DEATH; PART 1
Death would be the first word that comes to my mind when I think about Gundê Babîrya. Death is what I think of as I walk through the deep craved path which leads to the old village of Gundê Babîrya. A village stopped in time where life has died and fallen rocks are significant. A village where it can breathe and picture the remembrance of which three families (Mala Kelashî, Shînu, Hassanî) lived in and died in. where the families still declare these fallen rocks and the walls that have not been touched as their own. Gundê Babîrya is a village that was able to take death and bring life back into its land and mountains. After many years of acceptance and progress of my beautiful village I am able to walk on the deep craved path and reflect. I walk and reflect on these fallen rocks that were once the only protection that my people had to the cold winter that falls on the mountains and the hot summer that heats up the mountains. I am able to touch the branches of the tree and the leaves that grow from it. I am able to touch the bark to feel the depths of the craved out lines that represent the tree. As I count these lines it starts to feel like I am counting the lives lost in this village with each passing finger it signifies lines of a tally chart. I look at this tree while standing under its protection through its shadows and try to think of what life was like before terror was announced on this district. Before terror was announced in my families eyes. I stand and reflect seeing the rays of the sun peak through the branches. However, my reflection comes to a stop when I turn around and see on the other side of this mountain there stands Gundê Babîrya alive, healthy, and awake. I soon realize death could never possibly be the first word that comes to my mind when I think of my beautiful village of Gundê Babîrya.
[part 2 will be up on Monday at 3pm; enjoy]