The Syrian Kid known as a Refugee.

The image of a small kid in the corner of the Sultan Ahmet station platform, his hands holding his knees, his face which spoke of a dead childhood haunts me still. He hardly had a cloth to save him from the cold. It was evening, and it gets really cold in Istanbul. He wasn’t even begging, his hands were embracing his body to keep warm, not outstretched hands to seek money.

I saw so many Syrian refugees in Istanbul, in parks under a single blanket in the cold nights. Families which had homes sleep under no roof and cold which numbs bones. The people became refugees in a moment and they lost everything. Now they are in camps or on streets begging.

The Government of Turkey and the People are doing their part to help and rehabilitate them, but the numbers keep increasing as Assad keeps bombing them out of their homes.
There’s a little or almost negligible help from other Muslim countries to assist Turkey and other countries, such as Lebanon and Jordan, where situation is reaching a catastrophic level with each increasing day.

Syrians need the world right now, it resembles that of Bosnia where the world watched them die and suffer for years before they could do anything substantial.
3 million refugees of Syria aren’t just a part of a statistic but names of children who lost their childhood, orphans who lost their parents, people who watched their loved ones getting killed and their entire neighbourhoods bombed out of existence.

The world needs to come together for once. If you can send a letter to your foreign office or organise a way to contribute to this serious, you’re efforts will count maybe not here but in the hereafter for sure.

May Allah increase our efforts to act.

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