He was about six feet tall, but his crooked back made him look shorter. He stood by the Refugee Rights Turkey’s (RRT) entrance every day, smoking a cigarette. He looked proud, but lonely; satisfied, but broken. His eyes were filled with melancholy. He wore the same outfit every day: a ragged white shirt, dark blue jeans, brown belt, and an old mahogany vest. His unkempt facial hair was turning gray, but he didn’t look any older than forty years old.
“Would you like some tea?” I would ask every day.
His response was always “No,” the first time. Having been raised in an Afghan household, I knew I had to ask three times before it would be polite of him to accept. As soon as he would say “yes,” his hands would start trembling, his eyes would wander, and he would start stuttering.
“Back in Iran, I was tortured in a prison for twenty-five years. I wasn’t allowed to accept tea. It was an extravagance not destined for people like me. It still seems like I am dreaming,” he would say in a shaky voice.
“Please don’t tell your colleagues what I just said. I don’t want anyone to pity me,” he would continue our conversation in Farsi. …show more content…
He had managed to cross the border over and over again because he feared political persecution in his homeland. He was fifteen years old when he was first arrested. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugee Advocacy (UNHCR) has recognized Yusuf as a refugee, but the Turkish government had not. It had filed eight deportation orders against him. This would be the ninth. Yusuf couldn’t be resettled in a third safe country due to a disagreement between the international and Turkish authorities. He was stuck on foreign soil without family or friends. He no longer had a home. His new home was Gezi Park, where he slept at night. His friends were the stray cats he fed every
“Would you like some tea?” I would ask every day.
His response was always “No,” the first time. Having been raised in an Afghan household, I knew I had to ask three times before it would be polite of him to accept. As soon as he would say “yes,” his hands would start trembling, his eyes would wander, and he would start stuttering.
“Back in Iran, I was tortured in a prison for twenty-five years. I wasn’t allowed to accept tea. It was an extravagance not destined for people like me. It still seems like I am dreaming,” he would say in a shaky voice.
“Please don’t tell your colleagues what I just said. I don’t want anyone to pity me,” he would continue our conversation in Farsi. …show more content…
He had managed to cross the border over and over again because he feared political persecution in his homeland. He was fifteen years old when he was first arrested. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugee Advocacy (UNHCR) has recognized Yusuf as a refugee, but the Turkish government had not. It had filed eight deportation orders against him. This would be the ninth. Yusuf couldn’t be resettled in a third safe country due to a disagreement between the international and Turkish authorities. He was stuck on foreign soil without family or friends. He no longer had a home. His new home was Gezi Park, where he slept at night. His friends were the stray cats he fed every