The Journalist

Chapter 60: The Most Painful Travel

Khalila taught me that the most painful departure is the departure of people who cannot return to the world. Leaving someone we love is stifling, but waiting and expecting someone who can't possibly come back is heartbreaking.

.

.

.

My journey with Khalila continues amid an ever-increasing war. By nightfall, we arrived at the border to a new village. To get to the village, I had to cross a bridge that had been torn down by rebel forces to slow the assault of government forces in the region. If you tread with care, then Khalila and I will fall into a river of very heavy flow. Fortunately, I mastered the parkour¹ technique that makes it easier for me to move from one point to another.

From the top of the bridge, I saw far-flung US troops coming in droves with full armaments towards the village that Ameena lived in. A big smile on my lips. There was a glimmer of hope of salvation for Ameena and the people left there. Moreover, I had heard that the US as a democracy supporter was offering troops and weapons to fight the government and Russian militias.

"Sister, look, there are many reinforcements sent to your village."

I cheered as I pointed at the row of United States-flagged combat cars that filled the path like the middle of a convoy. There are also helicopters with American emblems beginning to fill our skies.

Khalila was unmoved with blank eyes. Only her eyes were swollen from crying for too long.

"Brother Blonde, why should there be a war?" ask her in a weak voice.

"Because .. humans are full of differences. There are different understandings and opinions, there are different tribes and countries and there are different religions so it is very easy to arise disputes. Plus, humans have the nature to compete and be superior." I answer questions for what they are, because I don't like to outsmart a kid who asks by giving a stupid answer that doesn't make sense.

"Then ... why should there be any difference in the world? Why would God make a difference if that's what makes us fight?" ask again.

I was silent for a moment. "So that people may come to know the meaning of tolerance and learn to respect each other" I replied.

"But the truth is that humans are fighting!" her looks.

"Yes, because not all humans can do it. Not all humans can respect each other and tolerate each other" I explained.

I crossed a broken bridge. The state of this village is still better than the village occupied by Ameena. At least, we did not see the corpses that were scattered and the brains that were scattered like in the previous village.

We found a UN-built emergency evacuation site. As soon as combing through this refugee, the sight that looked no less made my heart tear apart. Many people are busy looking for their missing relatives. The faces of innocent children were filled with dust mixed with blood. Some of them have lost their limbs. The mourning of the parents who lost their children was heard throughout the refugee area. There were also those who just stared silently with blank stares, as if they were no longer lifeless. All of that makes me wonder, is there still a bright tomorrow for them?

Okaazan ... Otousan .. I miss you guys. Calm down, I will return home, having saved my loved ones ....

For the first time in my life, I miss my parents. Being in this place at least made me realize the importance of family.

Then I went in line to get free food. One can of rations I had saved earlier I had eaten on the way. Actually I have enough money for living expenses for the next few days, but it all feels useless when I am at the war point location because there is nothing to buy.

"You don't look like a resident here!" said the man who distributed the food.

"Yes, I'm a journalist stuck here. I'll give this to the little boy!" I pointed at Khalila who was sitting crouching beside the shabby mat.

After getting the dinner split, I hurried over to Khalila. I saw the little girl playing in the sand. This certainly makes me happy because finally he can forget for a moment his sadness. I then approached him who was busy making a mini-sized rectangular mound.

"What are you doing?" ask me to crouch on his side.

"Abi is dead, so I'm making a grave for her! They may not have had time to bury him" he said softly while sticking a small stone on the edge of the sand dune. Behind the sadness that befell him is still tucked into a smile review.

My eyes gradually turned red and foggy. Likewise with Khalila, the smile that expands on his lips does not last long and gradually fades when staring at the small grave of his creation.

I tried to contact Aoba and the others. Maybe they can help me find transport access to get back to Damascus. Unfortunately, our phone is not connected. I also tried to contact Ameena to find out. It also seems that he could not be contacted.

I detained every volunteer who came with the refugees, just to ask for transport access to Damascus. Unfortunately, no one knows because the volunteers came from other countries on average.

Khalila came up to me pulling the edge of my shirt. "Big Brother Blonde, I want to go home ...."

