365 memories

                                                                      Memory

118^th

Van, Turkey. Wednesday, December, 27th 1987 …………….. 11:15 am

At a time when death quietly is ambling to you, even if it is invisible, your soul will answer it and advance to it. What heart would want? What mind would say? SURRENDER or FIGHT. 

            There is where I am now. I could just go further; better to say run away from behind. I asked myself the same irritable questions over and over with the hope to find justifications to my adversaries. Afterwards, who am I?

            “Hey, yea…” I lifted my eyes arduously, which were shut already for awhile, and a rush of violent snow-like snow spattered against them. Wiping my eyes with my right arctic gloved fingers, could manage to shout back “ WHAT…” while I was not so sure it would reach anyone where for meters ahead on what on hell I was pacing on I could able to see just nothing except whiteness around me.

            My heart was trying to tear my chest apart as I was exhausted down to earth if it would be an expression to meet my physical condition, and also as I began to worry when it took a while and there was no any reply. Then as devil I started to chuckle because it was hilarious, I wanted to die while I worried to live longer.

 Lastly I managed to grasp some words through the storm ramming at me “ keep ep… ll be lost … yea weeek.” The voice drowned by the rattling wind and killing frenzy freezing crashes that crushed me.

Better to know me, my name is Hawar. I am twenty years old and the third child ten to a mismatched parent; a stern, mountain bodied, never-know-to rest father, and an angel soft, heaven-peace mother. I was born in Iraq, Its north part, in 1966. To say more about myself I won’t be able to say more.

Back to where I was I held my arm up my face and faced the storm along. I wished to run to cope up with the voice now I could hear a little, but I hardly felt that I might have had any feet. My toes were motionless and ice-cold, my knees wanted to throw my body since they could not hold it up any longer, but yet I had to fight: I had to live.

            “Listen all! Wonch be going anymore tenight,” The words flew out off with a frosty steam hazing up in the air as when a train gets off clattering its iron wheels. Two front black teeth were seen out of a forest of tangled beard which left no space for any sign of a mouth; a sticky hat atop, a tangled beard below covered the dwarf man’s bulky clay-colored facade except for a pair of black ear-length eyes with slithered snake-line stitches from his left eye bag down nowhere as the jangled beard climbed the cheeks. A black fur cloak squeezed his body vehemently; under the sleeves a gang of by a hair's breadth fitted gloved fingers clutching the hand yard. Fluffy boots mounted the ankles within which a pant thicker than three ordinary pants slipped inside forcefully.  As a matter of fact, he could serve an ace verification for mythological experts that one day dwarves shared earth in the company of humans.

 “There!” he shrugged with his pan wide index finger at nowhere and I thought how stupid it appeared to motion at somewhere when nobody could see where. “We stay ena village fere night and before dawn we must move; know them, villagers, they ll give us a place fer tenight. Come… Follow me.” No voice could able to befriend that appearance any better. Thus my ears needed pretty a time to attune to the never heard accent, yet his voice had aggravated it further. A grin-meant tone which could dehydrate any well filled with hope not to listen to any more word from him.

            He was a Qachaxchy and was known as Ramzi, I did not know if it might be his real name or not because you would have a less chance to talk to a Qachaxchy. As a truth, Human beings cannot survive for days without having water and food, but it is not applicable to every human, and the archetype was Ramzi.  Ramzi could live for days without water and food but would die with one day without his nourishment; money. He drunk it, ate it, even adore it over god. He was not a slave of god but a slave of money.

Qachaxchy was the most hazardous, dodgy, and at the edge of death job. You would become a Qachaxchy whilst either you have nothing worthy to care for in life or else you worth something to your life.  

            Qachaxchy was the one who infringed the legal borders along with transported passengers from a country to the other. When attain a specific location between Iran and Turkey‘s ambiance the passengers would be shifted from the Iranian Qachaxchy to the Turkish Qachaxchy. Each passenger was feed three thousand dollars which was handed over by three times and given to the Qachaxchy posse who worked jointly; if captured in an ambush the cash would not be returned. Hence your priority would be to focus on how possible you might carry on devoid of being caught.  In the whole history of immigration, no one ever dreaded that actuality than me; whoever be arrested, let be arrested, there would always be another chance, but when a chance would refuse to happen once more, all you would have to do is to keep it and save it.

 There, every step I took, the door behind was locked after me; either going on or breathe your last breath because after all what awaited behind the door was an injured death seeking revenge; there was no turning back. Every so often I thought even if only it penalties my life I dared to go back but when it came down to most valuable lives to me I dared going anywhere but back.

Ramzi was accustomed to the climate and acquainted his body well with the all paths we took. Spoke very slightly; almost was mute since he just gestured or hissed to tell us something. It was down to earth obvious that to him we were no more than slaves, but I had pride, better to say had had, because life so easily takes back what is its’, but when you want something from it would give it by a high price.

 I had had pride and dignity but life annexed it from me so willingly as if I never had one. How might he have thought of us … as slaves… sheep… poor… needy…mindless…what more… animals, no I avow if what had happened had not happened, or if destiny had not played me, I would never have allowed and never forgiven myself to be sold to a human like him, but these were empty words, I was nothing, yeah he was totally right I was a puny.

We were a pack of twenty, some were families and even had babies and kids with them, and some single like me. I had never imagined myself ever to be here, worlds away from home in Iraq.  As Ramzi rarely gave us notes I knew that we shortly entered Van and we were heading to the villages at its north border line.  We were grateful for this and relieved when an opportunity would soon come to rest after eight perilous, no-rest no-eat, hours trespassing  border between Iran’s boundaries into Van by feet.  Each minute we approximated to encroach into Turkey, chances for being dead boosted up. We were now stepping on the top of an array of hills where instead of ground pebbles rugged the hills.

            I was sure that we all would have paid everything just to go home, not further…

Kraaaaaaaaaaaaack