VOICES columnist Amy Idem, originally from Lancashire, lives with her husband and three children, in Idil, in Turkey’s southeastern province of Şırnak. She writes about her cultural and life experiences here, and on her blog: https://memyselfandidil.wordpress.com/
Where do we go from here?
WE sit in the lounge as we do every night, we act fascinated with whatever’s on the TV and make it a convincing act so the children don’t notice there is anything amiss.
“Come and sit on the floor it’s comfier than the sofa,” we say smiling brightly, a smile that doesn’t quite meet our fear stricken eyes.
The noise comes again, thick and fast, my throat is dry and my heart is racing. I try to swallow the rising feeling of terror and fix my eyes on the television screen.
A quick glance over at my husband tells me that he heard it too and he turns the volume up a few notches.
The reality of our situation sinks in, one wall seperates us from the bullets, a wall seperating life from death.
A harsh reminder of what those in the nearby town of Cizre must be going through, forbidden to leave their homes, no matter how necessary it may be. Too scared to stand in front of a window or look outside, it could lose them their lives.
Once again I say a silent prayer that İdil will not become as bad as Cizre. I say a silent thanks that so far we seem to have been spared from the nightmare they are living.
I am receiving messages left, right and centre, from people I haven’t heard from for a long while, to check if we are okay and what the situation is like.
My inbox is full with messages from my mother trying to persuade us to leave and run for safety. Something that currently is impossible, despite the small fact of a lapsed passport, the entry and exit to İdil have been blocked, the only way to escape is on foot through the villages and mountains.
Everytime we start to relax a little, we hear the sound of rapidly fired bullets again and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returns.
We put the children to bed and make some tea, the supposed cure for everything.
I hear the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs and my husband goes to check what is happening.
He tentatively opens the door to reveal his brother, sister in law and their seven children knocking on the door opposite. They claim they don’t feel safe on the fourth floor, my brother in law says that everytime he looked out the window, they began to fire shots again.
Once again the seriousness of the situation here is reiterated to us, these people have lived through much worse and shown nothing but bravery, for them to feel scared and unsafe is really something.
I wonder again if this is just the beginning and how much worse things could potentially get. It has been in my mind for a while if we should look at leaving İdil but deep down I didn’t think it would come to that.
Now I realise that it is more than likely that we will have to move away from here, I am surprised at how much that thought concerns me and my mind begins to run through all the brilliant memories I have made here.
I feel like a pendulum swinging back and forth from one thought to another. One day I can feel positive and upbeat about starting our life over again somewhere more suited to us and the next I feel dread and uncertainty about leaving our house, business, friends and family.
The roads to İdil are once again open and the curfew on Cizre has been lifted. Unfortunately that will not lift the pain and sense of loss those in Cizre must be feeling.
My heart goes out to every single person who has lost a close friend or family member, whether they be civilian or otherwise.