situation? Shattered, scattered, desperate, helpless, and sometimes even hopeless.

The hope of reuniting someday is still standing upright in a corner of my heart.

But the eyes cry anyways…

And heart follows them and stands half…

French Fries

March 20th, 2018

Our first days in the refugee camp… Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were entertaining times for my children but true nightmares for me...

You only have 90 minutes for eating in the camp. People from around the world are getting in the line for meal. None of them is similar with the other. All of them are full of energy, including my children…

Sometimes cartoons are showed on TV at meal times. Although, children keep running from a side to another. They are having lots of fun but it makes me exhausted as someone may get bothered of my children.

They don’t eat, they just play. Sometimes they want to eat but I don’t want to let as I don’t know if the meal is halal or not. Sometimes the meal is something they love, that time they want it over and over. Sometimes I get tired of my son’s loud voice saying ‘’I want French fries! I want pasta!’’

If someone not from the camp invites us for a dinner and asks what children would like, I directly say ‘French fries’. Nur gave an interview to Yeni Asya online newspaper and told what she saw and lived in the prison in Turkey. Children in prison with their mothers want French fries, mothers could do nothing and just keep being patient. Also children, growing up under the looks of other prisoners saying ‘shut up’.

In cells, 40 people live. Even though they are for 25 people. 38^th, 39^th, and 40^th individuals are children. Crying at night, noisy in day, children try to grow up; mothers try to stand still.

On the other hand, mothers hankering their children. Some could take one of the children and left the other, some couldn’t do neither. Some are about to lose their sanity. There are only two things they can get calm with: tranquilizers and prayers.

Bounds of Ansar&Emigrants

August 28th, 2017

Unknown heroes…

Our first days… Time to meet with new uncles and aunts for children. They memorize the faces of who cares the most. Uncle Metin invites us first, his family opened their house and heart to us for two days. They insisted us to stay more, but we had to return to our camp life. Information from the neighborhood is taken in mind.

I am like a fish out of water! I can’t understand what happened. It had been a week since we came. Children’s coats are not suitable for the weather. Camp official took me to the second-hand store in the basement. You can take whatever you want from here. I left children to Mr. Ahmet for 10 minutes and went to the dusty basement. I took my phone with me. The rooms in the basement are like one within the other. The last room is for kids.

It looks like impossible to organize. Whoever visits, just comes and disorganizes. New second-hand goods are always being added. I put my phone one of the shelves and looked for thick coats. I found one for my older son and one another for my little. A Serbian origin Muslim woman in the room suddenly left in a hurry. I checked my phone with a reflex, but it wasn’t there. We were three people in the room. Now we are two. I asked for my phone to the Syrian woman. The answer is no. I checked the room, hoping it fell somewhere. It was too late when I asked Mr. Ahmet to call my phone. The phone was shut down!

Explaining the situation to the receptionists, I saw the couple took my phone walking outside. We don’t have search warrant so we cannot do anything as the receptionist said. It was weekend, we had to go to a police station on weekdays. As we express our astonishment, the receptionist repeated ‘I am here for three years, I have seen such things. Not surprised at all…’

I cried… The only communication device I could use in this foreigner country was my cell phone. Moreover, the thief was a Muslim… I cried and cried and cried… Uncle Orhan came for visit with his family the next day. They stand ready for every kind of problem. The problem is not the only mine, it’s all of ours problem! They brought me a phone, with a sim card, they don’t use at home. This time, I smile. I smile and smile and smile. Not because of the new phone, because of the bound of brotherhood/sisterhood.

In here, every emigrant after a month becomes an ansar. In the world of problems, they are eager for being the solution. Everyone invites others to their houses. Uncle Mehmet and Aunt Halide are always there for us. Whatever children want, they do with pleasure…

My older son’s birthday… Uncle Kenan organized a small birthday party. Aunt Fadime made a birthday cake and brought to the camp to celebrate. Uncle Ömer gives money to children every time he visits. Uncle Halil says it’ll be our sin if we won’t call them for any kind of issue.

Children are happy. Very happy. Our new relatives are these people. Visits and guests never end…

Naturally, we feel the blessing on ourselves.

However, we all have a giant deep scar in our hearts. Even our breaths are half. Our brothers, sisters, friends, and families we left. We had to be left…

Every meeting ends with praying. Emigrants and ansars never forget the victims, never let to be forgotten.

That’s it…

Bittersweet Story of 3x3=9 Children...

November 23rd, 2017

I lost myself in the Aegean Sea. My body scattered, none of the pieces of mine comes ashore...

In this worldly life, evil is common, stormy bad news are like breezes... Rana hears that her husband will be imprisoned after the court. She cannot stand it and hospitalized. Taken to intensive care, sent home with a hearse. Her three children are orphans...

While three children become orphans, other three walk to eternity in the sea.

Maden family’s right to life is taken away. The police raided their house again and again. So family goes on a hazardous journey. What happens next, you know. Our humanity washes ashore…

At about the same time, camp authorities brings me an envelope. Inside, a paper indicates that we can have resident permit. And three other children gains right to live in Europe.

