The Boy on the Beach by Tima Kurdi

Author:Tima Kurdi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Chapter 9

Rijl qiddam w rijl wara

One Foot Forward and One Backward

On July 7, Rehanna had a sharp pain in her stomach. Abdullah rushed her to the hospital. After they’d waited for hours, a nurse handed her a pill, ordered her to take it, and sent the couple home. Two days later, in the middle of the night, the pain grew worse. Rehanna started to bleed profusely. Again, Abdullah rushed her to the hospital. There she was told that she’d had a miscarriage. The doctor arranged a D & C operation—dilatation and curettage—but there weren’t any anaesthetics, so Rehanna was conscious throughout the incredibly painful procedure. One of the nurses was Kurdish, and she tried to comfort Rehanna in their mother tongue. Rehanna lost a great deal of blood, and Abdullah was shocked and saddened at how weak she became and how yellow her face was after her operation.

“Tima, I so wanted to have a baby girl named Radiya, after our mother,” Abdullah told me on the phone.

“, Naseeb. It was destiny. Inshallah, you will have a baby girl in the future,” I said, trying to comfort him. “Take care of Rehanna. Please buy her rich food to make up her energy.”

The experience steeled his resolve. Abdullah knew that he and his family had to go to Europe if they were going to secure a safe, healthy future. Rehanna was weak and anemic, but she insisted she could still make the trip. Abdullah went to the butcher and bought her iron-rich sheep livers, cans of sardines, and a large bag of dates for their journey.

July 18 was the beginning of Eid al-Fitr. Abdullah and Rehanna didn’t have enough money for the typical sumptuous meal to break the Ramadan fast, but they did stick with the Muslim tradition of buying new outfits for the boys, albeit ones from the weekend flea market: jean shorts and a T-shirt for Ghalib, and for Alan, a one-piece that looked like a tuxedo shirt and pants, with a black bow tie sewn into the collar and faux suspenders. The outfit for Ghalib would be useful for their impending voyage; the one-piece for Alan was too cute to resist, and it cost only one lira at the flea market.

“Habib albi. Love of my heart, you look like a little man,” said Abdullah, after he’d finished dressing Alan.

“How about me, Baba?” Ghalib asked.

“, Inta hayati kilha. You are my whole life.”

It was a hot, sunny day, so they decided to take their stroller and walk to the Eminönü district and stroll around the Bosphorus waterfront, where passenger ferries criss-cross between the European and Asian sides of Istanbul.

“Can we take a boat ride?” Ghalib asked.

“Why not? It’s Eid. It’ll be fun for the boys,” said Rehanna. The ferries cost one or two lira per person. The kids loved that short boat ride. Alan waved at everyone he saw. He was waving when Rehanna took a photo of Abdullah with his two boys.

Later, Abdullah would say to me, “It was like he was saying goodbye to the world.

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