the daughters perspective.

 

In November, after sitting and talking with "R", a dear friend of ours, I typed up the piece below. October of 2018, the same month and year I moved to the middle east, "R" was released out of captivity and moved into a camp about an hour from our base.  I have been sitting with "R" at least once a month for the last 3 years. She has become such a special person to me. Based on the conversation we had with "R" in November 2021, I had the urge to compile all the information into a narrative, as if her young daughter was thinking or speaking it. 

As we sat and talked about the difficult things occurring in "R"s life, my heart couldn't help but feel burdened and heavy. "R"s life is full of hardships, ongoing funerals, financial stress, worrying over her missing children, collective health issues, and still trying to provide for her two children living with her, not to mention the process of coming to terms with past wrongs done to her, yet she presses on. Her children watch her. They are clever and understand more than we think. It broke my heart to remember all the times they listened in on our conversations. Conversations filled with heartache and pain. The way they have seen their mother struggling, day after day, to provide enough for them. It hurts my heart to know that their tender small hearts have already known and experienced more heartache and worry than many full grown adults. I pray God comforts them and spares their hearts from the burdens and weights that are too heavy for them to carry.

Short excerpt of our conversation in November with "R", from the perspective of her 9 year old daughter:

[5:18 pm, 11/25/2021]

"My dakke (mother) doesn’t have enough money to buy me a coat because she is buying things for her brother and father. We will bury them in a few days, back in our hometown graveyard. It’s our tradition to bury those who’ve passed away with many things. We will wrap them in white cloth and lay them in the grave with all the clothing, towels, hygiene supplies and blankets that my mother had to buy. She also buys fruit and candies for the grave, so after we bury them we can lay it on their grave. It’s our tradition. It’s how we show respect after someone has died. It would be shameful for us not to do this. My mother said if she did not buy the things she would always think back and regret it. She says it’s one last thing she can do for them. 

My mother is alone. Her sisters live in other countries. Her brothers and father, mother, father-in-law and mother-in-law are all dead. We have buried some, but she says there are six more relatives they found that we will need to bury once they are sent from Baghdad to Shingal. Even my father is dead, although she never told me, I know it’s true. She has told other people, and I hear what she says. 

We live in a camp inside a caravan. It’s small, two rooms and a bathroom. It’s cold in the winter, and hot in the summer. My mother can’t pay for everything we need. She tells people she will pay them later when she has more money.. but how can she? The camp sometimes gives me, my little brother and my mother 48,000 IQD a month (about $33). It costs 50,000 IQD to drive to Shingal for the funerals, and that much more to come back to the camp. We need food to eat, and gas to cook with and gas for heat in the winter. She bought me a school uniform, but I know she didn’t have money to pay for it just then. I don’t know when she will have money to pay for the things we need. 

I am only 9 years old. I have three siblings still in captivity. Bad men own them and won’t let them come back home to us. I know they were alive last year, we spoke on the phone with them. Now, Mom hasn’t heard from them in a long time. I know she is worried about them. I worry too. "

*Edited Feb 2022 for content purposes