Idomeni. 23:00. It´s dark. I’m trying to sleep but I can’t because we are
about 20 people in the same tent. It has been raining heavily today and I feel
cold. My name is Houda and I’m 15 years old. I’m from Palmira, a city located
in the desert of Siria, in the middle of the country. I arrived to Greece 5
months ago, but I’ve been in Idomeni for only 4. During the first month we tried
to survive with a few things because we had to sell most of our properties in
our country to pay our family’s passage to a mafia. My family is formed by my
father, Khaled, who used to work in a small food shop, my mother Ghada, who was
a teacher in a high school of our city, and finally my brother Mazen who is a
19 years old student of economy at university. The worst day in my life
happened last november, when my youngest sister, Fatima, died after an attack
of the terrorist group Daesh. They were conquering our city and thousands died.
This is me, Houda, few months ago before moving to Idomeni, in 2015.
The picture was taken in our house of Palmira after a lunch with my family.
The picture was taken in our house of Palmira after a lunch with my family.
Now I am in Idomeni, surrounded by thousand of people of my country. Harsly I have realised that I became on what I studied in my school: a refugee. Throught
history there have been many experiences with refugees. People
from Sahara were forced to move to Algeria or many Spaniards scaped to other
countries in Europe and to South America during the Spanish Civil War. They all moved for political reasons. I didn't
leave my country because I was hungry, no. We scaped because they were bombing
us and I saw thousands of dead bodies in the streets of my loved home city. This war
started in 2011 when some people arose against the government of Bashar al-Ásad;
then, the Civil War started and the destruction began. I can´t even explain the
conflict properly, I´m only a teenager.
We were a middle class family. We were. Although we didn’t often speak
about politics at home, my mom and all fer family was a defender of the president Bashar al-Ásad. She
said that thanks to him and his father´s politics she could study at university
and be, nowadays, a teacher. My dad was a little bit more sceptic. He and his
family considered that we were living under a dictatorship. But now this arguments
are really far, we only want to survive.
Idomeni is near the frontier with Macedonia. I don´t know how many people live
here. This place is terribly big. Hell cannot be very different from this place
where we are staying. We only have the potable water which the Greek NGO PRAKSIS
brings us. Less than 2 litres for each family per day. I feel thristy now.
This NGO defends the right of every refugee to enter and live in Europe,
at least, until the war ends. They told us that a lot of people have protested
to support us in many European cities, and the majority of food and clothes we
receive comes from donations made by European citizens. We don’t have many food
because we are a lot of people in this encampment but at least, I have
something to eat.
Me, wearing a green hiyab,trying to get some food that the
NGO PRAKSIS distributes among the refugees in Idomeni.
NGO PRAKSIS distributes among the refugees in Idomeni.
A men told me that he heard that the European Union decided that they were
going to send 120.000 refugees to different countries in Europe. My cousin
Hamza went to Pamplona in 2008 to study medicine and nowadays lives and works
there. It would be a big help for us to be one of those refugees that the Spanish
government said that was going to accept. My cousin could help us to set up in the
country and everything would be easier. But time goes by and it seems that we
will never move from hell. I would love to go back to Palmira but I know that
it´s an impossible dream.
I miss my friends, and it would be enough if I could only see a picture of
them. I don’t even know if they are still alive or not and this scares me so
much. This situation is terrible. I had a happy childhood. Do I deserve this?
The living conditions in Idomeni are really hard. Few time ago this was a
fertile land and nowadays after the creation of this refugees camp and because
of the pollution of different substances the land turned into a toxic dumping
site. The tents, the health centers and
the “houses” are built in the mud. Humidity is terrible. Summertime will arrive soon and then insects will appear. A friend I made here got very sick last week and the doctor said
that the only thing that he could do was to give her antibiotics and send her back to the dirty tent.
The tent where my family lives in the green one,
behind the child "playing" in the puddle.
We only know the news that the volunteers tell us and they seem bad. An agreement between EU and Turkey was approved to chase us out. I am scared. In Idomeni they haven´t repatriated anybody
yet, but we heard that they will start to deport some people to Turkey soon.
Dear friend, if you read this, please, help us. I don´t know how, but do something. I beg you. My name is Houda, but my name could be yours. My country was in peace 5 years ago and now it´s completely destroyed. Will you be the next?
But I still keep the hope. Nothing could become worse.
Dear friend, if you read this, please, help us. I don´t know how, but do something. I beg you. My name is Houda, but my name could be yours. My country was in peace 5 years ago and now it´s completely destroyed. Will you be the next?
But I still keep the hope. Nothing could become worse.
This is a story that we made up to try to explain the situation of a
refugee of our age and the living conditions that she or he has to suffer. We
think that it is important to make people aware of this reality that is
happening near our comfortable sofa.
This text has been written by Maitane Eleta, Endika Matxin, Usua Lizarraga, Alodia Guallar and Jon Garcés (DBH4) for the Diario de Navarra´s journalism contest about refugees.
