Mental Health in a Migrant Crisis: Through the Eyes of a Refugee

Abstract

I still remember the night we left. How could I forget it? It was my birthday, and while I didn’t know what was going on, I had my suspicions that things were different. Like any other day, I had spent the afternoon with my grandmother, but when my parents came to pick me up, she began to cry and wouldn’t let go of me. There was hardly a day that went by that I didn’t see my grandmother, and I had never seen her cry before that moment. As I stood by her front door confused, I tried my best to console her. I told her not to worry and that I would be back tomorrow. It would be nearly fifteen years before I would see her again. That night we had a birthday party, but I didn’t think it was just for me. It was too big and had too many people. No one told me it was actually our going away party. I went to bed thinking everything was fine, but when I woke up later that night startled, I found myself in my mother’s arms in a car I had never seen before. We were finally leaving Iraq. In a country torn by continuous conflict, my parents decided to leave everything they had built behind, in order to make sure that I wouldn’t have to endure another war. It was a long and dangerous drive to Jordan, with the constant fear of knowing that if we were caught, it could possibly mean death. Today, it’s a journey millions of others are making in hopes of a brighter future and a safer home for their families.