My homeland from the land to the sky.

One afternoon, my Palestinian friend and I sat on the floor of my room in Cairo when we were around  fifteen years old. We shared stories and information collected like breadcrumbs from lands we hadn't  truly seen -Or my case only — she had never seen Palestine. I migrated from my country at the age of  eight to Cairo, without carrying the memories of Baghdad's streets, due to the absence of safety for a  child like me back then. As for her, she was born in Cairo, holding her mother’s Egyptian nationality, and  she has never seen Palestine. 

Despite this, both of us felt a deep yearning for lands we didn't know but wanted to. We usually sat on  the floor, sharing stories collected from our families, friends, and our own research and narratives we  could obtain at that time. Eventually, we arrived at a central idea defining our identities. 

At that moment, I asked her, "Salma, what should I do if I feel nostalgic for a land I don't know and can't  reach?" She couldn't answer me then, but she asked me how we could deal with the intense yearning  for something beyond our control. Our questions extended widely and it went on for days, weeks and  even months of delving into various aspects and even reaching the depths of questions and discussions  coming from our first experiences in our early little lives. We didn't have many sources to draw upon at that time, except for our own experiences and the stories we had heard here and there. Eventually, we  reached a point of not feeling a sense of belonging. 

At that time, we sat in my room and decided: we don't have to belong. What's the point of belonging to  a place I can't reach? Is it fair to myself to continue yearning for something I can't have when I need it?  And is it fair to keep feeding this need? It may not seem logical to those who haven't felt the  indescribable pain of yearning surrounded by unfamiliar people. We didn't feel like we had two identities;  instead, we lost one in war, and the other was handed to us before its ink dried, so it leaked and stained  it. At that moment, we contemplated abolishing the concept of belonging after years of anxiety. No need  for that. Yet, don't blame two girls who never got enough time to hold on to a dream or a thread of  reality without catching an incomprehensible pain or reaching puzzles with missing pieces. 

Few years after that day and after we both graduated high school and were busy in our own lives, I  got the chance to visit my homeland for the first time in ten years. She got the opportunity to move to  Amman to be closer to the rest of her family -also to her home- and to finish her studies amongst them.  In my short journey I’ve found myself shocked and surprised many times, some were pleasing and  others.. not so much. It’s my home and they’re my family but I’m seeing it all for the first time. I’m not used to anything, and it wasn’t like I imagined it to be. 

When I got to my house and my room in Cairo, which was at that time more familiar to me than  Baghdad, I realized how much I missed it. I missed our street and my balcony overlooking my old school  and I missed leaning on its fence to read or write many stories, I also missed the benches that me and  Salma always sat on to catch up all the time while enjoying the sky. My area had a good design; in every  street you walk, you have at least one view of the horizon without anything blocking it. When I used to put my  head on my pillow where I had a fixed angle to look at the moon through my balcony, I finally felt peace. And just like life, that peace was short, for after a few weeks of while I’m still processing the information I  got from my short trip it hit me.. the yearning for Baghdad. And when I finally settled after tiredness  from traveling and the fatigue I got from the waterfall of new information I got, I went through my  photos and kept staring at a picture I had of the window on the plane. It sent me back to my old  questions; where am I from all of this? And who am I?

Am I able to go back to my homeland now? Do I yearn for another home? For there are my family and  friends.. and here also are my family and friends. I felt, like in the picture, hanging between earth and  the sky, between Baghdad and Cairo. I never let go of my thoughts of belonging but it’s still a tough  thought. Where do I stand? And where do I go? I’m not as Baghdadi as I should but I want to be. And not  as Cairene enough but I know it better than most of my Egyptian friends. I said to myself that belonging  may be a feeling like other feelings, comes and goes depending on the situation and the place, and we  may belong to people or times not lands we can’t go to whenever we desire, for if they bring us back the  places.. who would bring back the company? 

On the topic of company, I called Salma on the first chance we got to call. We were able to meet after a  long time. My neighborhood truly became lonely after she left. This time we spoke little, for she was very  busy and wasn’t staying in Cairo for long. She was speaking to me in her Palestinian accent leaving her Egyptian one behind before she left, even though it was noticeable sometimes. I shared with her some  of the details of my trip as she told me about her new home. She’s starting to get used to living in Jordan  as it wasn’t new and unfamiliar for a long time. I never dared to ask her about Palestine or if she still  feels lonely sitting in her depressing yearning zone or if she had locked it shut. I settled for what she  shared with me when I asked what I would do for my new feelings. We concluded that maybe yearning  and belonging and memories would all stay as separate concepts and we never agreed what they were  to us. And we agreed to stay in touch, until life happened.. 

