This morning began with the return to the warehouse where we completed the remaining boxes. Yesterday I had made friends with some of the neighbors and kinda sorta promised one of the mums Id definitely stop by today for some tea. Arab hospitality is always Arab hospitality lol in that its never ‘just’ tea haha she proceeded to explain to me what mashawee was (stuffed eggplant) which she had made for me and insisted I stay for lunch. Unfortunately couldn’t stay long enough, but was able to hang out with them over some Turkish qahwa.
The family’s been in Turkey since 2015 after their house was struck by a bomb. All 6 members of the family were home during that time and the oldest son who was only 16 was killed. Baba also severely damaged his right knee which prevents him for being able to work much here in Turkey. I was shown a video of their son after the attack, a lifeless body covered in blood, eyes and mouth wide open, the faintest murmur of voices and prayers in the background as though this was a usual occurrence and simply just another unfortunate life lost. There’s a problem with that. When the death of a 16-year-old, a child, renders no reaction or immediate emotional uproar as though death via a bomb strike is ‘normal’, I find it disgustingly unacceptable. This cutie Fattousha was born in Turkey, and mama insisted I take one or all her babies with me presumably in hope of better opportunities available to her children.
Headed to the rehabilitation centers who are regular recipients of the SKT food packages in the afternoon, and I don’t think my heart expected to feel what it felt. I haven’t quite been able to define exactly what emotion ran through my soul and it isn’t something I’ve felt before. I’m a super emotional and touchy-feely-huggy person who’ll either feel everything ten-fold or nothing at all (more-so the former than the latter), and my heart didn’t know what to do. At each of the 5 centers we stopped at, we were able to hear from some of those physically affected by the war and I don’t know what words of comfort silly little me could possibly offer to make things the slightest bit okay.
Men who are physically unable to walk anymore and who haven’t seen their wives and children for 5 years. Men missing complete limbs, or waking up 3 months later in Turkey only to learn that his wife and 2 kids are dead. I asked him whether he would return back to Syria, whether his heart would always yearn for his country, and I’ve been asking this to many people I meet. The answers have varied, some adamant that Syria is their ‘wataniy’, their homeland and of course their hearts ache for the land they come from, whilst others state that this is safer for their children and families. This particular mans answer had me get up and leave the room because I didn’t want to get super emotional and make everything, make him uncomfortable, but he said ‘for what? I have nothing. I have no one. My mother and father are dead. I have no wife or children. I don’t have anything’.
There was a women’s rehabilitation center we stopped by as well which houses about 20 women and their children, all who are in need of medical attention. The general atmosphere in all the places we visited has been one of a hushed despair masked by multiple ‘inshallahs’ and an unconvincing façade of hope. And I’m unsure as to whether it’s simply to convince us or themselves, but my heart is having a real hard time trying to see past it.
Our final stops appeared to be in an area occupied by recent refugees. I have to keep reminding myself I’m in Turkey because wallahi I feel like I’m in Syria. And I’ve never been to Syria. The organization has a database established via a ‘need’ basis upon which they determine which families and facilities receive the food packages. I don’t know what part of my heart or brain had to be switched off when neighboring mothers, fathers, and children approached me to ask for a box with open arms, telling me that they’re also Syrian with 10 kids at home, or a sick child, and just as deserving of assistance.
And I know that they are! My heart knows it so so badly and I have to pretend like I don’t see the despair in their faces for the fact that they literally need to ask for help, something, anything, to bring temporary ease to their lives and their family. It tugs at your heart strings like nothing I’ve ever felt before and you feel like the shittiest person on the bloody planet. Because I’m here thinking I’m doing something but am I really? Or am I helping myself? How is me feeling bad and my heart hurting helping make a difference in their lives?
This jiddha (grandmother) told me of her 2 sons who died in an air strike as everyone was sleeping, showing me their ID cards, evidently all she had left to remember them by. What am I supposed to say to console her? There is nothing more frustrating than being unable to do absolutely nothing, say absolutely nothing to relieve the pain of someone. To erase the bad memories from their minds and make their hearts okay.
I hug because that’s all I can do, and I pray so much that the tight embrace we share for just half a minute transfers all the love and light in the world to them letting them know that they are loved beyond belief. That I genuinely wish nothing but light and goodness to come their way so tears may never return to their faces, so that their hearts may never undergo a hurt like which they have experienced, and that so many of their brothers and sisters around the world are praying day and night for them, and for everyone afflicted by war, pain, and poverty to be relieved of it all so very soon inshallah x