By Yash Desai
The scorching sun beat down mercilessly on the desolate, barren landscape that seemed to repeat itself without any escape. The coarse, gravelly sand echoed the sun's harsh sentiment as it stretched on for miles upon end, providing little hope for weary traversers of the desert. Forget an oasis, there wasn't a mere resemblance of a mirage of one in the blistering heat of the Al-Hajarah Desert. This ruthless landscape provided a fitting backdrop to times of tumult and turmoil in the war-torn region of Iraq. To say war-torn would be an understatement as the cataclysm of the nation persisted viciously. There was no beacon of hope, no solace, no oasis in this desert of pain and suffering. The sounds of gunfire and desperate screams of distraught mothers losing their children enveloped the air. Machiavellian masked militants and mercenaries added to the macabre environment and ravaged the land. The overwhelming feelings of fear and dread persisted in an atmosphere where safety and comfort was a luxury not many people could afford. It was a time reminiscent of an apocalypse, a hellish future one wouldn't wish upon their worst enemy.
Muhammad and Farah Ahmad were refugees seeking to escape the endless cycle of agony present in modern-day Iraq. However, such a feat was not as easily done as it was said, and they had given their all over the past few weeks, traveling through tough terrain and navigating through nebulous nights. Their main motivation was their seven-year-old daughter, Dina for whom they wanted a better life, away from the feeling of constantly being on edge, away from the somber and dire state of Iraq, away from anguish. Muhammad pressed his daughter close to himself as he braced himself for the long trek up a steep creek that seemed to go on without any end. As he and Farah trudged through the desert, he did a quick check of what supplies they had remaining. "We only have enough to barely sustain 4 more days of traveling," Muhammad said. "If we want to reach Jordan, we'll have to move faster." Farah nodded tiredly and said softly, "I don't think Dina will be able to walk much longer in this heat." "We'll find someplace in a couple of hours to rest, but until then, we'll have to press on."
They made their way through several tedious hours in the desert with nothing but an iron-hard resolve and half-rotten apples until they stopped to rest at a clearing. They set down their supplies and gathered in a tight circle. "We'll only stay here for forty-five minutes," said Muhammad. Dina and Farah nodded in agreement. As they were resting, the sound of footsteps approached them and became increasingly apparent. Muhammad immediately sprang to his feet, on his guard as he shielded his daughter and wife and waited with bated breath. The diminutive form of a boy tumbled through the clearing and rested with a resounding thump on the surface of the ground. Muhammad heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The boy was no more than Dina's age and had ragged clothes, dirt, and dust smeared over his face and arms, a leather satchel that hung close to his waist, the refugee uniform. His lips were cracked due to dehydration and his hair was intermingled with several particles of rough sand.
Muhammad sized up the unthreatening creature and deeming the boy to be of little threat, he sat back down. The boy approached the family cautiously and soon spoke. "Hello, my name is Ali. Do you have some food or water to spare?" he asked hopefully. The boy was certainly a pitiful figure. He was pale and thin and had clearly been wandering in the unforgiving desert for a few weeks. Now, the family was clearly suffering from lack of supplies too, and now, they had just started finishing what would be their
last full ration in a long time. If they were to make it out of the godforsaken desert, they would have to conserve their supplies.
However, he beckoned the boy closer and said, "Don't worry son, we have some food to spare for you. Why are you alone? Have you been separated from your family? the boy began to speak, but before he could say anything, his eyes brimmed with tears, and a lump filled whatever space was remaining in his throat. Understanding the boy was lost, Muhammad moved closer to the boy and offered to put a
comforting hand on his back. "You can travel with us if you want?" said Muhammad. Ali steadied himself and nodded. Ali ate what was remaining of the prepared meal and after some time, the remnants of his tears gave way to a cheeky grin. Farah made her way to Muhammad and whispered in his ear. "Don't you think this is a bad idea? We barely have enough for us."
Mohammad, however, would hear nothing of it and insisted. On that day, through her father's compassion and his sacrifice for the good of another person, Dina learned that through these dismal times, there was always good people in this world. Yes, there were hardly any supplies left. Yes, there wasn't enough for a fourth person. Yes, it made their journey more difficult and tedious. However, it was this empathy, this compassion that was the oasis in the mirage. This care and love united the country of Iraq when it was in disarray. This was the saving grace of the nation.
By Yash Desai
Comments