The Faces Behind the Statistics

Haya Alwaleed Ali Al-Thani (Doha, Qatar)

I once met a little girl. She was wearing a torn up jacket and her hair was unkempt, standing outside the Grand Bazaar during a snowy afternoon in Turkey. She had eyes that were made of emerald, but her face was as pale as the snow beneath her. I was sixteen years old on a school trip with my friends; we had just left the Bazaar and decided to grab some baked chestnuts from a random kiosk outside when she approached us. She asked us if we had any spare change, shivering in the cold. I had given her the change I’d received from my order and as I received my bag of chestnuts, I could see the hunger in her eyes. “Do you want some?” I asked, she shook her head rejecting me. “No, he’ll hurt me” she says, leaving me stunned. I wanted to ask who “he” was, but before the words could escape my mouth she looks back at a strange old man far away watching her, and other little children closely. “Where are your mom and dad?” I decided to ask, “Bashar Al Asaad killed them. He’s taking care of me now, but he wants money.”

I looked back at my friends and I see them talking to the other little kids as well, we glanced at each other for a moment, sharing the same thought. We decided to walk with these kids across the street and buy them some French fries, and after some reluctance and fear, they agreed. As we had gotten to know them, we found out that they had all come from Syria, and their parents were killed by Bashar Al-Asaad and his forces. Now, they are all being taken care of by this strange man, who is forcing them to beg for money so that they can afford the basic necessities we are lucky enough to have that we no longer recognize the blessing behind it.

Excerpt from #FrontièresWalls — Volume 1 Issue 1 of STORIES. Full text available in the print publication.