Mariam Bazeed

So if you can imagine at the border between Kuwait and Iraq, there's this enormous line of cars of families going back either temporarily or permanently to where they were actually from.

And so we drive up, you know, there's a border agent and you have to take everything out of your car and they inspect everything and they have like a little mirror at the end of a stick and they look at the underneath of the car. And so we do all of this. They look at our documents and we load the car back up. And then my dad just doesn't get into the driver's seat. And he says, be good.

And so we drive up, you know, there's a border agent and you have to take everything out of your car and they inspect everything and they have like a little mirror at the end of a stick and they look at the underneath of the car. And so we do all of this. They look at our documents and we load the car back up. And then my dad just doesn't get into the driver's seat. And he says, be good.

And so we drive up, you know, there's a border agent and you have to take everything out of your car and they inspect everything and they have like a little mirror at the end of a stick and they look at the underneath of the car. And so we do all of this. They look at our documents and we load the car back up. And then my dad just doesn't get into the driver's seat. And he says, be good.

Take care of your mother. I'll see you. And he hugs us. And then my mother gets behind the steering wheel. And we're supposed to drive this way. And my father is literally the only person going back into Kuwait, because to review, there's a war on. And there's no public transport going down that way.

Take care of your mother. I'll see you. And he hugs us. And then my mother gets behind the steering wheel. And we're supposed to drive this way. And my father is literally the only person going back into Kuwait, because to review, there's a war on. And there's no public transport going down that way.

Take care of your mother. I'll see you. And he hugs us. And then my mother gets behind the steering wheel. And we're supposed to drive this way. And my father is literally the only person going back into Kuwait, because to review, there's a war on. And there's no public transport going down that way.

I'm just looking behind at the rearview mirror and watching him get shorter in the desert and being like, how is he going to get home? And I know how distressing this sounds, but actually, I was young. And also, the idea of saying goodbye to people abruptly was just an everyday part of my life as a daughter of people who had migrated for labor.

I'm just looking behind at the rearview mirror and watching him get shorter in the desert and being like, how is he going to get home? And I know how distressing this sounds, but actually, I was young. And also, the idea of saying goodbye to people abruptly was just an everyday part of my life as a daughter of people who had migrated for labor.

I'm just looking behind at the rearview mirror and watching him get shorter in the desert and being like, how is he going to get home? And I know how distressing this sounds, but actually, I was young. And also, the idea of saying goodbye to people abruptly was just an everyday part of my life as a daughter of people who had migrated for labor.

And there was someone who was always in between school years just leaving because their family had repatriated. Or the first goodbye that I said to a close family member. I was two years old when my sister, who had been my primary caregiver up until that point, had to go back to Egypt to start college.

And there was someone who was always in between school years just leaving because their family had repatriated. Or the first goodbye that I said to a close family member. I was two years old when my sister, who had been my primary caregiver up until that point, had to go back to Egypt to start college.

And there was someone who was always in between school years just leaving because their family had repatriated. Or the first goodbye that I said to a close family member. I was two years old when my sister, who had been my primary caregiver up until that point, had to go back to Egypt to start college.

So this idea that I would just suddenly have to say goodbye to my dad and then see you when I see you was just a part of my life. It was every day. And there was something exciting about going home to Egypt. It was the place we spent every summer. It was really exciting. There's great beaches there. Our cousins were there. Horseback riding lessons were there.

So this idea that I would just suddenly have to say goodbye to my dad and then see you when I see you was just a part of my life. It was every day. And there was something exciting about going home to Egypt. It was the place we spent every summer. It was really exciting. There's great beaches there. Our cousins were there. Horseback riding lessons were there.

So this idea that I would just suddenly have to say goodbye to my dad and then see you when I see you was just a part of my life. It was every day. And there was something exciting about going home to Egypt. It was the place we spent every summer. It was really exciting. There's great beaches there. Our cousins were there. Horseback riding lessons were there.

So I was excited a bit to be going back home. But then being somewhere for a summer and then having to resume your life somewhere are two different things. And I found that I didn't like Egypt when I had to just be living there. I didn't have any of my stuff. And I really hated the school that I went to. Everything was just unfamiliar. I didn't like my teachers.

So I was excited a bit to be going back home. But then being somewhere for a summer and then having to resume your life somewhere are two different things. And I found that I didn't like Egypt when I had to just be living there. I didn't have any of my stuff. And I really hated the school that I went to. Everything was just unfamiliar. I didn't like my teachers.

So I was excited a bit to be going back home. But then being somewhere for a summer and then having to resume your life somewhere are two different things. And I found that I didn't like Egypt when I had to just be living there. I didn't have any of my stuff. And I really hated the school that I went to. Everything was just unfamiliar. I didn't like my teachers.

And I began every single morning just wailing. And when I say every single morning, I mean that literally. Like every day for the time that I was at that school, every single day. I cried. I'd have to get, like, peeled away from my mother. So, like, I was famous for it at the school that I went to. Because at six years old, it actually takes a lot of stamina to make a huge scene every morning.