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We
walked for many days, occasionally running across
small lakes and rivers. After awhile we saw corpses
on the shores of these lakes. Then we began seeing
them along the path: twisted corpses, blackened by
the sun and bloated. Their stench was horrible.
Vultures circled the skies above us, waiting for
their evening meal.
At
one point, we came upon a small hole in the ground.
It was a little deeper than average height and 25-30
people could easily fit in it. We lowered ourselves
down into it. There was no water in it but the
bottom was muddy. We began sucking on the mud. Some
of the women made teats with their shirts filled
with mud and suckled on them like children. We were
there for about a half hour. If we hadn't been
forced out, that would have been our best grave.
Many days later we reached the Euphrates River and
despite the hundreds of bodies floating in it, we
drank from it like there was no tomorrow. We
quenched our thirst for the first time since our
departure. They put us on small boats and we crossed
to the other side. From there we walked all
the way to Ras-ul-Ain.
Of a caravan of nearly 10,000 people, there were now
only some of us 300 left. My aunt, my sisters, my
brothers had all died or disappeared. Only my mother
and I were left. We decided to hide and take refuge
with some Arab nomads. My mother died there under
their tents. They did not treat me well—they kept me
hungry and beat me often and they branded me as
their own. |
