Essmat sends me a photo in which I immediately recognize the boy. He sits cross-legged next to his grandmother. But wait: is that woman his grandmother or is it his mother? In Yezidi families with many children, the age difference between the oldest and youngest child can be fifteen years or more. 17-year-old Essmat lives not far from us with his brother who is in his early thirties. Life expectancy in Iraq is at least seven years lower than in the Netherlands. People also age faster there. Yet I suspect that it concerns Essmat’s grandmother and not her mother.
The woman is dressed almost entirely in white and the boy is dressed almost entirely in black. Once again it appears that well-known sports brands such as Nike are conquering the world at lightning speed. Both are barefoot. Essmat’s clothing reveals that it is not really cold. Yet he wears a white hat. It must certainly be uncomfortable for the grandmother to sit on the floor. The photo appears to have been taken at home in a rather poor environment. A wide black tape prevents the cabinet door from falling open. Essmat places his arm lovingly on his grandmother’s shoulder.
I send the photo to Khalid in the AZC. He is Yazidi and can certainly explain. The original clothing of Yazidis – both men and women – is white: this color symbolizes the search for peace. All wear a wide belt. The white hat is made of sheep’s wool. It is also worn indoors. Because most Yezidis sleep poor, they sit and eat on the ground. Out of respect for the house, they take off their shoes and – when it is warm – also their socks. The photo does not appear to have been taken on the occasion of a special event.
Not one but two emojis with a stream of tears leave no room for misunderstanding. Essmat’s grandmother has died in faraway Iraq, which understandably saddens the boy. ‘Yes,’ he confirms to me: “This is my grandmother and she passed away.” Refugees often forget that they have family in distant countries and that the ties with them are still very close. “Can you tell me something about your dear grandmother?” I ask Essmat. ‘No sorry,’ the boy answers immediately. I was a bit shocked by his reaction, but wrote that I fully understand that.
I don’t know what’s going on in Essmat. He writes something else but immediately deletes the message. ‘
Sorry, I don’t write much and I can’t write as well as you.’ I try to take away the somewhat painful atmosphere. ‘We light a card for your grandmother. We often do that when someone has died. I know Yazidis have many rituals when someone has died. I’ve read about that. Fortunately, at least you have a beautiful photo of you with your grandmother.’ ‘Sorry,’ appt Essmat: ‘he’s my brother but he looks a lot like me.’
Actually, I could and should have known that. The photo must have been taken in Iraq and Essmat has been living in the Netherlands for a few years. I could kick myself. ‘Oh, sorry again, but your brother does indeed look very much like you. I think it’s very sweet the way your brother embraces your grandmother. That moves me.’ ‘Grandma was always very kind to us. When I was little she gave us money: about one or maybe five euros. I remember that very well and of course I will never forget that memory as long as I live.’
Postscript:
As a sign of mourning, Essmat blacked out the space for his profile photo in WhatsApp.
