Belgium: Volunteers mourn death of refugee child

Mawda Shamdin, a Kurdish girl aged two was shot dead on the night of 17 May by a single police gunshot, while travelling on her mother's knee in the front of a van on a motorway, near the city of Mons in southern Belgium. UK media have made very little comment, Ben Bano and Phil Kerton from Seeking Sanctuary write.

Katie - a long term volunteer at the Refugee Women's Centre which works with women, families and minors on the north French coast - reflects on what she remembers of Mawda's last day, and her anger and contempt towards conditions that manifested such tragedy.

The ghost of a gymnasium
built for one purpose, prioritised for another
A shelter
The stagnant stalemate between a closed past and future dreams
refugees
wrestlesly resting on donated blankets
talking liquidly
lying down aimlessly
breathing in air as border-less as she
Maryam
Scrubbing clothes in the communal bathroom sink
She flicks eyes to her babies
fumbling around at her feet
knees soggy
fingernails etched with dirt
Guilt bangs it's fists on the metal bars of her heart
as it swells with love, nearly breaking them apart
but not quite
love will set us free
but how can we live freely with borders as tight as these?
That force us to suffering, sacrifice and hostility
She has to save face,
keep pace
And when her daughter's a doctor
and her son's running some company
You'll tell them of the violence they were forced to flee
And they'll be thankful, because they've relished their education and opportunity
Recentre.
As the sunshine of her children's giggles draw her back to the room
A smirk pulls at the side of her lips
and in one swift motion
Maryam lifts her girl to her hips
Who bursts spirited laughter
That almost drowns the fight erupting in the next room
She's packing her bag now
It's been three years since they first heaved up their roots
for selection, which part of our tapestry makes the cut?
And with the bag of bare essentials in tow they leapt towards the sunset
only to be left in the dark
she folds their clothes with stories unsung
and hope
that this night blows chance into the lungs of their life
for a future not so futile
They leave to meet the smuggler
A family - two children, two adults.
slumped with thirty souls in the van.
Sirens.
peddle flat. Tyres hiss.
Fear bubbles vomit in chest, hyperventilating
Hearts plummet, paralysed
fingers twitch. shots fired.
piercing screams
have you heard how this story ends?
with a police officers bullet in a two year olds head
no passport, no rights
her blood stains our hands
her blood stains our society our hearts our land
When the systems that raise us, teach us we are unequal
when the lottery of birth conceives a world inequitable
We face everyday
pulling the hand of justice from a pocket of pain
Using the fire of our anger to melt the frozen glaze
of brutal borders, inhumane policy.
Negligence.
Unclaimed responsibility
She was born a refugee, and died a refugee.
Stolen from her family, her youth, her life trajectory
And with tear stained cheeks and weary eyes
We march on
In solidarity and love, we march on.

We will never forget you, Mawda.

'Seeking Sanctuary' aims to raise awareness about people displaced from their homes and to channel basic humanitarian assistance from Faith Communities and Community Organisations via partnerships with experienced aid workers. Our special concern is for the 1000 or so exiles who are stuck north-western France, mistakenly expecting a welcome in the UK.

They need food, water, good counsel and clothes, which are accepted, sorted and distributed by several organisations, including two Calais warehouses which also supply needs further afield.

For more information see: www.seekingsanctuary.weebly.com