Hussein is still here

"To those violins played by the wind
the last kiss, my sweet little girl
gets my face burnt like lemon drops
the heroic courage of a fierce farewell."
From the song “The Last Kiss” by Carmen Consoli

Hussein is gone.
He passed away after he spent months in the hospital where he stayed in intensive care unit so many times.
He suffered from a rare, incurable disease. The diagnosis was a merciless verdict.

The family consists of mother, father, and a wonderful sister with a bright eyes and an infectious smile. They have been in Greece for eight years: eight long years of asylum applications, denials, hard life in refugee camps, fear and human rights violations.
The mother had suffered a miscarriage; she had bled for days without any doctor to help her.
Then, in February 2024, Hussein was born. Hussein, a name that means "handsome" in Arabic. And Hussein was truly handsome with those big black eyes; but that lovely face also concealed suffering, struggle, cough, dermatitis, and epileptic seizures.
In the last few months, the family were increasingly strained by dividing their time between the hospital and the refugee camp. Standing by such a small ill creature without the possibility to heal him made them feel frustrated.
We went back and forth to hospital with them; sometimes we played with his little sister, sometimes we took his mother out for a coffee, sometimes we simply sat next to these people, hand in hand, trying to ease some of that suffering.

Hussein is no longer with us.
On a autumn Friday morning he passed away.
He was washed, perfumed, prepared for the last farewell and the last kiss which gets the face burnt like lemon drops.
The day after his burial in the Chalkida cemetery, we had dinner with his family.
It was a pleasant moment even if we all felt his absence; his mother and father laughed, we could sense their need for lightness.

Hussein is no longer with us.
We informed those who were lucky enough to meet him during these 20 months, those who dried his mother's tears, those who listened to his father's screams for frustration.
We received and collected hugs from all the volunteers who passed through Athens in the last 20 months. We turned them into a big embrace for his family.
We said goodbye to Hussein by the heroic courage of a fierce farewell.
We will continue to be here, standing by this family deprived of such a great beloved son as well as all the Husseins and their families.
We will keep on shouting to the world that Hussein is a child with a story, a mother, a father, and a sister.
We will keep on shouting to the world that Hussein is still here.

Nadia