In honour of world refugee day. June 20, 2017. I do not attempt to know how it feels but my heart goes out to all affected by war, political , economic social and whatever reason that made them make the difficult decision to leave what they have called home.
I’ll find her
I couldn’t help but feel guilt for our current predicament
It was my idea.
I decided we had had enough
Our parent were gone, siblings too
She’s all I have left and dying together wasn’t an option
We deserved a better life.
Lord she must be scared
I’m not there to hold her close to me.
She said my smell was comforting.
The salt water breeze must be on me, I’m sure she’d love it.
Lord I hope she’s all right.
She’s strong I know, the war had made her that way or brought it out of her, I’m not sure.
She’s strong but Lord, I’ve got to find her.
I’ll find her.
‘We were separated at the shore
Put in different boats and told we’ll get to the same location no more than six hours apart.
My boat arrived first.
I waited on the shores of what should have been our new beginning, our new home.
Hers never came.’
I had recalled the story a million times to anyone I thought could help.
I described her as they looked upon her picture.
I remember the day it was taken, her smile …
Good lord, I hope she’s alive.
‘Yea a woman matching your description was here’
‘What?’ That snapped me back to reality, my present.
‘Yea, a couple of days ago but I doubt she’s used’
And I froze. ‘Where did she go?’
‘Probably the clinic, she was a sight for sore eyes even in her condition’
It had got to be her but … pregnant?
The tents were the cleanest in the immigration camp
I had not prepared myself for what I saw: people were sick, boned like children clung to their mothers. Their mother’s eyes read all hope is lost, you can go love.
‘I’m looking for a pregnant woman brought her three days ago.’
As I stretched out the picture to nurse who looked exhausted, I heard it, soft cooing and then the story, the ending no less.
‘You’ll love him, I’m certain cause he’ll love you more than life itself. You’re going to meet him soon. Your father, Mike.’
It was her. She was there. I am a father. I was scared. I can’t raise a child here. I was happy, mine.
As I pulled back the curtains separating us, she looked up, her smile…
Kissing the forehead of our child, she said ‘He’s here.’
Later she told me, she knew I’d find her.
She knew we would find each other.
She said she felt it in her bones.
We named our son ‘Ireti’ it means HOPE.