In the middle of the sea


By Nivin Hotary, an inspiring woman living in Eastern Ghouta


We’re like a man standing the middle of the sea, surrounded by waves determined to drown him, sharks circling around. But he’s determined to stay standing.
There are big ships nearby, and if just one of them were to move, it could save all these people standing in the sea.
The ships can see us, and they can see our suffering. They are experts in the sea and they know that every minute of delay means several of us will drown. But they’re determined to ignore the catastrophe.
Nearby, on the shore, there are people with clean hands and free voices. The voices are trying to shout with us, and the hands are trying to flag down the ships. If there were enough of these hands and voices, the ships would have to take notice. Because they wouldn’t have the excuse that they didn’t see or they didn’t hear, and perhaps one of the ships would leave its fleet and head towards us.
I want to tell those voices and those hands: if we drown and can never repay you, good will still have been done. You’re doing the right thing, and the sea is taking note. And history is a witness to your good and the ships’ evil.
And if one of you sent me a message offering help, or asking a question, and I didn’t respond… forgive me, but the waves are getting higher and the sharks are attacking day and night, without mercy.
I and many others were safe before they threw us into the sea. We were dreaming of a little island with peace and freedom, but they begrudged us our dream, despite living in the lands of freedom themselves.
I’m just trying to send a few messages so that someone might see them and come to save us. I’m trying to raise my voice, and maybe someone will hear, or it will at least bear witness to those near and far who have abandoned us.
I’m hoping for a day sometime soon when I can return to my quiet office, and my clear voice will be returned to me on a clear day. Not like my nights in this seething sea, like last night when I kept saying to myself every moment
(Part of a poem directed at all tyrannical leaders)
“The child on my chest takes you as enemies.. we were scattered by your hands, so may all your hands be destroyed.”