Every mother raises up her baby being proud of it from the first day. When she kisses her baby, her baby kisses her back, and this is the absolute happiness for her. When the child grows, she is watching how it plays with others. She watches it grow and develop. These are the joys of a mother.
I have raised my two children under the hardest conditions of life. I spent everyday praying for them. But while the body of my four year old girl grew, her brain did not follow along. And the same happened to my boy.
I love my children. But society humiliated us for them being different. I will never forget that everybody expected my husband to get married again, because I gave birth to mentally disabled babies.
I didn’t even know that I was getting married. I was so small, getting married was for me was like playing with my dolls, and it was the same for all other girls of my very young age.
When I started to learn about life as a couple, I realised that I was pregnant and when I hugged my Mariam* (names changed) for the first time, I became also aware of people’s talk – mostly the nearest persons around me. They called my baby “handicapped”, “abnormal”, and those words aggrieved me.
Life has normally ups and downs, but my life has always been flat. I have been trapped in a deep valley.
I am getting close to my lives’ end. At an age when every old woman needs to rest, I push my heart to work and earn money for my husband who suffers from heart problems and for our son.
Yet, instead of taking care of my husbands sickness, we must first prove his illness, they say. Our words don’t count, but only papers. Do we need to take out his heart to show he is ill?
After many medical tests we undertook with many difficulties, they told us that his illness should be certified by the doctors of the big hospital. The name of his sickness has to be written in words on a paper. They didn’t tell us, who will cove his transportation costs to go to town? Of course no one will!
When my husbands’ heart suffered, I desired my death as I could not help without a Cent in my pocket…
Hello I am Jawad and I live in Hamburg now for the last three and a half years. I am from Afghanistan and I want to tell the story of how I came to Hamburg. It is a long story. That I had to leave my country was not my decision and it was also not my decision that I was born in this country.
When I was four years old I had to leave my village and country because of the war in Afghanistan. We fled to Iran. The situation in Iran for refugees was not good. We got a paper to stay only for a short while. We were not allowed to go to school or to work and we could not buy anything in our name. They put a lot of pressure on us so that we would leave quickly again. When they saw us on the street we were always controlled and it also happened that men, when they got back from work, were arrested and deported. In Maschat at the border there was a concentration camp for Afghan refugees. There was no food but a lot of torture. I was not in the camp but my friends told me about it. They had to stand the whole day in the sun or in the winter in the cold. They had to do forced work and when the guards found out that one had been to Iran before, they tortured them. Nearly all of those who left the camp became mentally ill and were deported to Afghanistan. Still today there are people who get shot by soldiers at the border. Many are afraid of that and do not try to escape to Iran. Continue reading Jawad’s Journey→
Hi, I am Eternal I bornd in Iran.
My father was Mechanic, I was student and I did Mechanic as a part time job.
Up to the day life for refugees getting worse and worse in Iran.
The refugees can’t continue learning in colleges and that’s why I moved to Germany.
I had good life, I didn’t have any limit during my life, I could reach any thing that I want.
I mean I didn’t have any problem about money.
With all the beautiful wishes that I had about Germany I arrived to this country.
I’ve always told myself: I can have a greatest life there. I will have good job, good university and a good life.
I’d been living in AFGHANISTAN for almost 11 years.
In AFGHANISTAN our lives were very bad. There I never went to school because there our lives were very bad. When I was 6 years old I had to work.
When I was 7 years old my father has been killed. I wished to go to school but I couldn’t because I had to work.
At home we had just an old radio and when I was listening to it, I said to myself that one day I would be able to make something like that because I liked technology and now I still like it.
I said to my mother I wanted to go to school. But she said “you must work for us”. After my father death I was the older son of my family.
After my father death I have stayed with my family for 3 years. After 3 years I went to IRAN for work.
I came to IRAN with smugglers.
I went to ISLAMQALLAH, near the border. At night I spoke with a smuggler but he told me that I needed 1 000 000 toman (name of the money in IRAN) – 700 euros- to go to TEHRAN .I said that I didn’t have 1 000 000. He told me he would bring me to TEHRAN only if I paid 1 000 000. I said it was ok and when I reached TEHRAN I would give him 1 000 000. He said ok. At last he told me we would have to walk only during the night.
From ISLAMQALLAH to TEHRAN we walked about 18 days. We slept during the days in the mountains. It was a very hot summer. We were hungry and thirsty, especially thirsty. After 18 days we reached TEHRAN.
In TEHRAN suburb the smugglers caught me because I didn’t have money. I had to stay with them during two weeks. After two weeks one of them said: “if you don’t have money you must work for us”. But I asked him: “for how many days will I have to work for you?”. He said “3 months”. “It’s a lot” I said but he told me “it’s not a lot and I started to work in the fields, buildings…
I worked there during 3months and after he told me that I was free. I was happy and then I went to the town. Continue reading travel of a refugee→