Lost with the Wind

By Samar Husayn (FS Level 1)

“While we waited for the Difficulties to pass, Life Passed!”

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who lived in a small village in northeast Syria. She was kind, smart, and brave. Everyone loved her because she always offered a helping hand to those around her. She worked hard and struggled to climb the rugged mountain, but unfortunately, whenever she reached the top, fate was always there to kick her down the mountain again, once, twice, and many times. Each time, she sadly gathered her broken pieces and tried to stand up again and again. 

Samar: a Kurdish woman, a mother of three children, spent her forty years in an unfair life. No one can imagine what sort of life she had, especially throughout the ugly war.

In these several pages, you will read about one of her harsh experiences. Just when she thought her exhausted soul would ultimately calm down, fate had another plan.

Inject your soul with rose water

Perhaps the wounds will blossom into Jasmine

Later…

It was a beautiful spring morning, with the sun embracing nature and announcing the start of a new day. I always feel that my life gets refreshed whenever March begins. That day, I was in the garden planting some flowers when my husband surprised me with the news that his job application in the UK had been approved. We would be interviewed at the UK consulate on the 28th of April in "x" capital of the neighbouring country to obtain the worker visa later.

At that moment, I couldn't describe what happened to me. Many birds flew out of my heart, and so many butterflies filled my stomach. My goodness! After thirteen years in the severe war—fear and horror! After my dreams had turned to dust, everything seemed lost, and nothing could make me trust. Ultimately, hope bloomed again in my heart where despair once reigned. Why not? Just as every cloud has a silver lining, every storm runs out of rain, and every dark night ends with dawn. 

We began preparing for our journey and couldn't find a way to cross the border into the neighbouring country, while flying from Damascus airport was exceedingly difficult due to the Assad regime, which used to arrest and kill Kurdish youth. In the meantime, to add insult to injury, my father-in-law passed away two weeks before the consulate interview appointment. My husband was in a miserable state; he understood how much support his mother needed, but he couldn't stay with her for more than a week. Could you imagine the hard times we faced then? We got cold feet, but we managed everything, and finally, we were ready to leave Syria.

We crossed the border and reached X city. Honestly, I was full of beans, flying over the cloud, and finding my feet. I was like a blooming flower in an early spring morning, waiting to be in the UK a few days later. Then suddenly, the tragic film started: three days before our interview. When I visited the hospital for some medical checkups, which I needed to do due to some previous health problems, a bad surprise happened! Who could guess that autumn might follow spring and remove it just in a moment?! A moment!? No, in fact, it was a whole age! It was a horrible nightmare. Unfortunately, the doctors there informed me that I had a serious health problem; I might have cancer again.

Cancer again?! I hadn't forgotten my last painful experience yet. When I left my kids, my home, and even my country to look for a chance at treatment in the neighbouring country, I hadn’t forgotten how it felt when my long hair fell from my hand like yellow leaves in autumn. Even though I faced cancer bravely and fought fiercely last time, and I could defeat it, neither my family nor I was ready to repeat all that. Even my mother and sister had no more tears to shed again.

I was deeply shocked, thrown in at the deep end, with tight hands and a broken heart. There, I looked into my children's eyes; I felt how the rug was pulled out from under our feet. I cried with overwhelming hopelessness, depression, and fear on my shoulders.

Two days later (28/04/2024), we were interviewed at the consulate and informed that we would receive our visa a week later. We had to travel before 13 May since my husband's job in Manchester was set to start then. What should we do? Honestly, I didn't know; we were caught between a rock and a hard place, stuck in a tight spot.

With heavy steps, I walked back to the hospital. The doctors there informed me that I needed minor surgery and would have to wait for the biopsy analysis results, which would take 15 days. They also said that if it wasn't benign, I would need to undergo a hysterectomy soon. Thus, I realised that this process would take a considerable amount of time, which I didn't have. To add fuel to the fire, the doctor warned me: If there is cancer and I didn't have the surgery before my trip, I would likely not have the opportunity to do it soon in the UK, where medical procedures are complicated and lengthy. They frightened me by saying that, in that case, cancer could spread quickly throughout my body. 

I thought I had to balance on the edge of a knife. Even though it was a bitter pill to swallow, what could I do? Damned if I did, damned if I didn't! I was totally stuck between a hammer and an anvil, between the devil and the deep blue sea, and between Scylla and Charybdis. Ultimately, the doctors could get into my head, and I underwent the hysterectomy before confirming whether it was cancer or not.

Like an injured bird, I lay in a gloomy bed the day before our flight. Although I was in severe pain, with a broken heart and in deplorable condition, I received the analysis result: "Benign, no cancer." Should I laugh because that wasn't cancer? Or should I cry because I lost my uterus when I could have kept it? I took the doctors' advice, but unfortunately, it came back to bite me. I sadly whispered to my soul, "Stop crying; we are going to the UK, which is our promised sanctuary, where my children will live and grow in peace; stop crying." However, I could burn myself just not to waste that chance. Absolutely, there is no such thing as a free lunch. 

After we burned the midnight oil, our plane ultimately landed in Manchester. It was truly a special day. How could I forget the first fresh breath when I exited the airport hall? It felt like a taste of heaven; the abundance of oxygen was something we had never experienced before. My children were over the moon; they were unbelievably flying like colourful butterflies. They were hitting the ground running in their new life.

I spent the first month in the UK aching in bed because, during our flight, I had to sit for seven hours and stand in airports for a long time, while I wasn't fully recovered after the operation. Not only that, but some things didn't go well for my husband at work, and he resigned. As a result, we had to apply for asylum.

If it weren't for bad luck, I would never have any luck at all! Suddenly, all the conditions in Syria changed two months later, and it seemed like everything had become good, but in fact, it hasn't. As a result, our asylum application has been frozen like other Syrians here in the UK. Indeed, until now, we still hear about new genocides happening in Syria; therefore, my family and I now live in horror and never want to go back there, where our lives were burnt. Honestly, I don't know why all bad things happen to me. I feel as if I was born under a bad sign. I sacrificed a part of myself to achieve a dream that is crumbling to dust. Although it cost me a lot, I fear that living in peace will never be a possibility for us. Could you pray for me, please?