Joanna is a Syrian Kurd—been here about 19 months. And those American girls on either side of her are Maddie and Hannah, her two best friends. In recent weeks I've gone to ballet lessons, impromptu bike rides, and Stone Mountain park with them. I’ve heard the stories of their families over countless cups of strong black tea—and made it hopelessly impossible for myself not to love them dearly. I’ve been documenting their wonderfully uncommon friendship with my camera, and regularly adding to the bottom of a seemingly interminable Word document.
I haven’t a clue where it will all end up, nor do I much care. I just know it needs to be done—if only to teach me what I’ve yet to learn.
But if I may, can I share this bit from a recorded conversation last week with Joanna’s mom, Araz? And if it suits you, would you mind doing as she asks?
"Good gracious, the world is not right," I said after she relived their escape from Aleppo to Istanbul, "It’s not right that we get to live here in so much.... Most Americans...they don’t understand—I don’t even understand what you have seen with your eyes… And...in America you can go your whole day and not think or know anything about what’s going on in Syria, ya know? Everything is blue skies and fine… [But] you—you have seen what [you ran] from." She nodded to agree, so I asked, "If you could say something to Americans…what would you say to them? What would you say they can do?"
She looked at me as if it shouldn’t have been a question and replied confidently, “Pray."