07/05/2021 | Writer: Kaos GL

'How was your day?' we asked the refugee LGBTI+s. They answered, we translated from Arabic and Farsi and now sharing them with you. Here is the sixth story: Me and the Lifeless Wood

Refugee LGBTI+s talk about their days: Me and the Lifeless Wood Kaos GL - News Portal for LGBTI+

Kaos GL Refugee Rights Program aims to facilitate LGBTI+ refugees' access to basic rights, official bodies and social networks in the cities where they reside, the program provides legal and social advice through lawyers and social workers working within the program. In addition to all this, the Refugee Rights Program organizes developmental and social events on various topics.

Throughout 2020, the program has met with LGBTI+ refugees who speak Farsi and Arabic. Some of these events were online drama workshops. Kaos GL Refugee Rights Program organized 'Storytelling', a sub-branch of drama, workshops with refugee LGBTI+'s on November 23, 25 and 27 led by theatre and performance artist Gökçe Yiğitel. Refugee LGBTI+'s from seven cities participated in the workshops and told their stories.

We share those stories with KaosGL.org readers by saying "Every day of us is valuable and worth telling". Here is the sixth story.

***

The sun rises and the light slowly enters my bedroom. It hurts my eyes. Then the alarm starts buzzing. I get out of bed, wearing my clothes slowly and quietly. I'm getting out of the house. It's dark and cold. I set my eyes on the mountains and the sky while walking. My soul is tired. I speak to my God and ask for strength. I think of my years abroad. Years of facing hardships. I arrive at the workshop. They're opening the gate of the workshop. The gate is big and imposing, just like prison gates. I'm going into the workshop. The workshop is full of cold and lifeless wood. I put on my work clothes and start my everyday routine. There are twelve of us here, three of them Iranians, and the rest are Turks. Sometimes it's hard for me to work here. Carrying big, heavy doors and closets is exhausting for my petite size, but my will is as big as the sea. And that keeps me going. I put a table on the workshop table and start working. In fact, the sandpaper machine hardly fits in my hands. It has a loud, deafening noise. There's dust everywhere. The machine is constantly vibrating in my hand, but I'm used to all this...

Time passes teatime comes. All the employees are taking a short break then we're back to work again. And again the deafening noise, the dust and the neverending vibration of the machine. In fact, the is turned off sometimes, when it is necessary to move wooden cabinets, doors. I love these moments of silence, which lets my brain rest a while. I like to work, maybe, but not in this job.

I've been struggling since the day I've known myself. How hard it's been to fight for your whole life!! When I get lost in my thoughts, I remember fighting since I was a kid, and today, on the verge of 36, I still have to fight. Because I'm doomed to fight. That's the sentence imposed on me, yet I don't know the crime I've committed.

It's noon, they're calling us foreigners later. First themselves, then us. Even if we line up on time, a Turk who comes after us gets in front of us. It is the routine elsewhere too. I see all this carefully and my soul is scratching, but I am used to it.

We had lunch and took a break. We're going back to work. Work ends at 6:30 p.m. As long as there's time, me and the lifeless wood exist. I wait, time passes, it gets dark, and I go home with the excitement for the warmth of home.

Object: wood, sandpaper, table

Action: wood sanding

Body part: hand


Tags: human rights, arts and culture
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