Day 1826

Kabir Khan
UNHR Camp, Peshawar
Day 1826 (Why do I still bother?)
Everyone hides as they run rampant through the village. Baba shoves me into the back room of our fruit shop. Back here, the stench of rotten fruits, soon to be thrown in the alleyway, makes my guts wrench. I fumble around in the dark for a bucket, when I am distracted by voices at the front. Standing as still as possible, I peer into the shop and see two intimidating men. Without making a noise, I retreat back, praying that nothing happens to Baba. Then I hear a gunshot. Fifteen. Alone. Scared.
I wake up drenched in sweat as I recall the recurring dream. Every night. When will this dream go to sleep?
Outside, it is still dark. In the distance, I can vaguely make out the silhouette of the minaret through the barbed wire. It is as if God’s House has been imprisoned.
Is today the day? Will the impossible happen? Freedom? The call to prayer and the hurried footsteps of the dutiful break my optimism. They are free. Free of tension. Free of starvation. Just free. Sometimes, I wonder if the air on the other side is different to ours.
Today – again, like every other day, I chose food over prayer. I know God will understand. While the devoted stand in straight lines, we stand in long winding lines, hoping to get a morsel of food. Fights break out often. Food is scarce. Thankfully, as yet, no fights have broken out. It might be a record considering I have been in line for what feels like 2 hours. As I gather my plate, I quickly wolf down my food, well knowing, what is left in my plate after a minute will be pinched.
The coolness in the air, reminds me that winter is fast approaching. I have survived 4 winters at this camp. Looking down at what should be shoes, I don’t think a fifth is possible.
Tomorrow is the second Jummah of the month. That signifies drop-off day and ‘Isabel day’. I’m sure she will be armed with news and food. This time I will translate the news in return for new shoes. I’m sure she won’t refuse.

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