KURDISH FAMILY’S DIARY OF DESPAIR FROM FREEZING FORESTS ON FRONTIERS OF EUROPE
▶ Schoolteachers sleep rough with son, 2, in migrant crisis, write Layla Maghribi and Malgosia Krakowska
Dressed in a pink winter jumpsuit and a knitted hat, Arias, 2, sits on a flattened cardboard box at a makeshift camp in the woods near the BelarusPoland border.
Arias doesn’t play, he doesn’t carry any toys. He cries frequently.
He has barely any food or water, save for an apple given to him by a Belarusian KGB agent at the camp, where the temperature drops below freezing at night.
Arias’s father, Hiwa, and mother, Shamam, were schoolteachers in Kurdistan. The family are among the thousands of migrants trying to make their way to the EU through Belarus, struggling for survival in tent settlements close to the Kuznica border crossing in north-eastern Poland.
At least 10 people have died since the beginning of the humanitarian and political crisis unfolding in the woodlands, where thousands of migrants are stranded.
Minsk has been accused by western leaders of provoking a new refugee crisis in Europe by encouraging migrants to pass through its borders and cross into EU territory.
Sanna Figlarowicz, a Polish volunteer, spends up to 17 hours a day advising migrants by telephone.
Like journalists, aid agencies and even volunteer medics, she is forbidden from entering a three-kilometre emergency zone at the border.
But she has been “helping from a distance” by passing along important survival information to those sleeping outside. She is also collecting and documenting evidence of human rights contraventions.
“All day I get a lot of films, information, requests for help … this experience is heartbreaking,” she said.
Arias and his family are always on her mind. Hiwa has been in touch with Sanna using messenger apps since early this month, having flown into Belarus in late October.
“I haven’t asked them directly about their story but I know that they are scared to go back,” she said.
For 10 days, Sanna kept in touch as Arias, Hiwa and Shamam remained stranded in the cold, wet forest.
Thursday, November 4
Hiwa sends a message to Sanna:
“I wish I had a life like yours, a calm life. My wife and I were teachers in Iraqi Kurdistan.
“I want to save my son from there so that he can live a normal life when he grows up.
“I understand that you can do nothing but help us, it’s so good that you do not hate us.
“What I want the people of Europe to know is that we are nothing less than them and we are human and we have hearts and we have mothers and fathers and children.”
Sunday, November 7
Hiwa and his family set off from Minsk towards Poland. They reach the Sylvan area near the Belarusian-Polish border in the afternoon and spend their first night in the forest.
“My wife and son slept but I cannot sleep,” writes Hiwa as they camp outdoors.
“It is silent and all you can hear is the terrifying wailing of a child. I don’t know how to sleep. What will happen tomorrow?”
Monday, November 8
Hiwa’s family try to cross into Poland but are denied entry. They camp with up to 4,000 others beside barbed wire running along the border. Their attempt to return to Minsk was blocked and they are stranded.
“Is there any news about what Poland intends to do with us? Or Germany?” Hiwa asks.
Without shelter and in daytime temperature highs of 8°C and rain, panic over their future has started to set in.
“We just feel cold. It’s very cold and we can’t sleep, no one is sleeping. We have a sleeping bag but when we put it on the ground it is so cold,” he says.
“In this area there is no water, no lake or ponds. We can eat grass if we have to save our life, but for water, we can’t.”
He has been rationing the amount of water he can give his son by using a bottle cap.
“Are they letting us die here?” one of the other migrants in the group with Hiwa asks Sanna over WhatsApp.
Besides the thirst and cold, there’s sleeplessness to contend with as the military presence increases.
“Polish soldiers put the light on us every five minutes. There’s a helicopter every five minutes above us. No one can sleep,” writes Hiwa.
Tuesday, November 9
Things are calmer, says Hiwa: “They released us from that torment. When I get to a safe place I will drink so much water until I can’t drink any more.”
The Belarusian authorities have handed out a bottle of water for each family.
“It will be helpful for today. I can hold myself not to eat but I can’t hold myself not to drink water,” writes Hiwa. “I miss those times when I used to sit and eat my favourite food until I’m full. I promise whenever I [get out] I will invite you to make Kurdish food for you.”
Wednesday, November 10
Contact becomes less frequent as the days go by, but the assistance and advice from activists appears to be helping.
“Today we made a shelter so it is better now,” writes Hiwa after following Sanna’s instructions on how to build a shelter from wood and leaves.
Thursday, November 11
Temperatures have dropped at night and the official death toll stands at 10 from suspected hypothermia and exhaustion. Rumours are passing through the camp that a child died overnight.
“We are fine during the day but it gets colder at night. All night I wake Arias up to check if he is still alive. I don’t want to see anyone die or frozen when I get up,” writes Hiwa.
Friday, November 12
“I don’t want to complain all the time but I barely slept last night,” writes Hiwa.
“We put Arias in the sleeping bag and me and Shamam were around him without a sleeping bag. We go to the fire to warm up and then go back to Arias so he will not wake up. We sleep when our friend wakes up in the morning.
“Today they brought a lot of food. Chicken, milk, biscuit, blankets, clothes, fish, meat.”
Saturday, November 13
The body of a young Syrian man is found in the woods.
There are rumours that Poland will let the migrants through the border and that Germany will also grant safe passage and asylum. Neither of these are true but those in the forest do not know that.
“Do you know anything about that news? Please search,” Hiwa implores Sanna. “Everyone here is happy and singing, thinking it is true.”
Sunday, November 14
“We are fine Sanna, thank you. My battery is not charged. Sorry I cannot contact you,” writes Hiwa.
It is his last message to Sanna, but she is able to stay up to date on his well-being through her contact with other migrants.
“They’re sleeping on the road near the border pass now,” she tells The National. “It is harder because it is colder and it is more difficult to make a fire on the road.”