By Mohamed Mahtoub, Sirte, Libya, aged 11. (Translated from the Arabic)
When the war started my dad was working in Sirte. He came home early and left us the next day. I was sad but my mum told us he would be back very soon. I waited by the window until nighttime. Planes passed in the sky and dropped bombs that shook our house. We had to hide under the bed, my baby sister was crying. The next morning on the way to school I saw houses in ruins and dead people under cardboard. There was blood in pools on the road. When I told my Mum she didn´t let us leave the house again.
Inside we spent all day reading and playing. My Uncle came often and brought us food. Sometimes the lights didn´t work and we ate cold beans in the dark. One day I heard shooting from the street. My Mum closed the curtains because it was dangerous. I couldn´t wait by the window for my Dad so I cried all night. I wanted to be the first to see him coming home. My Mum told us about her brothers and sisters before they left Libya. She had started knitting. I liked the noise of the needles when she told her stories so she got us some hooks to knit together.
Sometimes I was bored and didn´t know what to do. But one day the door opened and it was my Dad. We jumped up and hugged him tight. This time we cried because we were very happy. My Dad was thin and smelled funny. He went to bed as he was tired and slept for a long time. When he woke up my Dad was screaming I felt afraid again but Mum said that everything was going to be okay. The war in Libya was over.
We opened all the curtains in the house and when my Uncle´s family arrived we had a party. Afterwards, I went outside to play with my cousins but my Dad did not want to come. He stayed in his room. We were not allowed to go in without knocking the door because he was busy working on his papers. My mum got letters from her relatives abroad. They sent newspapers but she would not let us see them. There was always an argument when those letters arrived. My Dad shouted a lot so his brother came and tried to talk with him but he was sent away. We went back to school.
Everyone was excited that we had a new country so we had another party. One day when we came home from school my Mum was crying in the kitchen. There was mess everywhere, milk on the floor and broken dishes. I heard my Dad talking in his room but he was alone and wouldn´t let me in. That night we went to bed early without supper. I tried to stay awake because my parents were fighting.
Something woke me in the middle of night. All the lights in the house were on. My Mum was standing in the hall screaming without making any noise. I saw my Dad sitting on the floor he had blood on his face and he was gasping like when a fish is out of the water. Quickly I ran to my uncle´s house to tell him what had happened. He made me stay with my aunt and returned later with my sister and mum. My Dad was dead.
All I remember about the funeral is holding my mum. Relatives said I was now the head of our family but I did not know what that meant or what to do. My mum cried all the time. I could not cry. I told myself it was all a bad dream so I pinched and pinched but could not wake up.
Later, I started to forget my father´s face. The more I tried to remember him the harder it became. I was so scared I ran to my parent´s bedroom and searched his drawers. There were only newspapers there. I could not understand the strange writing but I found a photograph that reminded me of my Dad and cut it out of the paper.
My mum has stopped crying now and we have gone back to school. We visit my Dad´s grave every day, we bring flowers and say prayers. When I really miss him I take this photograph from under my pillow and it makes me feel better. It reminds me of the last time I saw my Dad alive.