"Patience, yes, for a while we lived here first. I'll try to contact my friends so they can pick us up" I replied, wiping his head.

Khalila. "No, I want to go back to the parlor. They are my family. I don't want to part with them. Please take me back there! Please!" he said while cupping both hands.

I looked at him full of dilemmas.

"Big Brother Blonde, you must want to meet ummi, right?" said again.

I was stunned for a moment. While thinning my lips, I nodded slowly.

Khalila nodded, then lay down on a shabby mat he placed beside the mound of earth resembling a grave of his creation. The number of tents is not balanced with the number of refugees, making some people like us forced to sleep outside.

Silence is so loud when people have fallen asleep. The night wind was really piercing my skin. Khalila had also drowned in her sleep. Sometimes he looked sobbing while calling out to Dad.

I opened the laptop, then copied the photos I had taken from the camera throughout our escape. Yes, although my purpose in coming here was not for work, the soul of journalists was not just left out. I emailed Aoba and Kamal Malek in the hope that they would release it to the media. My main goal is just to let the world know, the world see, and the world stir.

After sending a copy of the photo and informing Aoba of my current location via email, I put the laptop back in the bag. However, immediately my gaze was fixed on the book given by Ameena which until now I did not know the contents. I was also curious about the letter I left in his room. Has it been read by him?

Ah, a hunk of fret over my head thinking so much about it. I can only look up at the night sky as a cure for my longing.

***

Since Khalila kept urging me to return to her village, we travelled back to the village when the sun rose. Still passing the route yesterday, Khalila and I walked slowly after successfully crossing the broken bridge.

"Brother Blonde, isn't that an army car?" Khalila pointed to a car parked at a crossroads.

"Yes, right. That's an American troop car" I said looking at the tiny flag that was stuck in front of the car.

Feeling they could take us home, I asked Khalila to get on my back. Carrying him, I ran towards the car. The car was filled with four soldiers who were resting. One person was asleep in the back seat.

"Good morning, I'm Ayano Kei from J-news. I brought a little girl from the village who got attacked yesterday. Excuse me, if I may know how the village is doing there?" my many.

"Syrian government forces and Russian militias have retreated."

Although the war has not stabilized, information obtained from the army says there are about 900 American troops deployed to help rebel forces. I asked them to help us get back to Khalila village. Luckily they were willing and asked us to get in the car.

"We will meet your mother soon" I said, holding warmly Khalila's tiny hand.

"Can you wait for us to finish breakfast first?" pinta is one of the soldiers. I saw two other soldiers warming up the food.

"Please!" my answer.

They also offered me food and Khalila. Khalila refused to eat it. He hasn't had a taste for anything since yesterday. After finishing breakfast, they boarded the car preparing to drive us.

"Born Brother, my shoes are missing!" khalila said suddenly while pointing at his left foot.

"Gosh, miss again, huh? Probably fell on the street while I was carrying you while running. Yeah, I did, let it go!" I said because the car was leaving soon.

"But I would have trouble walking if I only wore one shoe. And also, the shoes were given to my father," he said, bowing down sadly.

I tried to look at the car window. Precisely, in the direction that we passed earlier.

"Ah, it looks like your shoes have fallen there!" I pointed at the object lying on the street, about seven meters from the car.

The car engine has been turned on. I asked them to wait for me for a moment to pick up the fallen khalila shoes.

"Please, just wait a minute! I'm gonna take this little girl's shoes."

"Oh, yes, please!"

"Sister, you wait here, okay?" my orders while opening the car door.

Immediately, I got out of the car and immediately ran towards the object I saw lying on the street. Right, those are Khalila's shoes that came off. I took the shoes and ran back to the car. I lifted the shoe high to show Khalila looking at me from the car window. A wide smile spontaneously imprinted on his lips.

At the same time, I saw a battle car with a black flag flying over it, speeding from behind. In just a few seconds, the car of the extremist group deliberately crashed into the back of the car that was driven by Khalila to create a powerful impact sound.

.

.

Footprint 🦶🦶

parkour: the art of moving or moving from one place to another in a fast and efficient movement.