Media Story

Story of a warrior woman

The village had been without electricity for days. The unfamiliar smell of gas from the lantern had become the new aroma in our house. With my childish mind, I thought if my father had been there, he would have fixed the electricity. Yet, I didn’t realize that heroes were scarce in some of these troubles. During this time without my father, I felt oppressed. I was the oldest of three children. My uncles lived abroad, and there was no one to protect our family. My mother was exhausted, and even though she tried to hide it, I would see her secretly crying. My father and I couldn’t even talk on the phone. Back then, telephones weren’t yet developed. Only two families in our village had phones, one of them ours. Moreover, the prisons didn’t yet have phones, or they didn’t want to communicate with the outside world because it was wartime. How would we manage to get through this? Most importantly, would we be able to? I was losing my mind, thinking, and staying up late. I’d wake up early every morning and go downstairs to see if my father had come. Because almost every night, I dreamed of him coming to visit us. We had an old red chair on the balcony. My father was sitting on it. I ran to him and hugged him every night. But when I went down to check in the morning, the chair was empty, he didn’t come, and my disappointment at that moment was the same every day. I couldn’t get used to it, I didn’t want to get used to it. I don’t have the courage to accept bad situations; my courage wasn’t ready for growth yet. When my father was imprisoned, the state was on the verge of collapse, and all the races within it were establishing their own states in their own republics. Of course, there were no peaceful separations; there were major wars. There were countless women raped, countless children murdered, countless people missing. Life was cruel, and it showed its face most clearly to the innocent.

Since the moment the state’s collapse began, we had already gone through two wars, and the third was underway. That was why they cut off the electricity, because the third war concerned us more. Our race’s war of liberation in the other republic was about to come, and our turn would come. Wars of liberation have a habit of ending as hard as they begin. Throughout all this, we were still alone. Of course, my father’s imprisonment was a stroke of luck, perhaps even a stroke of luck; he was being tortured, but there were many needless deaths… This blood-soaked land never preferred blood; it absorbed everything. Everyone was forced to defend themselves back then; heads of families kept guns in their homes to protect their own families, because a sudden attack could happen at any moment. My father also held a gun to protect us, and that was the reason he was imprisoned. Officially, we called it a crime, unofficially, we called it heroism because, even though it was a crime in the eyes of the law, it was a necessity for survival.

With the fear of war and my father’s absence, barely a few months passed. I started the day with a feeling of well-being. It was Tuesday, the sun was shining brightly that day, giving off ample warmth. As it did every day, I would go down to the balcony below. Today would be the day; the thought in my mind was crystal clear: “Today is the day.” I could almost smell my father’s scent; there was no room for negative thoughts in my mind; that seat would not be empty. I got up and quickly went downstairs to see if my father had arrived. I didn’t understand how I got past the stairs; I was jumping two flights of stairs at once, and finally, I reached the door. After taking a deep breath, I opened the door and looked at the chair; it was empty again. “Not today, huh?” I said, voicing my disappointment. I was just about to despair…

“My daughter, what could it be?” I heard my father’s voice from behind me. I turned my head immediately.
He smiled and asked, “Are you looking for me?”

Finally, my dream wasn’t in vain, finally, my hope wasn’t in vain. In moments like these, one doesn’t look at the person in front of them as a human being. There’s a light on their face, a relief in their smile, a peace in their voice; one wants to idolize them… I hugged them tightly, as if I were seeing someone I’d known for a lifetime for the first time, as if I’d never see them again. I saw my mother laughing for the first time in a long time, singing in her beautiful voice, preparing breakfast. That breakfast—I won’t say much about breakfast—was a family breakfast. It was the dream family breakfast for someone with a complete family. I couldn’t take my eyes off my father as we ate breakfast. I was his father’s daughter, and he was his daughter’s father. I wouldn’t trade this strong bond between us for anything. My father would often tease me. The jokes knew no bounds. As he passed. I’m not sure he knew the difference between a joke and a joke; he was always looking to annoy. That was how he expressed his love. He annoyed the people he loved most and didn’t bother with the ones he didn’t. It was a strange way of conveying his love, but he did. I felt it with everything I had. Before he could say I love you, he said:

“My daughter, you’re upset for me, but you’re not our daughter. We adopted you from another village.”

I laughed too. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and it wouldn’t be the last, and it shouldn’t be. He could have said anything when he was at breakfast tables like this, but his eyes said the exact opposite.