My name is Orhan Encü
My name is Orhan Encü
My name is Orhan Encü.
I was the thirteen year-old son of a very poor and miserable populous family…
The last child of a family generally has a special value, especially in the eyes of the mother… MY mother used to call me as “the light of my eye”…
I was a good-humored person, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that I was the source of joy in our house. I was also clever and hardworking, that’s why I started school very early and got good marks in all my lessons. I used to dream about being a computer engineer in the future. Although I didn’t know exactly what it was like, some of my experiments and discoveries made my teachers think I had the potential for it…
I was feeding several puppies at home. They used to love me very much…
They would welcome me at the door when I returned home from my school… They would turn around me with joy at the time of playing and eating…
Ten months ago we lost my mother, the light of whose eyes I was. Have you ever tasted the seperation of death? It is such a bitter fruit that you can never forget its taste as long as you live… That pain allows you to neither eat nor sleep…
I for a long time wanted my father to buy me a computer which he promised to buy at the end of the season of poverty. However, this season would never end; it lasted longer than the hardest and longest winters…
When I saw that this season wouldn’t end, I started to convince my father to let me go “smuggling”. I was going to be with my elder brother Zeydan, not alone. Besides, five friends of mine, who were at the same age with me, were also going “smuggling”, so I could also go together with them…
My father, unable to refuse my persistence, eventually allowed me to go as he also knew that he couldn’t afford to buy a computer for me…
We made an agreement; the money Zeydan would get from there would be spent for the house expenses while the money I would geet would be put in money box for the computer I was going to buy… I didn’t know how many times I would have to go “smuggling” to earn enough money for a computer but still I went after those who took the road that night. I thusly became “one of the thirty four”…
When the bad news of the dark night reached our village, my dogs also run to the field of death with others… The death that fell to my share must have hurt them very much as they didn’t stop barking painfully…
I wasn’t as tall as my donkey and my dead body wasn’t able to lie at full length … Like a puzzle with incompatible pieces, none of my pieces matched my entire body. The pieces they collected thinking they were mine were mostly the parts of my poor donkey which was also targeted by the bombs…
My name is Orhan Encü; a little horse with white mane took me on its back and carried me away to the paradise…
I went there but my dreams will remain under a walnut tree…
Me and my brother Zeydan are buried now under clouds…
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.
I was the thirteen year-old son of a very poor and miserable populous family…
The last child of a family generally has a special value, especially in the eyes of the mother… MY mother used to call me as “the light of my eye”…
I was a good-humored person, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that I was the source of joy in our house. I was also clever and hardworking, that’s why I started school very early and got good marks in all my lessons. I used to dream about being a computer engineer in the future. Although I didn’t know exactly what it was like, some of my experiments and discoveries made my teachers think I had the potential for it…
I was feeding several puppies at home. They used to love me very much…
They would welcome me at the door when I returned home from my school… They would turn around me with joy at the time of playing and eating…
Ten months ago we lost my mother, the light of whose eyes I was. Have you ever tasted the seperation of death? It is such a bitter fruit that you can never forget its taste as long as you live… That pain allows you to neither eat nor sleep…
I for a long time wanted my father to buy me a computer which he promised to buy at the end of the season of poverty. However, this season would never end; it lasted longer than the hardest and longest winters…
When I saw that this season wouldn’t end, I started to convince my father to let me go “smuggling”. I was going to be with my elder brother Zeydan, not alone. Besides, five friends of mine, who were at the same age with me, were also going “smuggling”, so I could also go together with them…
My father, unable to refuse my persistence, eventually allowed me to go as he also knew that he couldn’t afford to buy a computer for me…
We made an agreement; the money Zeydan would get from there would be spent for the house expenses while the money I would geet would be put in money box for the computer I was going to buy… I didn’t know how many times I would have to go “smuggling” to earn enough money for a computer but still I went after those who took the road that night. I thusly became “one of the thirty four”…
When the bad news of the dark night reached our village, my dogs also run to the field of death with others… The death that fell to my share must have hurt them very much as they didn’t stop barking painfully…
I wasn’t as tall as my donkey and my dead body wasn’t able to lie at full length … Like a puzzle with incompatible pieces, none of my pieces matched my entire body. The pieces they collected thinking they were mine were mostly the parts of my poor donkey which was also targeted by the bombs…
My name is Orhan Encü; a little horse with white mane took me on its back and carried me away to the paradise…
I went there but my dreams will remain under a walnut tree…
Me and my brother Zeydan are buried now under clouds…
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.
