She embraced her child tightly in the desolate desert, surrounded by nothing but the remains of a once-prominent construction site belonging to the wealthy and renowned Admr Rotarian. This place, where everything lay in ruins, seemed to have erased and forgotten its history.
Amidst the wreckage of this campaign, she had sought refuge with her son. Despite their poverty and the harshness of their circumstances, they shared a bond that was evident in the resemblance they bore to each other. Both had dark hair and fair skin, although the toll of their hardship could be seen in their tired bodies.
Two years ago, she had arrived in this forsaken desert, following her husband’s orders, to protect their only surviving child in the world.
They now resided in a small, deteriorating shed within the ruins of the company that had once thrived for more than two decades. The building showed signs of aging and decay, despite being constructed entirely of cement. Though it was only about five feet in size, it was their shelter, their only place to call home in this desolate land.
This place also served as a refuge for travelers, impoverished village hunters, and sand collectors passing through. It was a sanctuary for all those in need, a shared space in which they were not alone. They shared their existence with those who owed their lives to the owner of the company, who had asked them to understand their circumstances.
In the midst of nowhere, there was only a solitary thunderbolt, its intense light splitting the sky and the ground, creating a unique phenomenon. The light and thunder startled her son, and she began singing a melancholic tune to soothe him.
The boy clung to her, burying his head in her chest, displaying a deep love for his mother. Their bond was evident, a profound mother-son connection. She continued to sing, caressing him until he drifted off to sleep, all the while calling him an honorable name, “Kahraman,” which meant “hero” in the Turkish language of the Ottoman Empire. This title was especially significant for a firstborn son, the pride of his parents.
Water flowed from her eyes as she cradled her child, as if she were covering him with a protective veil of her own tears.
Slowly, the old man, who had been ailing for two years, opened his eyes and gazed upon her. She sat beside him, her head resting on her knees, eyes downcast.
The gathering he had noticed heightened her unease. She cautiously asked, “Hello, how are you? Do you need anything?” These were the only words she could muster, as her interactions were often limited to essential matters, such as when speaking with friends or attending to their daily sustenance.
Sam, the child, rarely spoke or engaged in play. Laughter and games were foreign to him. Instead, his world was characterized by quiet smiles.
The elderly man had initially known them by their real names, but he soon realized that Hamza, the father, had aged considerably, likely around 70 years old. The hardships they had endured were beyond his imagination.
Wafiyya, the mother, had faced unimaginable challenges in her life, yet her resilience and strength were nothing short of remarkable.
Their son, Nashwan, had been named at the age of three, and now he was five. Yet, Wafiyya’s silence was so profound that she rarely spoke to anyone.
The elderly man, who had been unwell for as long as they had known him, sought treatment for his wife. He was not a skilled healer, and Wafiyya’s calm demeanor made her challenging to read. She rarely displayed any energy or noise, opting for smiles instead of laughter. Her demeanor was stoic, and one couldn’t easily discern her emotions.
Sam, their deaf child, was a diligent worker, proficient with every tool for digging sand or handling blocks. Wafiyya sang to him in her melodious voice, which was sweet despite its rarity.
Regarding conversation, anyone who engaged with Wafiyya found it difficult, as she rarely spoke. Her responses were curt, and her cold demeanor could be unsettling.
In this barren desert, they endured a life of extreme poverty and hardship, their fate unchanged for two long years.