On the Run!

It was 1991 and we were fleeing to Jordan during the Gulf War. I was sitting next to my husband, Nadir, a doctor, with my baby girl on my lap. The car was tiny and there were around 10 other people squashed in with us that I had never met before. Each time we passed a checkpoint my heart stopped. Will they turn us away? Will we get to safety? My mind was racing; I didn't know what would happen next. I was terrified and emotional, but I never cried once during the 14-hour drive. I had to be strong for my baby girl.

We stayed in Jordan for 52 days at a hostel with the bare essentials before we were offered citizenship in England. After being rejected week after week from other countries, 'relief' isn’t a strong enough word for how I felt. We were finally fleeing again, but this time to permanent safety.

When I got on the plane to England, I finally cried. A tear rolled off my cheek, as the reality of leaving my hometown and my family suddenly hit me. I cried silently to myself as I realised that we had no plan. My baby girl was sitting on my lap and yet we didn't know what we were going to do once we landed. Where would we live? Suddenly, I didn’t feel strong at all, I felt like my identity had been wiped away. I had to leave my job as a doctor, my family, my friends, my dad.

I started to think about my dad, who was ill with lung cancer in hospital, at home, where I wasn't there to hold his hand. I remembered all the many ways he was strong for our family even during a crisis. I remembered how he could never turn anyone away who was in need. He was a real Good Samaritan. We accommodated so many strangers for so long that they were no longer strangers to us.

One day, years ago, one of our cousins, an engineer, came from Australia and had no money or a place to live. My dad accommodated him and got him a job. No questions asked. Thinking about him regained my strength to hold it together just like I know he would have done in my position. I missed him so much.

We landed in England and I became more nervous and scared than ever. I felt so lonely. We didn't know anyone here; to us, England may as well have been a different planet.

We were dragging our suitcase out of the airport, when we saw someone smiling and waving in our direction. He was one of our friends from Iraq, Azad. I had never felt so happy to see someone. It was like seeing my sister or brother greeting us at the airport. He didn't looked like an ordinary man at that moment. He was floating on air and had a halo over his head. He was our Guardian Angel. He took the suitcase from us and insisted we stay with him while we got settled. He didn’t take no for an answer and had driven over two and a half hours to pick us up and drop us off. We stayed with him for two weeks.

We had applied for a refugee camp to live in temporarily while my husband found a permanent job and a home. So we were on the road again to live in the refugee hostel. When we got there, my face dropped. It was filthy. The people there were all strangers and we just felt downgraded. We were two respectable doctors, and to go from our home in Iraq to this was just humiliating.

As we walked inside our room, it exceeded our expectations. There was only a single bed with no sheets and a sink. We shared one bathroom with just one toilet with the whole flat. However, despite appearances, I had never felt so comfortable in my life. We were finally safe. We then lived in a council flat, which was rented of' course and wasn’t much, but it was just us.

Then Nadir was offered a permanent job in Scotland and we bought our own home in a proper neighbourhood, the works. This was the first place where we actually felt like we belonged somewhere. We made friends, went to church, and we were no longer surrounded by strangers. We were no longer lonely.

It was now 1995 and I was heavenly pregnant with my second daughter, when Nadir told me my dad had died. My emotions plummeted. I can't tell you how tough it was to lose him. I can’t even describe it, because after all these years missing him and not being able to see him, he died while I wasn’t there. I couldn’t even be there to tell him how much I loved him, how much he taught me how to be brave. I didn’t feel brave then, I just felt broken.

My dad used to kiss a photo of my oldest daughter each night whispering to her that he wished to see her grow up. Now, as my daughter and I are looking through old photographs, she does the same thing. Now it's just my mum and my siblings left. The way my mum brought us up is uplifting. We make a good team. She's taught me everything I know.

It's been four years since I felt emotional and lonely and now those feelings have come back. My family are under attack back home and have to flee. Before, we used to be nine siblings living under the same roof, now we are scattered everywhere. I was sitting on the sofa in my big comfortable house, nervously biting my lip, waiting to hear some news. Now I know how they felt when I left. However, with every hurdle it got better for us. Whilst I love my life here, I will never forget my roots.