An Arab: Living in the West

Rafha

Narrated by father – Ali

1993 - on a hot trenching summer evening, we gathered outside, sitting on large rocks chatting the heat away. The weather was slightly cooler outside than it was inside that tent. We could see a group of youth playing soccer, and young children playing with bike wheels and chasing each other around. The vibe was surreal until a strong blow of wind hit the sand. People started to use their forearm as a shield to stop the sand getting into their eyes. Children were crying, parents were looking for their kids, older siblings looking for younger ones, it was the perfect start to a natural disaster movie; instead this was real. Suddenly the rooftops start to fly away, tents begin to dissemble and tear apart, families protecting themselves with blankets, that's all we had.

Covering ourselves with blankets, hoping we don't fly away. The whistling wind gets louder and louder, I could hear people running and shouting out names of their children or siblings. I could imagine all the bad things that could occur to the poor people who have not found a shelter, or maybe did not find their tent when they went looking for their children. It's awful.

I peak through the blanket to see what is going on, I see a little head and arms waving, half buried in the sand. I hold on tight to my blanket and went crawling towards the poor child. The closer I got, the louder became their cries and yelling, it was horrible. I don't think I can make it; the wind is getting stronger and it begins to pour rain like crazy. I look back to see how my family is doing, and I cannot see a thing. I start to panic; a tear drops on my cheek. A loud bang in the sky awakens my quivering body and limbs. I look back towards the child and I cannot see a thing. Everything is orange, I can barely open my eyes. This is the only time where I wish we would have stayed in Iraq. At least the homes there were build out of blocks. This would have been safer than these half-assembled tents with tin roofs that are secured with pieces of broken bricks during a windstorm. I can see the child now, all covered up in sand, I drag him out with one hand while holding tight onto the blanket with the other. I look up quickly to see if anyone else is lost in the midst of all of this. All clear, I think. The young boy grasps onto my arm, I don't think he has any tears left in his eyes. I wiped his face with the blanket and told him to hold tight while we go back through the storm to find our families. I was sweating and stressing, I have no clue what has happened to my family, my friends and all my relatives.

Who is this child, and where are his parents? Did they forget about him during all of this? Maybe they thought he was in another tent with an uncle or aunty, who knows. I don't think there are any tents standing up at this stage. In case, I think everybody's crunched up under a blanket or something to protect themselves.

The wind began to relax gradually, and the rain stops. A few moments later and the sky is all clear again, but the damage caused by mother nature was humungous. In the background, army vehicles appear out of nowhere, providing us with new sets of tents, pillows and blankets. We all volunteered to help put the new tents up, distribute pillows and blankets and clean up the mess in our areas. Here we are, sitting down in our new tent, which is now almost 3 years old.

Narrated by Muntathar – 1997

On a quiet afternoon, mum and dad were listening to the radio while Kawthar and I were playing with milk cartons and tissue boxes, using them as building blocks. Suddenly the electricity went off. The house we lived in was shared by the bigger family. It was built from mud bricks and a tin roof. Each time it would rain the house would start leaking from the ceiling and all the corners. There were about thirteen of us squeezed underneath the one roof. The circumstances and conditions made it extra hard for our family to move out of the house. There were no options.

Breaking the silence in the house, a siren went on for a couple of seconds, which meant that an announcement was about to be made.

"The residents of Rafha (name of village), authority is coming to invade our homes. For the sake of our safety can everybody leave their homes within the next 5 minutes."

The Sheik (also known as a pope or mayor in today's world) repeated the announcement 3 times, just in case somebody missed it. Dad carried us, one on each arm, as the rest followed. We took off. We left the house; leaving all of our belongings and memories behind, picking up only our precious lives as we left. No clothes, no pictures, no food, nothing. Everyone was heading north, so we followed. Dad's arms were sore too quick he could barely feel them. There were no prams to be used, so he had to stay strong, as we escaped. We were part of a fleeing process. We had no choice. Safety first. After three kilometres we reached an intersection. Either left or right. Dad stopped straight away, while my mum stood beside him. Some people went right and others went left. Holding my sister and I, we weaved through the crowd of people trying to find the rest of the family. But there were no signs. Everyone was busy running for their lives. They didn't even notice mum and dad trying to ask them about my grandparents, uncles and aunties. In the distance I see a group of men with all sorts of weapons in their arms coming towards us. Dad had to act. Act fast. The crowd took us left; we couldn't even react. I hugged my Dad's arm and kept an eye at my mum. They were the last thing I want to lose. I hope my grandparents merged left as well. After running for more kilometres, I realised that residents are slowly stopping. I think we've reached a dead end.

Waiting altogether, the boat arrived. We sat in the middle of many people. We didn't know where we are going but hopefully a safer place. Food and water were limited, so we had to be patient. In the distance I spotted the rest of our family, but we couldn't reach them because it was crowded. I couldn't even straighten out my legs, that's how crowded it was. The rickety boat made many of us feel sick, stressed and angry. The voyage went on forever, but we arrived after many depressing days.