Tell Abiad, Syrian-Turkish Border
Amira held her daughters’ hands tightly. It hadn’t taken long to reach the border with Turkey, their hometown close, and with the recent air campaign ramping up with the Russians involved, they had simply joined the stream of misery heading for safety.
But they were hungry, thirsty, sore, exhausted.
And the little ones were cranky.
She wished her husband was here with them, he always having a way with the girls that quieted them down during troubling times.
And there had been so many of those.
The girls were too young to really remember what living in peace was like. Syria hadn’t been so bad, in fact, from her perspective as a schoolteacher, it had been quite good. They had a nice little home, were never hungry, and had a happy life until the civil war.
Things had quickly spiraled downhill from there.
At first she had thought overthrowing the Syrian leadership would be a good thing, yet when the fundamentalists had taken over much of her area, she realized she was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Then things became worse.
ISIL.
She was a good Muslim, a devout Muslim. She believed in the supremacy of Islam over all other religions, and its destiny—the establishment of the Global Caliphate, though she didn’t agree with all the violence that seemed to come with that dream.
She could never understand how others could be so hostile toward her chosen religion. Didn’t Christians feel their religion was better than the Jewish, an improvement over what had come before? Then why was it so hard to believe what had come last was also an improvement? If Allah had delivered his last words to the Prophet Mohammad, then why couldn’t the world simply accept the latest and last word from God? Wouldn’t it be better for everyone simply to have one faith, one belief? Wouldn’t there then be peace?
She had to admit it made no sense to her, but then again, she knew from her books that there were over seven billion on the planet, and less than two billion of them followed the teachings of the Prophet.
If all the others must die!
She shivered with the thought.
She could see the border ahead, a large, long fence stretching in both directions, loud speakers pleading for calm. She had never been to Turkey before, and had frankly never heard anything good about it, it a Muslim state that had abandoned the true fundamentals of Islam.
Complete implementation of Sharia.
Then again, so had her native Syria.
Until the fundamentalists had taken over.
She was confused. She could admit that to herself. She believed in the Koran, though if Islam was meant to be so wonderful, then why was life under it so often horrible?
Angry young men.
She looked about. Almost everyone within sight was a young man. It made no sense. She spotted a woman to her left staring at her and pushed her way through the throng of testosterone. “Hello!” she called.
The woman smiled. “Hello! How are you?”
Amira reached the woman to find her with two young children of her own and her husband. “Tired. What is going on here?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s so strange. Where are the families?” She held out her hand. “I’m Jodee Basara. This is my husband, Sami.”
“I’m Amira Shadid.” She cocked an ear. “Can you hear what they are saying?”
“I think they’re saying they’re only taking families,” said Sami. “We need to get closer.” He stepped forward, talking to some men ahead of them but she couldn’t hear what was said. She looked at the mass of men blocking their way, quickly losing hope.
“Please! Let us through! We have children!”
Her futile pleas fell on deaf ears.
Or so she thought.
One of the young men Sami had been talking to turned back and stared at them. She knew she looked rough. Filthy, sweaty, not the lady she liked to present to the world.
And her children appeared even more pathetic.
As did her new friends.
The young man slapped the shoulders of several of those around him, words she couldn’t hear quickly exchanged, then something miraculous happened.
“Come, follow us!”
A wedge of young men formed in front of them, shoving through the crowd, pushing those in front to the sides. There were protests at first, but as they saw what the men were trying to do, the crowd relented, even joining in, several more families fed into the center of the wedge. Amira’s chest swelled with pride in the good displayed by those around her, thanking them as she passed, her girls waving to the wall of flesh surrounding them.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the border, the Turkish guards on the other side pointing at them and waving them ahead.
She turned to the young man who had orchestrated their salvation.
“Thank you! Thank you so much! You are good boys!”
The young man beamed and stood aside, letting them through.
As Amira stepped into Turkish territory, she overflowed with a sense of relief.
And foreboding.
Were they truly safe here?
And what would they do now, now that they were refugees in a country she knew little about?