Een vluchteling schrijft: A Night in Paris

Tekst /// Anne-Goaitske Breteler, U.A.B.

Beeld /// Ronan Shenhav

Sinds een paar maanden ben ik bevriend met een Syrisch koppel dat in Nederland is komen wonen. Van rubberboot tot trein, ze hebben het hele risicovolle rataplan moeten doorstaan om uiteindelijk hun veilige haven te vinden. Nu de rust wederkeert is er tijd voor reflectie. Er wordt nagedacht over de beweegredenen om huis en haard achter te laten en op zoek te gaan naar een onbekende nieuwe woonplaats. Om de krankzinnigheid van de situatie aan te geven schreef een van hen een fictief verhaal over de aanslagen in Parijs vanuit het perspectief van een dader. Dat angst nog altijd een rol speelt in de relatief veilige situatie van deze twee vluchtelingen nu, komt eens te meer naar voren wanneer de vluchteling uitlegt dat zijn anonimiteit gewaarborgd moet blijven. Vandaar nu het verhaal van ‘een vluchteling’ over de onbegrijpelijkheid van een terrorist. 

I can not believe I forgot my passport there! I think I also forgot my birth certificate, a grocery bag, two sweaters, one condom, and my Facebook password. It was a rough night where we had to make sure everyone was taken care of, and you kind of lose yourself in the whole thing, especially when you have had a few beers, some shots of vodka with a little absinthe in them. I can not remember why I took the passport along in the first place, or the rest of my stuff, for that matter.

Here’s how it all started:

The night was young when we started drinking, and you know, when you are in Paris with friends and you have liquor, you kind of get the feeling that you want to change status from rubber-boat refugee to world-class terrorist. Now I remember! That is why I did not have time to go back home and leave all my stuff! But, no regrets. Back to our story. So we walked around, looking for some place to plant our explosives, and come to think of it, we did take all our explosives with us on the rubber boat. Man, those were good days.

So, while we were walking we heard the most awful noise you could ever hear, even if you have lived in hell for a while. It turned out that some shitty American band was playing at a concert hall, so we said: ‘Why not blow it all up!’, in the hope of getting rid of this musical embarrassment. And so we did, and we went out running and laughing, sun  in our faces, and my stuff were falling out one after another. The grocery bag was the first to go, then the two sweaters which I took off and threw away out of happiness. I wrote my Facebook password on a piece of paper to give to this French girl that I liked, but now I realize that I wanted to write my Facebook name. Anyway, the whole thing would not have worked, because the piece of paper also fell off and got carried away by wind. Lastly, I lost my dear condom and I am not sure how that happened.

I went into my apartment then it hit me, I lost my passport! My dear Syrian passport! Then I thought, what kind of terrorist would leave their passport in the crime scene? Better yet, what kind of terrorist would even take their passport out on a mission?

A fake terrorist! That is who.

– U.A.B.