My name is Muhammed Encü
My name is Muhammed Encü
My name is Muhammed Encü.
The first child of a family, a thirteen year-old softhearted brother, a pigeon devoted to its house…
We didn’t have any problem other than poverty and we didn’t trouble it very much as we were continuing to live praising to God…
I was at the sixth class yet, I was holding on to life with the dream of being a veterinarian one day. I used to love the animals my father fed, especially the donkeys which looked very much like horses. I was fond of horses, I many times talked my father’s head off, asking him to buy me a horse…
I used to be cut to the heart when an animal in the village fell ill or got injured. I used to do all I could before starting to pray, wishing I could do more for them. I wanted to be a veterinarian especially to take care of the animals in our village, so that they wouldn’t die of disease and feel pain when injured…
Without a dream, it is more difficult to live in the village of Roboski. People about my age start to go into dreams here… Some of them colligate the ground and heavens in their dreams, while some others wish to be buried enshrouded when they die. I am also one of them since I know that ‘no cloth has ever been cut out that suits a human being more beautiful than the shroud of dreaming’…
My father wasn’t home that day. My cousins and friends were preparing to go “smuggling”. I called my father on phone and asked him for permission but he didn’t give. I insisted on going as he insisted on not allowing. I went without his permission…
I was going with my cousins, why would it matter? Wouldn’t they protect me if something happened to me? I didn’t take my donkey with me as I was going without permission. I took the donkey of someone else, the money I would get would be shared between me and its owner. Hüsnü, Bilal, Savaþ, Mahsun, Erkan and me took the road, going after the donkeys… Except for Hüsnü, all of us were of the same age. We had many dreams and joint hopes that we often told each other about…
Hüsnü used to say that these borders were unlawfully drawn regardless of relationship ties of the people living along it and he was angry with those who called our border trade with our relatives “smuggling”. ‘No matter how many mines they lay and boundaries they draw up, which barbed wires could ever protect the borders that are determined by the power, not by the god”, he used to say… Although we didn’t understand all he said, we used to believe he was right…
All four ways were closed on our return path. We cuddled up to each other with my four cousins who were also at the same age with me. They first set off a very signal light at four sides of us, and then attacked us with bombs from all sides…
It happened while I was praying to god to prevent my donkey from being injured! How could my heart, which was hurt even an animal bled on knee, stand the pain of a burning donkey that fell to pieces? Nobody is so brave to watch a burning animal! Especially, not me…With tears in my eyes, I run towards it but the next bomb made me suffer the same fate with my donkey… Both of us burnt down side by side…
Our house is the nearest one to the area of the bombing. My mother felt a pang of sorrow in her heart when the bombs were dropped. My father, as soon as receiving the news of the bombing, called my mobile phone and felt happy when he heard it ringing as he thought I wasn’t there… However, when my mother called him and told that I was also there, his heart also fell to pieces like suffering from a bombing… My mother was among those who run and reached there first but what they saw wouldn’t be any different from what those coming the latest would see… We were lying burning, torn into pieces in the field which turned to the area of armageddon…
A donkey survived the bombing; people now see an abashed expression in its eyes. I didn’t love donkeys without a reason…It shall be a lesson to some people…
You, who burnt my body down and enshrouded it with my dreams, should know that “not only me but also my mother will have her curse take affect as you have gone me through the wringer”… The rain water softens the place it touches; I hope your heart will be caught in the rain!
My name is Muhammed Encü; I am thirteen year old and the owner of one of the shoes found there. Should my name be mentioned at school, say all together that I am here…
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didn’t kill the justice too…
Doesn’t everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
The first child of a family, a thirteen year-old softhearted brother, a pigeon devoted to its house…
We didn’t have any problem other than poverty and we didn’t trouble it very much as we were continuing to live praising to God…
I was at the sixth class yet, I was holding on to life with the dream of being a veterinarian one day. I used to love the animals my father fed, especially the donkeys which looked very much like horses. I was fond of horses, I many times talked my father’s head off, asking him to buy me a horse…
I used to be cut to the heart when an animal in the village fell ill or got injured. I used to do all I could before starting to pray, wishing I could do more for them. I wanted to be a veterinarian especially to take care of the animals in our village, so that they wouldn’t die of disease and feel pain when injured…
Without a dream, it is more difficult to live in the village of Roboski. People about my age start to go into dreams here… Some of them colligate the ground and heavens in their dreams, while some others wish to be buried enshrouded when they die. I am also one of them since I know that ‘no cloth has ever been cut out that suits a human being more beautiful than the shroud of dreaming’…
My father wasn’t home that day. My cousins and friends were preparing to go “smuggling”. I called my father on phone and asked him for permission but he didn’t give. I insisted on going as he insisted on not allowing. I went without his permission…
I was going with my cousins, why would it matter? Wouldn’t they protect me if something happened to me? I didn’t take my donkey with me as I was going without permission. I took the donkey of someone else, the money I would get would be shared between me and its owner. Hüsnü, Bilal, Savaþ, Mahsun, Erkan and me took the road, going after the donkeys… Except for Hüsnü, all of us were of the same age. We had many dreams and joint hopes that we often told each other about…
Hüsnü used to say that these borders were unlawfully drawn regardless of relationship ties of the people living along it and he was angry with those who called our border trade with our relatives “smuggling”. ‘No matter how many mines they lay and boundaries they draw up, which barbed wires could ever protect the borders that are determined by the power, not by the god”, he used to say… Although we didn’t understand all he said, we used to believe he was right…
All four ways were closed on our return path. We cuddled up to each other with my four cousins who were also at the same age with me. They first set off a very signal light at four sides of us, and then attacked us with bombs from all sides…
It happened while I was praying to god to prevent my donkey from being injured! How could my heart, which was hurt even an animal bled on knee, stand the pain of a burning donkey that fell to pieces? Nobody is so brave to watch a burning animal! Especially, not me…With tears in my eyes, I run towards it but the next bomb made me suffer the same fate with my donkey… Both of us burnt down side by side…
Our house is the nearest one to the area of the bombing. My mother felt a pang of sorrow in her heart when the bombs were dropped. My father, as soon as receiving the news of the bombing, called my mobile phone and felt happy when he heard it ringing as he thought I wasn’t there… However, when my mother called him and told that I was also there, his heart also fell to pieces like suffering from a bombing… My mother was among those who run and reached there first but what they saw wouldn’t be any different from what those coming the latest would see… We were lying burning, torn into pieces in the field which turned to the area of armageddon…
A donkey survived the bombing; people now see an abashed expression in its eyes. I didn’t love donkeys without a reason…It shall be a lesson to some people…
You, who burnt my body down and enshrouded it with my dreams, should know that “not only me but also my mother will have her curse take affect as you have gone me through the wringer”… The rain water softens the place it touches; I hope your heart will be caught in the rain!
My name is Muhammed Encü; I am thirteen year old and the owner of one of the shoes found there. Should my name be mentioned at school, say all together that I am here…
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didn’t kill the justice too…
Doesn’t everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
