When darkness hit

I once again planned to not stay with the Hummus team, but to instead hang out with the dentist. But once again,  there was a huge and messy line, even on the men’s side. So once again, I ended up staying. This was probably the messiest time that I’ve been there. There were these intense quarrels erupting, not so unusual, but there was also a lot of pushing and squeezing. I ended up at a big blob with a lot of children and baby carriers in the middle, and people were pushing in all directions. I jumped into the line, but for the first time it was actually not possible to keep them still holding the rope pulling towards the wall. People pushed, climbed, crawled, I don’t even know. Babies and carriers were carried over our head.

”It’s finished, it’s finished!” another volunteer shouts while walking down the line. We had decided to pull out, as it had become too messy, beyond what is acceptable. “If only they wouldn’t come tomorrow,” E’s little sister sighed.

I stood in the door to the dentist for the rest of the day, I think it’s good language practice. Usually, we would write people’s name up on a list for them to be seen, but the list was already full. So, my tasks was more to prevent people from entering the box, so that the dentists could work without being too much disturbed. ”Today, finished,” I would say in Arabic and point at the list, ”Tomorrow, 10 o’clock, morning, okay?” How beautiful. Then, I saw it as my task to entertain the people waiting outside as much as I could. They are all in pain, of course, this must be really hard. And I cannot give them biscuits (my world is upside down now).

”We’re friends,” a teenager from Syria tells me, pointing at the patient who just entered the container. “Oh, friends from Syria?” I ask. “No,” he replies, “Syria BOOM, all friends dead”, he gestures. What do I say…

I met up with one of the girls after my shift. She was very quiet. ”Whats wrong?” I asked, ”nothing,” she replied. We walked towards the car. “C (another volunteer) left yesterday. You’re also leaving soon,” she said, with tear-filled eyes looking somewhere far away. I know. ”You are all leaving.” All the volunteers are leaving, at some point. Only they are staying. ”I’m sorry,” we hugged, and talked some more. “What will you do? Are you going home?” I asked eventually, and she shrugged. “What do I know? I would prefer to die”. She is such a beautiful person, it hurts.

I drove to Hara in order to drop off the Northern
IMG_8789Nights vest that I accidentally kidnapped yesterday. I did also want to see the camp in daylight, although it didn’t feel like a good time after way too little sleep and maybe a bit too much emotions. Anyways, it was too late. I met D, and we walked down to the hotel. A young girl from Afghanistan ran up to us. She had a backpack on, and looked like any school girl. ”Do you go to school?” I asked her. ”Not here,” she replies, ”I want to, but there is not school”. My farsi is not sufficient for much conversation. ”Where is your family?” I asked, and she decided to bring us there. We said hi, and left.

An one lady called for us from one of the tents – she spoke quite good English. “I have diabetes,” she explained, “my sugar is high. The food we get here is not good for diabetes. We get so much rice. Some medicines makes my sugar go high. But no one cares”. I asked if she had been to the doctor, and she said that she did go, but they didn’t do much. I don’t know what I can do either. Another family told us that they need clothes. They need things for their baby. They don’t have any money, they don’t have anything. They would prefer to work and earn some money to buy their own things, but that was not possible. “Also, there are so many Syrians and Iraqis here. Everyone cares about them. No one cares about us.” D listened, nodded, and gave them a number of suggestions of things to do. At the end he said “If you don’t get those things by tomorrow, come find me. I’m always here”. This boy makes my heart break into a thousand pieces. He is so much better of a human than I will ever be.

We went back to the car. “The children is what makes me the saddest. What will happen with them? They don’t go to school. They don’t have anything. What’s in their future?” he asked rhetorically.

How can I live in this world? How can I leave, and continue with my life when things are like this? And it’s not even about me, haha, is this funny? I cannot see a future, what is the future? The darkness is too big.

I will not specify how much I’ve cried.

I’m back at the warehouse now, we will do some purchases and discuss some financial things. Maybe that’s good, for a change.

Good evening!

J

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