Haider
The tunnel is dark but a flicker of candlelight allows me to see the dust-covered faces of the strangers around me. Some of them shake, and others silently stare at nothing. A few rock back and forth, there seems to be no end to their rocking. The strangers and I sit in anxious silence. I like to count how many times the strangers rock back and forth, from when the alarm first sounds to the whistling in the air and the inevitable crash and the shaking of the earth around us. I count the strangers’ rocking. One hundred, but I cannot count any higher. I try to keep track of how many times I can count to one hundred. But after a while I have counted to one hundred a hundred times. I don’t know what number that is or what one comes next. Finally the siren sounds, signalling temporary safety. That means I can leave the tunnel to go play again. The strangers quickly flee. I wonder about them, their lives, where they’re going, but I know I’ll never see them again. The tunnel is where I stay when the alarm sounds; the tunnel is where I sleep. Each time I return to the tunnel I am surrounded by the faces of different strangers. None of them ever speak to me. Some are families huddling together, their faces weary, their bodies broken, bruised and emaciated. I’m alone now but I know my parents will come for me.
I step outside, the light of day blinding me. I know that I have to wait a few moments before opening my eyes again. My stomach rumbles as I breathe in the outside air but I run off, away from the tunnel to look for toys. If I dig hard enough I can find my toys close to my home. My toys are broken but I enjoy playing with them.
I cuddle a tattered, dirty, stuffed lion, its head half hanging off, its eye outside its socket, clinging on by a single weak thread. My Mama made it for me. I call it Hercules. The vague smell of Mama’s fresh-baked cinnamon-cookies clings to Hercules. If only she were here to play with me… I silently survey the ruins that were once my neighbourhood. Running around in the rubble I wonder what other toys I might unearth. The dust kicks up from my feet as I run and skip over metal cylinders that fell from the sky without a bang.
The sun begins to fall. It is about now that I would normally meet my friends at the well. The well stands east of the mosque, just two streets away from where I would pray with Mama and Papa. From the well I can see its spire. The well stands alone. No one is there waiting. Though I no longer know what day or time it is. What time is it? What day is it? Why can I not find my friends? I approach the well and stare deeply at its dry contents. Maybe they did not hear the siren? Or… maybe my friends are playing hide and seek with me! Excitement fills me as I jump around corners, look under the debris and climb on rooftops shouting a hopeful ‘found you, ha!’ to an empty, silent space. Each ‘ha’ echoes hollowly.
As I round a corner I see a girl, sitting alone. She looks as though she might be my age. She has matted hair, a dirty face and her clothes are rags. She sits cradling a loaf of simit in her arms, alternating between looking around wildly, as though on guard, and mindlessly ripping chunks of bread. She stuffs one handful into her mouth before she has swallowed the last. I begin to stalk her. Like a lion, I am prowling, slowly and patiently closing in on my prey. I am silent, I am swift, I am like the wind. A sound distracts her and I pounce, rushing past her with my prize underneath my arm. I continue running, the sound of her choking sobs echoing in the distance. I run until I reach my safe place: the mosque. There is no one around so I sit opposite it, gazing with admiration at its beauty and all that it means to me, all the while tearing into the loaf of simit. After I finish eating the loaf I realise sadly that that there is no more, and that I do not even know how or where to get anything else to eat. I stare hopefully at the mosque, praying for an answer to come to me when I notice that the mosque has been damaged. Once it stood, like a fortress; now its spire is slanted and slowly sliding off.
After what seems like hours sitting, staring at the mosque, I notice that there is someone else standing nearby, also staring. It is a young woman. She looks alone and sad. I do not understand why, but somehow seeing her fills me with a sudden sense of loneliness. Perhaps she is just as lonely as me? I approach her, but she is so deep in her thoughts she does not hear my footsteps disturbing the rubble. I try to speak but I suddenly realise that I do not remember the last time I spoke to someone. I am not even sure I remember how to speak. The strangled sound of my attempt to speak startles her and she looks at me with wide, wild eyes reminding me of the way an animal looks when it becomes suddenly aware of its predator. I stand like a statue, not wanting to scare her. Her eyes assess me, up and down, and suddenly, either because of my size or because I am now still, she relaxes, her eyes steady. She lets out an explosive burst of air in relief. She suddenly smiles, and begins to laugh nervously. I realise that whether I earn her trust depends on what I do or say next.
“My name is Haider”, I tell her. “It means lion”, I say with pride.
She blinks, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. There is a flutter of nerves in my own belly. She smiles. She tells me she is alone now, that she got trapped and her family left her behind. She says she does not know whether her family is still alive but she hopes and prays for them every day. I feel a connection with her and suddenly I find myself telling her all about my Mama and Papa. The words are pouring out of me almost like they have a life of their own. My speech gets faster as I become more used to speaking again. My ideas rush out like a torrent in the form of words, the impact taking my breath away with a whoosh. Shaking, I tell her about my parents, about our home and about my toys. She listens, a sadness growing in her eyes when I tell her that my parents will return to take me away. Maybe it’s because she will be lonely without me? I don’t want my new friend to be sad. So, for now, I offer to share my tunnel with her: she has no place to go, no place to sleep. After a moment she nods. Suddenly, I feel happy again. I don’t feel so alone. I sigh, more words are spilling out of my mouth. I ask if she will be my new Mama. She smiles a sad smile and slowly reaches her hand out to me. It’s warm. All that warmth is now flowing through me as we walk into the dying sunlight, ignoring the ruin around us as the fire rains down.
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