TRUE STORY

It’s Been 73 Years Since They Deported My Family

I’m scared this could happen again

Photo by NEOM on Unsplash

‘They left us in an open field in the dead of the night, with nothing but a stake in the ground to mark our spot.’

‘I was 19 and my baby was two.’

‘We had to dig holes in the ground to get shelter. These were our homes for the next five years. Roots were growing out of the walls. Water was streaming down them.’

‘They told the people from a nearby village that we were political criminals.’

‘There was no food except what we could grow in the scorched earth. No drinking water either. We had to get our water from a nearby river. Swollen dead cows were floating downstream.’

‘Your great-great grandad died there. We had to bury him out in the field in an unmarked grave, like a dog.’

My grandma used to tell this atrocious story again and again up until her death at age 73, her voice almost howling with deep-rooted pain, rage, and a devouring thirst for justice that could never be quenched.

I’ll never forget the haunted look in her eyes and her wailing voice. But above all, I’ll never forget the story. It’s been genetically tattooed in my DNA, like a transgenerational wound with no cure.