Asria Mohamed Taleb
2013-02-28, Issue 618
http://pambazuka.org/en/category/features/86416
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Some people find it rude to be asked about their age, or how much they earn, while others find it offending to be asked about their religion. As a refugee, nothing makes me angrier, sadder and filled with hatred than someone asking me, ‘What is home for you?’ I find it to be a very mean question, the same as asking someone in a wheelchair, ‘Why can´t you walk?’. Due to the interaction with new people every day, I have had to face the challenge of answering this question ever since coming here, or at least provide a simple explanation to help others understand our complicated situation. Despite this, the difficulties I am dealing with are more about how to describe something I never had.
I often get asked, ‘Are you from India?’ I must admit that I feel a special connection with this country although I wish that people would see Western Sahara in the features of my face instead of India. Almost every other person I have met whether in Algeria, Spain or here in Norway have asked me this question. I mention this example because I feel so jealous, and wonder how other countries have their own distinct characteristics and identity.
Meanwhile, the questions still playing back and forth in my mind are, ‘Why don’t people know about the characteristics of my people, the language we speak, what we believe in and where the Western Sahara is?’ However, I believe that what makes me more angry is knowing that these thoughts are stupid because how could people know the answers to all these questions, if I am unable to answer them myself? It does make me sad and angry every time people do not understand where I live or where I originally come from. I want to try answer this for those who wonder what home is for us and specifically for myself as a refugee. ‘Sahara zaina’, (Sahara the beautiful) my grandmother, once said while we were sat having tea listening to our national radio. ‘Soon you will experience that’, my grandmother added. She died years ago, and I grew up and worked in that same radio station while other grandmothers were probably telling the same things to their grandchildren.
I hope we will not stay until I become a grandmother telling the same stories to my children. The difference between my grandmother and I is that she knew what our homeland looked like and I do not because I have only seen these refugee camps. I was born in these camps, I lived here my whole life and in a way, it is home for me because it is the only home that I know!! I went to school in Algeria, a wonderful country which provided us some land to make a home out of after Morocco raped our homeland. As young refugees, we suffered from many things. This makes me laugh now and cry at the same time. When we were young, it did affect us when others made fun of us that we did not have a country and that we had come from refugee camps living in tents. Some of us started to lie, that we lived in the liberated area of Western Sahara, where there were a few houses and life could be yours. In my third year in university, we studied Algerian history. I had the best grades and sometimes I wish I did not. One of my classmates found it unfair and said to the teacher, ‘Should she not know the history of her country first?’.
I could not argue because my tears always failed me. Everyone felt sorry for me. I too felt sorry and angry because of our situation. That face of sympathy my classmates gave me is the same face that people give me when I say that I am a refugee. That is the face I hate the most. It makes me feel like I do not belong anywhere. However, inside me, I know Western Sahara is my home. I have never seen it but I know it does exist, may be it does not exist in other peoples minds or library books and school maps, but it does exist inside me, inside all the Saharawi and inside all those who believe in justice.
Home for me is where I belong, home is a place that will open its arms to me, no matter how good or bad I am. Home is stabilization, security and identity. Home for many people is something tangible; home for us is a dream. Home for you is a reality; home for me is a wish. Home for you is existence; home for me is a struggle. You live in your home; my home lives inside me. ‘Where do you want to spend your life, Asria?’, my friend asked this question when we were traveling. Before I answered him, I had to explain that I do not really agree that we should have borders; I wish that all people could be able to live together.
But first I want to experience that feeling. The feeling of belonging. The feeling that people get when they see me wearing my traditional Melhfa and say to me that I am from Western Sahara not India. I want to witness my family and all Saharawi return to our country; I want to know that all Saharawi in the occupied area live in security. I want to make sure that our next generation will live in peace and stability. I might move to a place where I feel is me, maybe Western Sahara or any other place in the world, because what is important is to live amongst people who you love, and the people who I love live in the refugee camps for that is our home until we get our independence.
* Asria Mohamed Taleb is a young Saharawi woman living in Norway. She has written a book 'A Norwegian Hope Journey: Between the strong sand and the white snow lives my hope for a free Sahara’ EXTRA LINKS Michael Palin’s visit Part One:
Meanwhile, the questions still playing back and forth in my mind are, ‘Why don’t people know about the characteristics of my people, the language we speak, what we believe in and where the Western Sahara is?’ However, I believe that what makes me more angry is knowing that these thoughts are stupid because how could people know the answers to all these questions, if I am unable to answer them myself? It does make me sad and angry every time people do not understand where I live or where I originally come from. I want to try answer this for those who wonder what home is for us and specifically for myself as a refugee. ‘Sahara zaina’, (Sahara the beautiful) my grandmother, once said while we were sat having tea listening to our national radio. ‘Soon you will experience that’, my grandmother added. She died years ago, and I grew up and worked in that same radio station while other grandmothers were probably telling the same things to their grandchildren.
I hope we will not stay until I become a grandmother telling the same stories to my children. The difference between my grandmother and I is that she knew what our homeland looked like and I do not because I have only seen these refugee camps. I was born in these camps, I lived here my whole life and in a way, it is home for me because it is the only home that I know!! I went to school in Algeria, a wonderful country which provided us some land to make a home out of after Morocco raped our homeland. As young refugees, we suffered from many things. This makes me laugh now and cry at the same time. When we were young, it did affect us when others made fun of us that we did not have a country and that we had come from refugee camps living in tents. Some of us started to lie, that we lived in the liberated area of Western Sahara, where there were a few houses and life could be yours. In my third year in university, we studied Algerian history. I had the best grades and sometimes I wish I did not. One of my classmates found it unfair and said to the teacher, ‘Should she not know the history of her country first?’.
I could not argue because my tears always failed me. Everyone felt sorry for me. I too felt sorry and angry because of our situation. That face of sympathy my classmates gave me is the same face that people give me when I say that I am a refugee. That is the face I hate the most. It makes me feel like I do not belong anywhere. However, inside me, I know Western Sahara is my home. I have never seen it but I know it does exist, may be it does not exist in other peoples minds or library books and school maps, but it does exist inside me, inside all the Saharawi and inside all those who believe in justice.
Home for me is where I belong, home is a place that will open its arms to me, no matter how good or bad I am. Home is stabilization, security and identity. Home for many people is something tangible; home for us is a dream. Home for you is a reality; home for me is a wish. Home for you is existence; home for me is a struggle. You live in your home; my home lives inside me. ‘Where do you want to spend your life, Asria?’, my friend asked this question when we were traveling. Before I answered him, I had to explain that I do not really agree that we should have borders; I wish that all people could be able to live together.
But first I want to experience that feeling. The feeling of belonging. The feeling that people get when they see me wearing my traditional Melhfa and say to me that I am from Western Sahara not India. I want to witness my family and all Saharawi return to our country; I want to know that all Saharawi in the occupied area live in security. I want to make sure that our next generation will live in peace and stability. I might move to a place where I feel is me, maybe Western Sahara or any other place in the world, because what is important is to live amongst people who you love, and the people who I love live in the refugee camps for that is our home until we get our independence.
* Asria Mohamed Taleb is a young Saharawi woman living in Norway. She has written a book 'A Norwegian Hope Journey: Between the strong sand and the white snow lives my hope for a free Sahara’ EXTRA LINKS Michael Palin’s visit Part One:
Part Two:
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