As Free As Being Alive - Part 1

We stayed in a refugee camp for about a year. Now we moved to our own house and my children think that we moved to our house because they have been behaving well. The children who misbehave and never share their toys and be rude to other will stay in the camp longer.

 The age of suffering is closing. The exam of inability leaves its place to benedictions.

I talk with the camp officials since the day I had the key, Wednesday, I say that I want to leave as soon as possible to every official in every shift change. Some Turkish people I know from here helped about the furniture already. I call them when I have the key and my second hand furniture comes…

Until the electricity comes I finish the cleaning. The only thing left to do is to move our things in camp to house.

Even I told them hundreds of times and two days past, directress says I am being too impatient and hurry for moving. These people, being very patient to every single person who knocks their door, cannot understand impatience.

They say they will discuss this in the meeting at 14.00. The meeting takes half an hour and finishes, yet, there is no any process. The only thing I want is a time that I can move. I will try to be ready on that time. Even if they would say it is not possible today, I would appreciate that. I feel something ‘unplanned’…

I go to door and knock it. I really didn’t want to… They ask if I am ready, I get surprised. I said yes and wanted 10 minutes to take my things from the room.

By the way, I asked Afghan boys in the camp to help me moving the things to downstairs. I visit all the rooms one by one; pray for people and say goodbye. I feel like a little overwhelmed. Negative energy comes from 34 rooms against one positive. It hurts to see Muslims like this, leaving a deep scar on my heart…

I finish my works and go to downstairs and my little son asleep on the stuff. I wanted to write ‘fragile’ on him. He may get broken easily. Noisy children of the camp already dug in the stuff. I take my boy in my arms and wait near my belongings.

Two hours past after the question ‘Are you ready to go?’. One of my neighbours from Afghanistan offers me some tea. I accept and teas come with some deserts. The conversation in the stairs with tea, I have never tried until that day, starts. I thank her and last neighbourhood event. I couldn’t see her later.

Official comes downstairs, though he had no important job, slowly and obsessed to do thing by order.

And the very big moment; stuff are going into the van.

To be continued…