Disclaimer: This story is based on true events, some of which happened personally with the writer.
Innocent Child
Beware my innocent child,
A blood stain can taint a saint,
The heck of a chick that licks a nick,
Is forced to marry someone who’s a slick,
Remember what happened to the refugee girl,
Her head collapsed and shattered the pearl,
Her scream is still heard in the lair,
Where her wicked blood was sold as
A poisonous dare,
Thee, my innocent child, lose trace of the road.
Your solemn heart would never be owned
Thee, my innocent child, let go of your soul.
Your blood shall never be sold nor bought,
My innocent child with her white gown,
Tilting around in the little town,
She shines with her smile,
Every now and then,
My only innocent child…
My little girl came rushing in her room, with her fingertips covering the innocent tears trickling down her rosy cheeks, pleading me not to take her away. “But why?! Why should we leave?! Mommy, please I promise to behave! I promise not to break my toys anymore! Pleaseee let us stay!” She wept on my lap as she pulled at my grey pants to stop me from packing her clothes. My beautiful six-year old girl did not seem to understand the reason behind my earlier pronouncement. I broke her heart that day, but I knew I had to for her own sake. She was my reason for living. Her father had abandoned us shortly after she was born, and I was left to raise her alone.
I could not allow her to go through what I had gone through in my childhood. I had to tell her the depressing and unwelcoming news that we would be departing from Lebanon to never come back ever again. She thought I was punishing her for misbehaving at school, where she had broken one of her favorite toys by accident the day before. She thought she was the one to blame! She, my baby girl, does not know what the beginning of war feels like… But I do… I do!
I know the feeling of terror when bombs explode near your house, and you’re stuck there all alone. I know the fear of having your phone signal turn off at the most critical moments, when you are trying to reach your loved ones, to be reassured that they have escaped death temporarily, and that you are okay as well. My childhood was filled with trauma, and I refuse for my daughter to experience what I went through again. I watched her cry in the corner as she hugged her newly adopted kitten. I felt my heart flutter as I realized what reality had done to me. I was torn apart because my country had made me feel like a stranger rather than a child, like a refugee rather than a citizen! Lebanon was no longer a place of freedom and democracy. It had been torn apart by a black cloud of dictatorship and injustice, and it had been that way for a long, long time.
I stuffed my baby girl’s toys in her backpack and had flashbacks of my country when I was a child not much older than her.
I remembered my first trauma…the war of 2006. My mother woke me up after she heard the sound of bombs exploding in our neighborhood. My siblings and I ran to hide in what we thought was the safest room in the house, although we knew no room was really safe. We had no idea what to do or who to call, but my mother said we had to leave immediately for my village, Mouaysra, because it would be much safer up there. We packed our clothes in less than 10 minutes and got in the car to pick up my Granny and my other family members.
Seven families lived together in our small village house. We were all escapees. We were all refugees. We rarely had any food to eat, or even a clean place to sleep since we shared beds and bedding, but we all tried to help one another.
We huddled there until the war ended, but small regional wars would break out every now and then, so it was never truly safe.
Religion was, and still is, the root of the problem. It separates people from each other, and makes them forget that at the end of day, it’s not about what your religion is, it’s about what kind of a human being you are. People killed and were killed in the name of religions that preached peace, and never saw the irony of it.
Perhaps if there were no religion, these wars wouldn’t have occurred. But, who knows? For I see so many humans, but very little humanity. I grew up being bombarded with politics, religion, cultural traditions, and injustice. Everyone seemed to be fighting for their right to be free without realizing that they were taking someone else’s freedom in the process. Ever since I was a child, my dream was to get away. I did not care where to. All I wanted was a one-way ticket back home… to my “real home”, wherever that was, with “real security” where I could reach my highest potential without the fear of being judged or underestimated for being female. Lebanon and its society limited my capabilities as a child. It jams little kids’ imaginations into tiny boxes, and no matter how hard the children tried to get out, somehow they always found their shoelaces caught in the corner of the box.
It’s a metaphor, you see. But, it is all reality for me.
