My name is Asinat and my little sister’s name is Asan. When the conflict
began, I was 2 and she was 1. I had to flee, but the conflict spread to
the place we had escaped to, and my father was killed. His corpse was
left for days before we saw it. We couldn’t afford a funeral — we couldn’t
even afford food and I remember going 4 or 5 days without eating. 40
days after my father’s burial, we were on the move again. I have found
photographs of my father’s corpse in my mother’s wardrobe. Now I am 7
and we are settled in a safer place. I don’t go hungry anymore and my
mother has everything she needs to look after us — she says it’s because of Al-Ayn.
I want to be a policewoman, so I can ensure no one gets killed unjustly.
Sometimes I feel he is still alive. One day, I dreamt about my father — I ran
to my mother in the middle of the night and told her that he wants to see us.
It makes me sad when I see other children with their fathers.