I am Tasneem, I am 9 years old.
I am buried under the rubble of our bombed home, with my little sister Raneem, who is 6 years old;
and my baby sister Haneen, 4 years old.
We are from a very sweet, small village called Badama
Al-Shoghour in the countryside of Western Idlib.
My Mama’s name is Zakia.
Mama is 28 years old.
She is the best mother in the world. We love her and she loves us very much.
Papa is named Anwar Hamidi.
Papa loves all the people of this village, and we loved him very much.
He is a Civil defense volunteer.
Every day he and his companions help people who are victims of the regime bombings.
Today my father was working with his Civil defense rescue companions
and we were home with our guests:
Uncle Alaa’s (brother to Papa) and his wife
(her name is Enas Juma Al-Nimr, she was 21 years old).
Also, the wife of the Papa’s cousin, Rahma Ahmad Darwish, who was 47 years old.
My sisters and I were playing.
Mama and Uncle were visiting with our guests.
It was a normal day.
But we are always afraid of the war.
The regime and others, they bomb our country.
I do not know why.
Bombing destroys the apple trees.
So people ran away from the village.
Some people have gone away but we are unable to leave.
The atmosphere today was better than yesterday.
Suddenly within a second –
We heard a sound from far away
The noise of a missile
Mama screamed
Hey girls!
Loud voices
Fire
Dust
Black, all black
darkness
Then nothing. Calm.
Papa came back home.
Don’t be upset father.
We are fine.
We went to heaven with Mama, passed through with our uncle Alaa, and our Aunt Enas.
Take care of yourself, Papa.
We love you so much.
Uncle Alaa, we love you so much.
Do not forget us.
Do not forget who killed us.
