For over a week and almost every evening for an hour or so, Yezidi refugee Hadi Aldakhi sends texts to me using Facebook Messenger.
We are at different ends of the day, and different ends of the earth. The telecommunications network barely operates and frequently the order of the questions and answers becomes confused.
“Over 5,000 of us left for Syria. We had to … the choice very simple. Stay and die, or leave.” Hadi tapped out.
“We leave on foot, I had new car but we could not use ISIL controlled of the roads. So I lost it – along with my house and life money. But my losses, as for many of my Yezidi – are far greater than all money.”
I wasn’t sure if I should ask more from him, but I sensed there was something more substantial in his enormous loss. I asked him about the walk and if he could send me photographs from his mobile.
His tapping continued: “We walked without food. Some food had been dropped on Sinjar, but we had no food or water other that what we could take. It took us many days, many days.”
“Many die. Children die. Old ones die. Some others die too.”
“What did you do?” I asked … tapping my questions, perhaps with more courage than if I had been speaking directly. “I buried (a woman) in the desert, and then we walked on … me and my children and thousands of others. All stretched out across the land. Ill send you more photos from my mobile phone.
”Their initiative might have saved their lives. Those women who were captured (reports vary between 500 and 1500) were treated as war bounty and enslaved. The men were butchered. Later media reports explain that young virgin Yezidi women have been awarded as prizes to those ISIL members who can recite complex passages from the Qur’an without error. Others have been forced to donate blood to wounded ISIL soldiers.
“We walked from Sinjar to Syria. Many days. This was about 20 days. I am not sure. We arrive. Burned feet. Burned skin. No water. Starving for food. Families all lost and broken up. Children wondering where their mum and dad had gone, and mums and dads looking for children.”
I asked him what that was like to arrive in Syria. “Wailing and crying. The air was full of wailing and crying.”
We took a break from our text messaging. Some days he stops for breakfast. Some days he just needs to stop and rest from the trauma. During one break I googled distances. This conflict is as close to Melbourne as is Mildura. Or, for Tasmanians – about as close to Hobart as is Melbourne. Hadi kept on: “From Syria we were taken to Turkey … and kept at Sirnak in a camp for 2 months. Then. After that – we were taken to UNHCR camp here in Nusaybin where I can now text with you.
“Here for a while. We are safe. Nusaybin camp near the Syrian border. If Syria gets taken by ISIL, we will be in trouble. But not for now.”
I tried to think of questions that enabled the opportunity for Hadi to give me affirmative responses.“I am here with my children. There are 2 of my children. I am also here with grandmother. We try and put day upon day. Children play. We try and keep them feeling safe. It’s all day upon day.
“Although we prisoners in the camp, we dont want to leave anyway. We are safe here. We cannot go anywhere but we cannot leave here. For now. One day I dream of working in Europe or in Canada, and my children going to a good school.
“But … like the walk we all did. There is much sadness. A good life is millions steps from here.”
I wondered what it would be like to be in camp, safe for now. Surrounded by centuries of conflict and bloodshed with fear, pain and losses beyond my understanding. I wondered how a father finds the strength to keep going and of the roles any of us could play to help. Ive started to find out about donations to the Yezidi. Ive started a new story with Hadi.I chose not to ask if he had a view on coming to Australia …
EARLIER on Tasmanian Times: • The Yezidi: Hadi’s Cry from the Heart
NOTE: Confusion in communcations led to a report of the loss of his wife … this was not the case. Hadi lost his family … including his wife, but they are now reunited …