I walked over to the corner where my daughter was crying. I knelt down and seated myself next to her. I held her hand slowly in mine and stroked it for comfort; then I pulled her over to my lap and kissed her forehead. She looked me in the eye and asked me in the most innocent childish tone… “Mommy, are you mad at me?”
I shook my head, “No baby, I am not mad at you at all! I love you so much that I have to protect you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, but I feel safe with you, Mommy. I will always be.”
“Oh, yes. That is true, darling… and in order for both of us to be safe, we have to leave. There’s no hope left in me.”
“Hope? What is that, Mommy?”
“Ahhhh...hope is a beautiful feeling. Like a spark in you. You feel it right here.” I pointed my finger towards her heart.
She giggled gently and continued inquiring, “Why is it gone?”
“Because it wasn’t there in the first place, Petty, I was only pretending to feel it.”
“Is that bad, Mommy?”
“Yes, my dear…Bad for both of us.” I nodded while pitying myself.
She hugged my neck with her small arms and kissed my cheek.
I caressed her hair softly remembering how all these years passed and nothing had changed in Lebanon. Not the people, nor the politicians. Not the laws, nor the punishments… Not the murderers, nor the victims.
Who are the victims? We, the children of this country, are the victims. We grow up with fear. We live with fear, and we die with fear for the rest of our families. How come nothing has changed even with all the protests and the rebellious acts? What’s stopping us from changing tremendously?
If only there were a tomorrow in Lebanon. If only we knew that there would be a tomorrow in Lebanon. Ahh… and we dream of what it would be like…
We dream of Lebanon being a place of security, where you wake up to the sound of birds chirping rather than your neighbors fighting or the sound of news of a bomb explosion. We dream of a place of work where our bosses won’t harass us if we choose to wear a skirt. We dream of Lebanon punishing the rapist rather than demeaning the victim and nourishing the rape culture. We dream of Lebanon protecting women’s rights and making them a priority. We dream of people following the law, regardless of how much money they’ve got, or how many connections they have, knowing there will be consequences if they choose to break a law. We dream of a place of security where we do not have to worry about civil war every now and then. We dream and we dream, and we keep on dreaming… but then…reality hits, and we have got to run.
In the middle of the night, I watched the rain pour on my window, and I wondered whether I would regret my decision. I wondered if taking away my daughter to another country is just. Her roots and mine are engraved in Lebanon. If only I could stay. My daughter asks me, “What would make us stay?” She believed fixing her broken toy would help me change my mind. It’s not only the toy that is broken. It’s the system, and when the system is broken, the people are endangered. I recall what I learned at university about Maslow’s hierarchy; it builds upon the idea that the most basic needs of human beings need to be met before higher order needs like self-actualization can be met. As long as we are living in a place where we struggle for safety and security, we can never achieve our highest potentials. We can never achieve greatness when we are worried if the next time we step on the street, a bomb will go off. The Lebanese have been struggling for ages to achieve a place of complete safety, where their environment is secure, their atmosphere is not polluted, their political system is not corrupt, and their economic situation is not hanging precariously on the edge. The Lebanese deserve a place where they can feel safe, and if Lebanon is not safe enough, there is no other option but to leave.
I woke up in the middle of the night to find my daughter cuddling beside me. I got up to bring an extra bed cover, but as soon as I placed my feet on the ground, her eyelids opened and she hummed “Mommy…”
“I’m here baby.”
“Don’t go. Please.”
I lifted my feet back under the covers and brought her closer to me.
“Will you tell me a bedtime story?”
“You promise to sleep afterwards?”
“Pinky promise.”
“Once upon a time, a baby kangaroo was born in his mama’s pouch. His mama took him everywhere. To the river, to the forest, to the park and all the beautiful places kids love to see… She made sure he was safe and happy. He never left her pouch, because it was the only place where he felt secure.
But one day, the king of the jungle was no longer in power, and things started falling apart. Everyone was fighting to become king! They were all arranging traps against each other to be the first to reach the top of the hill, from which the lion king used to watch all the animals. Mama kangaroo knew it was not going to end well for her and her child. She felt the need to run away with her baby or else they would not survive, but even if they did… they would not be happy. Mama kangaroo packed her food and planned her way out. Her baby was not frightened by the idea, for he trusted his mama’s instincts. Mama Kangaroo ran away with her baby and never came back, but rumor says that they lived happily ever after!”
