I write this in memory of the 1991 uprising, where my father left me and my mother in Iran, and without my mother’s knowledge alongside other peshmerga forces they entered Khanaqin and Kalar as part of the Kurdish uprising against the Baath regime.
Tell me how you felt. Tell me if words can ever describe your feelings.
I am a parent now, I understand.
How did you feel when you held me tight not knowing if you will smell me once more.
How did you feel under bombardment knowing you have left behind a wife and a 16 month old baby girl?
Tell me, father, in the mountains of Kurdistan, how did it feel to be attacked, to be on the verge of death?
Tell me father, how did it feel to tell your best friend’s mother she lost her son in a war to protect this land?
Shall I remind you of how you secretly left mother and I with the grandparents, shall I remind you how you never told mother of where you’re going, shall I remind you that mother at times thought your were gone?
Over 35 days, no letter, no word, no news of you.
I am a wife now, I understand.
Tell me father, how did it feel to see friends losing their body parts?
Tell me, father, how did it feel to escape grenades?
Tell me, how did it feel to fight for a cause?
Father. We have lost that meaning.
Tell them, father, what really matters.
Tell them how we came to this day. Tell them how loyal we must be to this land.
Tell them father, to put the interest of this nation first.
Tell them, dearest father, for my generation didn’t live your days.
Tell them, father, how freedom fighters put their lives under bombardment and bullets just so I can call Kurdistan My Nest.
Tell them, father, please tell them to feel love for this land, its soil is watered by blood and sacrifices of its people. Isn’t this what you always tell me?
Remind me father to appreciate every moment.
Remind me, father, to appreciate.
Forgive me, father, for I complain.
Forgive me for my expectations. But know it comes out of love.
Tell me father, how does it feel to see your grandchildren walk freely without fear of bombardment? For I will tell them they owe it to their grandfather, and thousands like him.
I look at my 10 month old baby girl, living in her Nest, under my wings, I know deep inside, I owe this moment to you, to thousands like you.
I promise to remind my children of this.
I promise to appreciate more.
When one generation fights and sacrifices, the other is spoilt.
But I promise to never forget. I promise to appreciate, I promise to be reminded over and over again. But you too father, tell them, tell them how it was…
My Nest in Kurdistan