To Turn a Nightmare into a Dream; A Survival Story
By Sama Maktabi
A Syrian refugee living in Toronto. She is a mother of two daughters. The article is translated to English by Sara Hlaibia
I woke up at six in the morning in the eastern part of Aleppo to someone screaming, warning everyone of an airstrike. I closed my eyes as I surrendered to what I thought was the end. Then I opened my eyes to find out it was the building right across from us that had become dust and rubble. Next thing I know, I was trying to find my daughter amid the dust that filled up our place, I carried her and ran out the building. I stumbled around and my eyes couldn’t believe the destruction one barrel bomb can cause. One helicopter drops one bomb, kills ten and injures many more in one strike. I left for a safer area and left my husband to document another day beginning with a massacre.
It wasn’t easy to engage in the world for me as a young woman full of life. I got married two years before the revolution, I was still new to the whole marriage and family concept. I was twenty when I became a mother to the most joyous baby girl.
When the revolution started, I was full of hopes for a better future, a future as bright as my daughter’s smile. I was dreaming of a life different from the one my generation, and many before, had endured under the fascist regime, especially after it lost control over part of the country. Our hands were reaching and could almost touch the freedom we always dreamt of; the hopes for a real justice system and to actually obtain human rights. We never got to feel it. Our hopes were hanging by a straw and the straw frayed a billion times, until it was nothing.
Frustration has become the definition of Syrians. Most of us started looking for a new home, a refuge in a neighbouring country or somewhere beyond the seas. I finally made it to Turkey with my two daughters. My husband didn’t. He was a journalist. A sniper got him while he was reporting.
And just like most Syrians, I thought Turkey was supposed to be a temporary phase, that we’d all soon go back to our homes and friends. Those thoughts, those hopes, disappeared into thin air as we watched helplessly from behind the borders.
Life was too difficult in Turkey. I had to learn a new language for any kind of communication with Turkish people or to find any kind of job. And all I cared about was the future of my daughters, who I watched growing up fatherless and homeless. Nevertheless, there was nothing I could do.
After I realized that I won’t be able to cope with the difficulties of life in Turkey, I started searching for solutions that can help me make my dreams and ambitions come true. I wanted the chance to continue my education, which I had to abandon at a young age. I decided to work on immigrating, but this time it would not be forced displacement, the way I had to leave Aleppo. It would be my choice to immigrate to a country far away from my homeland, where I might never have the choice to go back. My daughters did nothing to deserve what’s happening to them, they have the right to better education and living conditions. I didn’t want them to get stuck in the cycle. So I made up my mind and registered in the UNHCR Resettlement Program.
On October 18th 2019, I got a phone call from a UNHCR officer to inform me that Canada welcomes me and my small family. I got the call as I was hanging on to life by a thread; it was mixed feelings of happiness and confusion. It means I’ll get the opportunity to live in a country where all citizens are equal, regardless of their ethnicity, religion, or sect.
Time passed quickly as the dream started becoming our reality. On the midnight of January 30th, I sat at a window seat overlooking the runway. And as we got ready to be uprooted halfway across the world, I held, closer than ever, these two hearts I call my universe. A new beginning, in the cold north, may we be able to freeze and bury our miserable grief.
Arriving in Canada was like a rebirth; I had thought I’d never feel alive again. We’re starting a new life from scratch while rediscovering ourselves and reassembling our identity. The welcome we received upon our arrival, and the confirmation of our Canadian citizenship, was all we needed to calm our exhausted hearts and to feel a glimpse of peace that was long overdue.
I can’t say Canada has been struggle free. Language is the smallest challenge. However, the infinite conflict is the endless search for our inner peace, as it was shattered into oblivion during the war. The most difficult part is letting go of these dreadful memories -of all the loss, destruction, humiliation, and bereavement- and to realize that nothing can replace them. Regardless of our attempts to replace a family or a friend or a home, we will not refill the void.
Living through such devastating experiences pushes us to hold on to any chance of a normal life and to value every second of it. My daughters and I managed, to a certain extent, to regain balance, and to start out our lives as close as possible to what we wish it to be like. Both of my daughters go to school and have hobbies, just like any child should be able to in a country that values childhood. I venture into my healing journey from the scars engraved deep into my soul. I adopted a little kitten, made new friends and acquaintances whom I share with interests, hobbies, conversations, and visits. I also improved my English level and filled my time doing things I love. Life is starting to have a meaning again.
A lot of women have gone through similar experiences. To those women I say, believe in yourselves. You can make it. Dare to dream, dreams are life’s engine, fear is what kills every hope. Our path may be difficult and filled with pain. But in the depths of this life-altering pain, lies the enchanting feeling of achievement and the journey to discover who we really are, where our strength really resides. As we venture out of this box filled with fear, we realize the real value and meaning of life.
