A bowl of water for a safe return

For a couple of years, I was an avid reader of, and was continually checking updates from, a heart-breaking and powerfully written blog by a young Iraqi woman who kept her identity tightly guarded. She wrote at the height of the American occupation in Iraq when soldiers were breaking down doors and "collecting" anyone who might be considered a threat to the West or to the post-Saddam government that was being installed in her home country. The voice in which she wrote these posts was so clear and rang so true that I couldn't stop myself from reading. She wrote until the spring of 2007 where she wrote about her escape from Baghdad in Syria. Then the posts stopped.

At one point, I'd actually written to her, hoping that this stranger who I'd never met (and who I'd never meet in reality) was safe. Seems like such a strange notion... worrying about a blogging stranger from the other side of the world while I sat in Canada, insulated from war and everything that was Iraq at the time. I lived the charmed life of a middle-class kid from the prairies who never had to worry about any of the things she or her family or her countrymen experienced. But I felt compelled nonetheless. I never heard back and she has posted nothing after that final April entry. Since then, her blog has been translated and published in multiple volumes around the world, has won numerous awards, and continues to have an effect on me. I silently hope for her safety and that these people know where she is so she can reap the benefits of the words that made such an impact on me and many others. Her words always reminded me (and continue to do so) that there's always something bigger than the dramas of my life happening.

There was one moment that I continue to recall often, especially when I know my friends or family are traveling, whether it be a short jaunt around Canada or on a cross-continental adventure. It's the moment where she finally stepped into the car that would take her to her new life awaiting in Syria (whatever that would be), and was one of the final images she shared before disappearing from the blogosphere. She wrote the following...

"I cried as we left- in spite of promises not to. The aunt cried… the uncle cried. My parents tried to be stoic but there were tears in their voices as they said their goodbyes. The worst part is saying goodbye and wondering if you're ever going to see these people again. My uncle tightened the shawl I'd thrown over my hair and advised me firmly to 'keep it on until you get to the border'. The aunt rushed out behind us as the car pulled out of the garage and dumped a bowl of water on the ground, which is a tradition- its to wish the travelers a safe return… eventually."

As I speak to my friends and family throughout the world who are embarking on new plans to see this amazing planet (or even to see something they've already experienced), I can't avoid silently thinking that I'd like to metaphorically pour out a similar bowl of water behind them as they took steps toward a new place, new home, new adventure. Seeing as how my life has changed in the past decade, it's hard to know where it is I'll be returning to.

To my friend DVP... safe travels as you depart from the Himalayas on your way to Israel and everywhere afterward.

And to the rest of you, safe travels as well, wherever you are.

T

(To check out Riverbend's Blog, Go Here. To read more about her and her story, Go Here.)