Hello friends, familia:
It has been a pretty exhausting day. It was three hours on the road, with a stop in between that was far from being a rest stop. I had thought that visiting this camp and looking for a wonderful family I had met a year ago was going to be maybe even pleasant. I did not get to see the family, but I did see their neighbor, an old friend that remembered me as “the husband of Zahara,” from me telling him more than a year ago the name of my wife. He told us the happy news: Nourasham, the mother in the family I met, had given birth to a baby girl; she was pregnant when I met her. He also told us very sad news. Nourasham’s husband had been killed, as he was defending his sister in law from a rape by a soldier. I think of Nourasham’s boys, Muhamad and Jasim, and I wonder how the loss of their father, a trauma upon a trauma, might have affected them. I think of little beautiful Hadia, the little girl that was proud to show me that she could count up to five, and wonder if she can feel safe in such a world that does not stop hurting her. I think of the less than one year old baby girl, and I wonder what kind of life awaits her, as she starts her first year in a refugee camp and her father being murdered. I do know that Nourasham is strong and will fight for her children. It is what mothers do.