I looked over to my side and found my daughter snoring quietly like a small kitten. I smiled and kissed her forehead. I promised to keep her safe, and I was ready to do anything to keep my promise.
The next day, I woke up with a very bad headache. My daughter was planning to go to school one last day to say goodbye to her friends, and for some reason that made me feel sick. I threw up a couple of times while packing her stuff, and thought it must be because of the fear of travelling away forever. I drove off my daughter, and she kissed my cheek really hard before she went away. She waved goodbye to me and yelled, “I love you, mom.” The sound of that made my headache disappear right away. I went back to work to pack my files, and then…
BOOM!
“We have just been informed that the sound of bombings went off few seconds ago at an elementary school in Bir Al Abed...” Reporter on the news gasped. “There are, as yet, unconfirmed reports coming in of many dead and injured.”
I dropped the bag of papers I was carrying as I arrived to the office, and fell on the ground after hearing the location of the bombing.
NOOO!! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING AGAIN!!!! MY BABY!!! I HAVE TO MAKE SURE MY BABY IS OKAYYYY!!!
Bad thoughts started swaying in my head, and I was about to faint. I ran to the parking and drove quickly back to Petty’s school. I could not control myself, my fingers were shivering, and I cried so hard as I tried phoning the school, but as always the signals were out! I screamed when I saw that the streets were blocked by people running to get help. I saw bodies on the ground, and blood spread everywhere. The gendarmes were trying to push people away from the location of bombing afraid that another bomb would go off again soon. Mothers were rushing in chanting to know if their kids were alright, and I ran between people pushing and yelling and crying… Where’s my baby?! WHERE’S MY BABY?! All I wanted was to embrace her and take her away from this cruel, cruel world! Bombing innocent children! Why?! What’s this terrorism for?!
I heard the ambulance rushing in between the people. I saw bodies of small children being carried away. I smelled death in the streets. Petty’s sweet voice and laughter rang in my head over and over again. “I love you, mom.” She sends an air kiss and goes away…
I, an atheist, prayed a silent prayer we used to learn at School.
“God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.
Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in hope for my family,
relatives and friends,
and for all the dead known to You alone.
In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.
Amen.”
The prayer is answered with only deathly silence.
The dark has taken over my soul. I promised to keep her safe, and I broke that promise. The country I live in has destroyed me. It has destroyed my future. What would make me stay anymore? My kid has been murdered in a senseless act of terror, and hundreds of other kids are still dying needlessly every year because of violent acts. Whose fault is it? They’re just kids! They play, they sing, and they dance… but they do no harm to you! So, why did you kill them?! WHY DID YOU KILL MY BABY GIRL?!
A tear drops on the ink as I write my story. I watch the news every day and the number of kids dying is growing. I sit in my room helpless, and I stroke my baby girl’s kitten. I can still smell her presence in every corner of the house. I wonder if she’s safe now with the rest of the kids. Probably playing in heaven happily… I recollect a note I wrote in my journal back in the days…
“I'm a murderer in my writings; I kill with pride and without mercy. My characters weep and pray to me, but I am like God; I take death without any condolences, for the purpose of making my plot more thrilling. I am like God; I murder the innocent characters in my story and keep the filthy ones to live longer.
For, I am the one in power of words, metaphors, and the climax... and my characters shall worship me because their future rests on my finger stamping… I'm God in My Writings”
If only there was a tomorrow for my child… If only she was able to wake up again! I’d give up my life to see her smile once again! She was just an innocent child with a smile that could light up the entire world.
You killed happiness, and you say it’s in the name of religion.
You killed happiness, and you are proud of it.
But what kind of a human are you?... You’re a monster. A terrorist monster.
My baby girl’s ghost haunts me at night, “What would make you stay?”
Assurance would make me stay.
Assure me that I or my beloved ones are not next in line to be bombed and I’ll stay.
Assure me that I and my family have the right to be safe; and you will work on providing safety to us!
It’s no longer about hope. It’s about the ugly truth of reality.
Save us.
Written by: Xena Amro
