My name is Osman Kaplan
My name is Osman Kaplan
My name is Osman Kaplan.
I am not a statistic
I am a “human being”!
And I have a story too…
You must have seen the photo, with a woman looking tremulously, with her children around her in a very very poor house. I am the breadwinner of that family.
I married Pakize, the daughter of our neighbor, in the year of 1999. I have got three sons and two daughters. The youngest is five years old, the eldest eleven. I started going smuggling in 2002, since when neither Pakize nor my children went to sleep before my return to home.
Pakize would never go to the wedding ceremonies as I could never afford good dresses or jewellery for her. However, she would never mind it. I have recently bought a washing machine for her, however, to our luck, we couldn’t set it up yet.
I sometimes feel sorry for marrying Pakize at a very young age but we actually love each other very much.
Like all other people in the village, I used to think about going to other cities to find a work but I didn’t have even travelling money. Except from the times I went smuggling, I used to work in the village as laborer or cultivation worker.
I think nobody has ever seen me wearing new clothes. As you see, I was poor, very poor.
The bombs dropped on us that night made my family poorer. My children are now both poor and orphan.
I normally perform prayer but I didn’t perform the Friday prayer last week. An old relative of mine that day said me that nobody would join my funeral ceremony if I missed Friday prayers. My reply to her was; “Don’t worry. The entire world will be informed about my death and join my funeral ceremony.”
My family has been telling my five year-old child that “I have gone to Þýrnak to buy something”.
At the first moments of the event that night, they didn’t tell Pakize what had happened. However, when our bodies became unrecognizable, they called her and asked which dress and shoes I was wearing that day. She learned the event that way.
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didn’t kill the justice too…
Doesn’t everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me!?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
I am not a statistic
I am a “human being”!
And I have a story too…
You must have seen the photo, with a woman looking tremulously, with her children around her in a very very poor house. I am the breadwinner of that family.
I married Pakize, the daughter of our neighbor, in the year of 1999. I have got three sons and two daughters. The youngest is five years old, the eldest eleven. I started going smuggling in 2002, since when neither Pakize nor my children went to sleep before my return to home.
Pakize would never go to the wedding ceremonies as I could never afford good dresses or jewellery for her. However, she would never mind it. I have recently bought a washing machine for her, however, to our luck, we couldn’t set it up yet.
I sometimes feel sorry for marrying Pakize at a very young age but we actually love each other very much.
Like all other people in the village, I used to think about going to other cities to find a work but I didn’t have even travelling money. Except from the times I went smuggling, I used to work in the village as laborer or cultivation worker.
I think nobody has ever seen me wearing new clothes. As you see, I was poor, very poor.
The bombs dropped on us that night made my family poorer. My children are now both poor and orphan.
I normally perform prayer but I didn’t perform the Friday prayer last week. An old relative of mine that day said me that nobody would join my funeral ceremony if I missed Friday prayers. My reply to her was; “Don’t worry. The entire world will be informed about my death and join my funeral ceremony.”
My family has been telling my five year-old child that “I have gone to Þýrnak to buy something”.
At the first moments of the event that night, they didn’t tell Pakize what had happened. However, when our bodies became unrecognizable, they called her and asked which dress and shoes I was wearing that day. She learned the event that way.
This may annoy you but I have several words to say;
I demand justice,
If the bombs that killed me didn’t kill the justice too…
Doesn’t everyone have the right to justice?
Or,
Should I apologize to the state because it has warted those huge, expensive bombs for killing me,
Should I thank the General Staff for not missing the target and for killing me!?
* Platform for Justice for Roboski publishes the life story of 34 people from the villages of Roboski and Gülyazý who were killed by bombs on 28 December, 2011. These stories which will be published for 34 days are also sent to the offices of President, Prime Minister, Ministry of Justice and Interior Ministry via fax and mail.