You may not understand Salma, for she lives in a different world than ours. She’s hard to reach because  of her being very busy and her intense hatred for holding a phone or using it in anything other than  music. It’s always Eid when hearing Salma’s voice. My last night in Cairo was Eid too, regardless of how  sad it was.  

While I was on my way home to meet my friends who were my second family, I was thinking “how would  I leave Cairo while Salma is the last to know?” For she never responded or even seen my messages. And  Subhan Allah! I got a message from a strange number that I answered -which I don’t usually do- just to  hear Salma’s voice! It was like a movie. Reproaching her until she softens my heart by telling me that the  reason she was busy was her coming to Cairo yesterday. I told her that I’m leaving it tomorrow so she  rushed to join me sitting on my room floor for one last time, gathered with the people we love, sharing  our news and feelings about me leaving and how much time I had to pack up and how would I leave my  room and my streets and lots of boxes of clothes and books and thousands of memories and her answer  for all of this was “I don’t know”. But we said it’s okay because it’s all in the preservation of Allah and  also my friends who never break a promise.  

I went on my way towards my second home.. or is it my first one? I went on not knowing if I had the right to  call it my first home after I spent more than half of my life in another one. Do I have the right to speak In  an Iraqi way while my accent is mixed with another one in my sentences and the way I speak. Saying that  

I’m from Baghdad in a Cairene tongue? It wasn’t easy for me to imagine how I would go back and fit in  and make up for half of my life which I spent away from my homeland and from its people. But here I am closing on my second year in Baghdad after less than a month from now. I never imagined the passage of what has passed or the occurrence of what has happened. I became a new person many  times and I’m now able to say that I’m Iraqi without stumbling or misspeaking.I would even denounce it  if someone saw me otherwise. I am still not sure what to name myself. I’m unable to abandon my Egyptian  half as it never abandoned me. You’ll find it in some of my words and most of my stories and majority of  my personality and memories. And It’s tough to say that I’m Iraqi without mentioning the period I spent  in Cairo because I feel it’s incomplete without it.

In these two years in my journey to adapt to my new original homeland it was hard to accept many  things that were maybe normal. And despite many attempts from the people around me to convince me  to adapt and how to adapt, what I truly remember was what Salma once told me when I refused to  accept my new life in college and my struggle with making friends. She said “if you really want to find  friends then why do you keep rejecting everyone who’s trying to get close to you? Are you seeking new  friends or are you trying to find your old friends in your new life?” And this is indeed what I saw myself  going through again in here. Despite my desire to accept my new reality and years of yearning for  Baghdad, I was finding it hard to do so. I felt like I was replacing a life I have built to the details over the  years. For time is limited and if I invested it for another life, how would I not cut connections? To have  two different identities is seemingly beautiful but it’s filled with difficulties. How can I lean on a new  balcony fence every time? 

In any case, life goes on. I've learned not to rely on anything in life; nothing is constant. After this time - Salma and I - despite our close relationship, which remains the only thing unaffected by time and distance, we've grown to become two entirely different personalities from the day we met. Today, Salma despite our differences in opinions. We don't reject belonging, but we strip it from what can be taken from us. Originally, I only belonged to God. The whole earth is not my limit, as I return to Him. My longing for every piece of land I've walked on is a human feeling inevitable with travel and exploration. How can I remain in one place if I want to explore the world, fearing nostalgia? A person must move and leave, even at the expense of a longing heart. However, we must return one day to where we long for, even if after a while. There is a big difference between wandering and displacement. No one lived who deprived the yearning for God's land that He created, and no one lived who expelled people from their homes. Today, I am blessed with my land, and the decision to settle in it or go out in search of something different is mine. Is it time for Salma to make the decision?

Written in Arabic by: Fatema Alka’by

Translated to English by: Ali Muayad

Translated to Kurdish by: Mir Haval Mohammed

Poster Design by: Sarah Mustafa