
“My name is Abdul, I am 5 years old and I am from Mosul, a very beautiful and old city in the north of Iraq. I am going to tell you my story. When I was 2y my father said that, there were a lot of bad people in our city, they had long beards and dressed in black. These bad men were using the name of our god to do very bad things. My father didn´t tell what kind of bad things they were doing but my older sister Fatima, told me that they were killing many people, and sometimes children too… I was very afraid each time I saw them in the streets. For 3 years we were afraid to live, my father told me not to speak to anybody, because sometimes even good people speak to bad people… I was very confused and afraid. One day my father left our house and never came back… I wish he found a good place to live, or maybe he is living with our god. Then the war started to kill these bad people… but also many good people died. One day, I was playing outside and one bomb hit my house, and I never saw my mother and all my sisters again… since then, I am all alone. I decided not to speak. I have no problem with my mouth, but I don´t speak. I am thinking about what should I say… One day I will speak again, and I will tell bad people to be good people, because no kid should live without family… But I am still thinking about what to say to bad people… I have some ideas already, but the are not good enough. People think I am strange, but I am not. I am just another lost boy. One day, I will find the right words, and I will speak, otherwise, words mean nothing.”