The refugee site consisted of buildings that were never finished. There were no walls from four floors and up and the danger of plummeting to open space was imminent. The thick smoke covered the air and I could feel the pressure in my lungs. Carrying white bags with both arms, the team and I headed to the shelter's quad to set up the workshop.
I was starting to sweat as I missed the comfort of being in air-conditioned quarters. But we were here for a reason. I set up several chairs that barely reached my knee around a table that wobbled on weak legs. Sheets of paper and craft utensils were distributed, perpendicular to the chairs. I could hear distant chattering and footsteps along with the sound of Nadiya's chirpy voice. She led the pack of youngsters into the quad and it was the first time I laid eyes to what has always been true with the world but never fully understood.
Children barely the age of eight wore the aftermath of war. Their mouths were stolen of smiles and their eyes mirrored the terror of the past. Only a few broke into a crooked smile as their eyes drifted to the crafts that were laid across the table. The rest crowded by the door. Shirts that were clearly sizes bigger hung loose on their timid shoulders. Pants and shorts went below their knees. Their shoes had holes and several had to wrap theirs with cloth to keep the soles from falling apart. Hair were unkempt and dirt were smeared on exposed skin. It was as clear as day that this was their best attempt to look presentable. The pangs that hit me shook my pillars. It was too soon to let anything get to me.
The team and I assisted the children to their chairs. As everyone got seated, Nadiya gave the signal to distribute the dolls. Packed in crisp plastic, each child held the package in their hand, looking at their faceless doll. Expressions of confusion emerged, until we laid out more art supplies next to them. The curiosity among the children was evident. One by one, they willingly reached out for pieces of fabric to clothe their doll while some went on to draw faces. Nadiya went around the table and told each child that the doll could be whoever they'd like. She made sure she kissed every single one of the children on the forehead and have a chat with them. I saw most of them look away when she came close, but they would always observe her until she came back next to them.
I assisted four children with their dolls, only leaving their side when they got comfortable enough to be creative. Since entering the quad, a boy called Karim hasn't looked at anyone in the eye and isolated himself from the group. He sat quietly at the farthest end, his half-opened doll in between his hands. I knelt down on the floor and gently motioned if he needed help opening the package. Expressionless, he let me open his doll as I laid it on the blank sheet.
"You can draw on this paper and then the doll. Anything you'd like at all." I told him. His gaze didn't leave the doll.
I knew this stoic child wouldn't be comfortable if I got too close. Instead of succumbing to a hug or a pat on the head, I took a pen in my hand and pretended to draw on the paper and then the doll. "You can draw anyone you'd like. It could be your mom, your dad or anyone you'd want to remember all the time. Or it could be just you." He seemed to have grabbed the concept of the doll as he eyed untouched pens that laid on the table. I moved them closer to him and tried to hide my delight as he began to draw.
His hand shook as the black marker drew circles for two eyes, a nose and then a mouth. He paused for a while and continued drawing circles across the doll's body. I motioned other coloured pens and fabrics on the table but he paid no heed. Maybe he made a mistake, I wondered. I went to the storage room and fished out a new packaged doll that he could start over with. I knelt back down and offered it to him. He shook his head and held tightly to his doll. Nadiya appeared from behind me and attempted to halt her gasp. I turned around and saw her hand clasped across her mouth as she looked at Karim's doll.
I stood up and paced around the table with Nadiya, my eyes still fixed on Karim. "I know. I think he made a mistake with his doll. I know it's just one doll per child but this one's on me." I told her. She calmly replied, "That's his father. He was shot with several bullets few nights ago in their home." Karim looked at his doll for a very long time and suddenly held it in his arms. His eyes were tightly shut and tears welled up. I felt a piece of my soul shatter. My breaths grew short and my chest began to ache.
After several deep breaths, I sat back down next to him. I still wanted him to take on a new doll. He noticed my intentions, still shaking his head. My eyes probably sent him a message of some sort that he reached out for brown fabric and dressed up the doll. To top off the look, he glued a small hat on. I saw him smile as he looked at his creation. I felt a surge of joy paired with immense aching.
For the first time, he looked at me as he clung on to his doll and said, "Shukran."
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