I am like a bride, getting married after the day her father died.

How to afflict your stomach by eating hot and sour together? This good news flow through my cells like a cancerous stomach’s pain. My thoughts go back. The cost of not to obey to the tyranny means good news to someone while means lives other. Thinking these, I fly far far away…

After that moment, pain never offers me a meal, hope never salutes…

It’s not loneliness, it’s the desolate. Like Rabiyat-ul Adeviyye, may God be pleased, I want my knees to touch my prayers’. I look for brightness from prayer’s knees.

Oh God…

Once, Hussein martyrized in Karbala.

Our Hussein gave his life in cold waters.

Pained weak people of us, praying on our knees,

Waiting for a piece of light from you…

I died!

January 28th, 2018

Our journey into the unknown started when we came to this country.

Three noisy children and four suitcases around me.

Meanwhile in my country, giant waves swallowing people and we were also in the line.

This foreign country is the peaceful seashore we had to take shelter. From the colossal storm of greed, from the giant waves of anger, from the calamity and the slander, we ran away like those who were lucky.

Death…

As Rumi says, ‘salvation from the homesickness’…

People died in this way…

Bunch of secrets; some are awarded by salvation from the homesickness while some are awarding by a new homesickness.

First week of a new life…

We waited in the cold weather of Europe while moving to our house from the refugee camp. My children got sick first. Fever, caught, runny nose, vomiting, and headache. All guests of our new house. My rush to dispose the house ends when I catch a terrible cold.

Tiredness may also have affect, I couldn’t get up. Even putting patato slices on my forehead and temporal sides, the old-fashioned way, didn’t work. Antibiotics are not common here, doctors here don’t suggest it as doctor’s in Turkey do. However, we all started to take antibiotics.

My caughts didn’t let me sleep, my headache didn’t let me get up. It’s hard to drink water as my throat was irritated. I was like ripped to shreds.

Children were having nightmares and I was the only one to calm them down.

Then, it was my turn to have nightmare.

I died in a nightmare, and I died with it!..

While I was thinking that I was safe with my children, I shared the same destiny with those who may be safer than ever with death. I was thinking about my lovely three little children... I was gone... Who is going to take care of them?

My hands weren’t able to catch, standing still.

My mind wasn’t able to stop, questioning everything.

Loneliness invites to death, death invites to nothingness...

Lavatories&WC

August 21th, 2017

Whenever I go to the toilet, I want to scream for help. Not the culture of common cleaning, but the culture of common dirting...

The soap dispenser is broken. Everyone carries their own soap. I always forget and return in the half-way to bring it. It’s my turn for cleaning there today. The hardest part for me is cleaning the WC for men. I got used to it later. Don’t get used to if you can... But whenever I enter, I move a step forward and three steps backward. After 10 minutes I was with the cleaning, there were glasses of green tea in the sink. I have got problem with those green teas. I have a problem with the children having bath and the dishes cleaning in those sinks. There are bathrooms near the kitchen! Are they too lazy to go there? However, most probably the drain pipes of bathrooms are clogged... We need three more dots here!

I am a cleaning addict. I go to the toilets before I take children, make a quick clean, and then I take the children one by one. Then we straightly go back to our room.

In Ramadan, every sehri (meal before fasting early in the morning) people get into a long line to rinse their mouth. While they were waiting, they were chit-chatting and making the line unbearable! Once an Afghan came and said ‘assembly, assembly’ cheerfully, looking at the line. However, I was on the verge of vomiting every night…

Assembly for someone, unpleasant memories for others…

I'm Orphan...

September 18th, 2017

Russia, Albania, Afghanistan, Iraq, Macedonia, Serbia… In this temporary refugee camp, people from different countries came together. Except those came from Russia, all of them came through Turkey. I wonder what happened to our law of visa and immigration… Turned into a law of stopping by?

Everyone knows a couple of Turkish words.

Syrians really love our president. Some talk about a bag of coal, some talk about a box of food. They also talk about how they left Turkey with a boat, hungry for 5 days. I don’t know why but they pray God for mercy for him.

They always ask and talk about a special topic: Turkish TV dramas, actors, actresses, and singers. I barely and recently understand how Polat Alemdaroğlu and İbrahim Tatlıses helped our country’s introduction.

An Iraqi young sings the same song whenever he sees me as a salute. The Emperor İbrahim Tatlıses’s touching song…

I’m fatherless, I’m fatherless, I’m fatherless vaay.

I’m motherless, I’m motherless, I’m fatherless vaay.

If you are riding the horse of sorrow,

Go slowly go slowly I’m fatherless vaay.

Don’t cry don’t cry, come don’t cry.

Days will pass days will pass and this will end,

Open your eyes open your eyes vaay…

Here is the original song.

…and I talk about Tuğba in my first refugee office interview. Tuğba, we forgot as our pain gets layered day by day… My dear friend lost her mind because of the torture she had faced in prison and the apprehension of her children. If they have taken me, my situation would be the same with her. I imagine with fear and say ‘my children would be orphans’ and my friend’s situation gives me the real image…

I walk through the night with orphan children’s cries…