A Victim’s Story: A Sisterly Dream

 

 

 

Sisterly dream

Martyr Soraya Ahmadi – Farideh Ahmadi

10 year old child

Date of martyrdom: November 8, 1983

hide-and-seek, puppet play, aunty play, and cooking on an imaginary gas stove; these are all things that a ten-year-old child can experience. What could a ten-year-old child’s world be but play, joy, and the love of their parents?

Soraya Ahmadi, from the village of Sarriz, was a ten-year-old girl. She lived with her fifteen-year-old sister, who was like a mother to her. Soraya was very happy, as it was as if she had two mothers looking after her. Her older sister was her playmate, her friend, her mother and her sister. The bond between the two sisters was so deep that it seemed as if nothing in the world could separate them. They lived in the village of Sarriz, like all the other children in the village.

This was not a city where anyone was afraid to cross the street. Children could easily go out into the alleys in the morning and play. However, in the village, play takes a different form; there, many daily tasks are also considered part of play, and play is often intertwined with work.

 

But Soraya had a sister who looked after her. Farida tried to do most of the housework so that Soraya would not be put under pressure. She took care of her younger sister like a loving mother. They were together for years and grew up together. Farida had seen Soraya by her side since the very first days of her life.

Soraya’s birthday was always etched in Farida’s memory. She remembered how a sweet little girl, with her small hands and her first smiles, entered this world, holding her sister’s hands with her delicate fingers. She remembered how Soraya would be held in her mother’s arms and breastfed, and how her tears would turn into smiles when she saw Farida. Farida also remembered Soraya’s crawling steps and the first words she spoke. Farida’s world had become more beautiful with Soraya’s arrival, and she had tried throughout her childhood to be as caring as her mother had been.

But Soraya experienced her world through Farida’s lens. One of the first feelings she recognized was the presence of someone who loved her by her mother’s side. If her mother was busy with something, Soraya would not be left alone, because Farida was by her side, caressing her and loving her. The bond between Farida and Soraya was very deep.

Every day, after doing their daily chores and homework, when they had nothing else to do, they would go to the village streets to play with other children. This was their daily routine; days when there was not much television and no mobile phones. They spent their days playing and being with their friends. Farida, who was older, mostly went to the streets with Soraya to take care of her. The villagers were often related to each other and had close blood ties.

On November 8, 1983, they went out to play. They went to alleys they knew well from childhood. The village was like home to them; they shared memories everywhere. Even a broken branch, a tall tree, or a large rock were familiar landmarks that everyone in the village recognized.

There was nothing strange there, and there was no reason to be afraid. This was the story of all the villages that had never experienced the presence of strangers until that day. But on that day, the 8th of Aban, there were also strangers present in this familiar village; strangers who had come not to feast, but to take a sacrifice.

Some members of the Democratic Party entered the village and, in order to provoke the people, started shooting at the villagers. Meanwhile, Farida and Soraya, who had come out of the house to play and were in the village alleys, were frightened by the sound of bullets. Farida, who was older, realized the danger sooner and was more worried about her younger sister than herself. She took Soraya under her protection and tried to protect her like a mother; but she did not know how cruelly the bullets would fall on defenseless bodies. The bullets of the Democratic Party members tore the bodies of the two sisters and, like a bloodthirsty wolf, left them in the middle of a bloodbath.

When Farida and Soraya went out to play, they did not know that this would be their last game together in the familiar alleys of the village. They had lived together for years, hugged each other, told each other stories, and played together; and suddenly a rebellious and hot arrow burned their defenseless bodies. Their arms were joined for the last time in the midst of blood, and their sisterly bond with their blood became eternal.

Soraya and Farideh’s bodies were buried side by side in the martyrs’ cemetery in Sarriz village, so that they can rest together forever, as childhood playmates; where no bullet, no hand, and no evil person can separate their sisterly bond.

The childhood dream of these two sisters was buried under a handful of dust forever; but their memories and the sweetness of their brief presence in this life remained eternal. They will be happy in their childhood paradise, far from any evil, with their pure and childlike world.

What were these demons really thinking when they brought these blossoms of Iran to the ground?