Ghorbeh
Deep within Arabic culture lies a word that captures a profound sense of displacement: Ghorbeh. It's more than just feeling foreign; it's a raw sense of estrangement, of being torn from the land that once nurtured you.
Ghorbeh traces back to a time when Arabs were nomads. It originates from the Arabic word "Gharib," meaning stranger. Originally, it described those who left their tribe and ventured into the desert, seeking refuge in a place where they don't belong, feeling alone even when surrounded by a crowd.
For many Arabs, Ghorbeh isn't just a word; it's a lived reality passed down through generations. I, for instance, was born in Saudi Arabia to parents who knew the pain of Ghorbeh firsthand. Even in Syria, the land where I was supposed to belong, where a revolution led to a war nobody won.
Yet, for many Syrians, the reality of Ghorbeh is harsh and unloving. Forced from our homes by violence and persecution, we found ourselves torn apart in a sea of uncertainty, clinging to memories of a Syria that once was filled with warmth, hospitality, and resilience.
“It's more than just feeling foreign; it's a raw sense of estrangement, of being torn from the land that once nurtured you.”
Ghorbeh is a constant presence in my life. It's the ache for a home that exists only in memory, felt in the unfamiliarity of language and culture. Yet, amidst the loneliness, I find solace in the simple pleasures, like the taste of my mother's cooking, transporting me back to a time when life was simpler.
But Ghorbeh isn't just my struggle; it's shared by millions of Arabs worldwide. It's a testament to resilience, as communities forge connections in the face of adversity.
As Eid ends, I'm reminded of the bitterness of Ghorbeh, the shadow that taints our joy. Yet, I hold onto hope that future generations will find a place where Ghorbeh holds no power, and all are welcomed with open arms wherever they feel they belong.
This beautiful piece was written by Bahaa, as part of his ‘Refugee Thoughts’ project.