Tonight is laylat-el-qader. In the room I am in lights are dim. The prayer mat is waiting for me to sit before God and pray. It is going to be a long night. Today was/is an important day.
I open Facebook and the first thing I see is a picture of the Muslim shrine of Prophet Younis blown up in Mosul, next door to the city I live in. It’s an important day.
60 people were killed in a bomb and car attack in Baghdad as prisoners were evacuated. I will point out my uncles, cousins and dear ones still live in Baghdad. Yes, this also happened today. After all, it’s an important day.
I am living in a time, age and place where not too far away my Christian brothers and sisters get a letter ‘N’ drawn on their houses: They either convert their religion, pay money or get killed. Did Nazi Germany do this?
Today, my fellow Kurdistani brothers and sisters, Christians, Muslims and all the other religious and cultural colors held hands, side by side, they demonstrated. My friend organized this walk, asking for peace, coexistence. Are we asking for too much? It’s an important day.
Few years back I dealt with girls in high schools who had been through Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) when they were younger. I was close to their stories, their difficult secret lives and muted pains. The Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) worked hard to put an end to this, the KRG made FGM illegal. Today, the ISIS announced every girl in Mosul must be circumcised. Two million girls’ lives will officially be ruined. It’s an important day.
My dearest reader, yes the list is incomplete, this is my little part of the world. What happened near you today? This is aside from the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, aside from the planes falling, crashing, and getting lost; aside from the silent killings and cruel punishments of my Kurdish family in Iran, and the innocent children sleeping under bombshells in Syria; Aside from the Kurdish women in uniform fighting injustice.
As for me, I belong to a country that no one else wants to recognize. I belong to a stateless nation of pain and suffering. A nation of peace lovers, but like a tree we are trying to grow in an environment where the harsh winds of our surrounding is trying to break us apart, push us down. I have hope.
We have strong roots. Yet we are watering ourselves and carrying with us our own sunshine.
My husband is sitting on the floor listening to du’as watching people pray on TV.
He is silent. I am silent. The world is silent. It’s a very silent night.