Rafika and I sat on a mat in her shelter in the refugee camp, drinking 3-in-1 instant coffee. I watched her rock her little daughter to sleep, wondering to myself how her daughter might fare growing up here amidst oppression and violence. I asked Rafika, ‘What is your earliest childhood memory?’
Rafika took a sip of coffee and began to speak. ‘When I was two and a half, my parents and I went on a big trip. Our destination was the capital city, Yangon. My father packed all his savings and my mother her gold. We stopped in Aika (Sittwe) to visit relatives and friends.
‘We were just settling into the hotel when the police came by. They searched our suitcase and found my father’s savings and my mother’s gold. For that reason, they took us to the police station. They started beating my father with sticks and fists and kicking him. One policeman slapped him so hard that his eardrum burst and he bled from his ear. They beat him in front of me. I didn’t understand what was going on; I only saw my father writhing in pain. I cried so much.
‘After several hours, my mother and I were released. My mother got her gold back, but they kept both my father and his money. My mother and I travelled back to our village. Two years later, my father was finally released. He never got his money back. We never took another trip to Yangon.
‘I was only two and a half years old and I don’t remember anything else from that time. But this day is burned into my brain. I can even remember the faces of the policemen, the colour of my father’s shirt, and that I was crying so much.’
- Please pray for all the children growing up in the refugee camps who know nothing but ‘being trapped’ and who often witness violence.
- Please pray that these traumatized parents can provide a stable and loving environment amid a hostile and violent environment.
- How beautiful it would be if they came to know God as the one who loves them like a father, and who became man and endured violence and beatings for them so that they might become free.