Between walls of shelter center…displaced mother narrates story of loss, longing for Serê Kaniyê

Some schools have been transformed from places of education into shelters housing thousands of displaced families. Within their cold walls, stories of displacement and deprivation accumulate, as residents of cities who were forcibly uprooted live far from their homes and memories.

Years of internal displacement have turned life in shelter centers into a daily test of patience: cramped rooms, heavy memories, and hopes suspended on the dream of returning to the cities they were forced to leave behind. Among these stories stands out the story of the mother Aisha Atash, which reflects the suffering of thousands of displaced people from the occupied city of Serê Kaniyê.

Aisha Atash, now in her sixties, is the mother of five children. Two of them Farhad and Khaled were killed, and she also has a daughter. She is originally from the occupied city of Serê Kaniyê and currently resides in Marwan Youssef School in the city of al-Hasakah, which has been turned into a shelter for displaced people.

Aisha Atash used to live peacefully with her husband, who later passed away, and her children in their home located near the industrial area east of the city.

Describing her neighborhood, she says: “Our neighborhood was beautiful, and our house was spacious. Its doors were always open to visitors and constant activity. But leaving it was an extremely painful moment.” She recalls the first war on the city in late 2012, when they faced great hardships, confirming that the moment of displacement at that time was also one of the hardest experiences she had endured.

Continuing her account, she remembers moments and memories that go back more than seven years, when they left the city while her life partner and the father of her children remained there, only to leave the following day during the attacks carried out by the Turkish occupation state and its mercenaries in late 2019.

She adds: “Because of the deep sorrow my husband felt due to the forced displacement, he passed away carrying a profound grief for his occupied city.”

The journey was not merely moving from one city to another or from one house to another. The pain of mother Aisha Atash intensified with every passing minute away from her home. Describing those days, she says: “They were not just moments; they were difficult and harsh days. We moved from one school to another without having a shelter. Every day we were in a different place. They were harsh days, and they still are.”

Memories fill the mind of the mother who lost two sons. As she recalls her longing for her city and its beauty, she says: “All of Serê Kaniyê was beautiful. Our house was spacious, and its doors were always open to visitors and loved ones. But today nothing remains of the home that once embraced everyone.”

She continues: “Serê Kaniyê was beautiful because of its loving and generous people. We have never seen people like its people they loved one another and everyone around them.”

Everyone who speaks about or describes the city among the displaced and the forcibly displaced says that the first thing that comes to mind is its springs, from which the city derived its name, and its enchanting nature. After recalling these images, she repeats the wish that has never left her since the moment of displacement: “Our wish is to return to our city today rather than tomorrow.”

She then returns to speaking about her current situation, pointing out that the exhaustion of these days between the walls of schools turned into shelters has worn them down, far from their relatives and children. She stresses: “What we want after years of displacement is a safe return with our children, who should be the forces protecting the region. We want a dignified and secure return alongside our forces. If our sons are not the ones protecting us, we will not return.”

She also calls for security and stability to prevail in their city after the occupation ends, and for their return not to be surrounded by danger.

ANHA