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"I come here everyday with hope. Maybe, I will hear from my child."
"We are grieving for our lost children, understand us."
"I saw that on TV and came here. I wandered and wandered, but could not find my child. I stayed in hospital for two months. I was so troubled."
Their problem is the same, their words are the same: "I want my child."
I am in Turkey's southeastern province of Diyarbakır. I set off early in the morning to go to the Diyarbakır Provincial Organization of the Peoples' Democratic Party (HDP). I am in the minibus. I hear people saying 'To the party' when they give money to the driver.
Making my own payment, I also say, "To the party" and see that I am not mistaken. The driver pulls over at the station on the main road near HDP Diyarbakır Provincial office.
There are no one on the street for now, except for police officers and children. I also see people from the HDP coming to the party building.
Silence prevails on the street. In the not-so-distant future, this silence will be broken by the families who will cry out that their children have been abducted by the Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK).
Waiting on the rugs
Journalists from mainstream media start to arrive. Then come the families. They lay rugs on the stairs of HDP and start to sit there.
Police officers also stand between the door of the building and the families. You can see a clear line between the ones leaving the building and the ones sitting outside. No one talks to each other. The work routine in HDP provincial organization continues as usual.
'I want to see my child alive'
No matter what you ask the families about themselves or their stories, you hear a single answer: "I want my child." I first talk to Ünzile Yabalak, who is searching for his police officer son Sedat Yabalak:
"I am ill, I have been after my son for five years. PKK abducted my son. I went everywhere for him, but nothing has changed."
"You went to the Parliament", I interrupt her." She answers, "Yes, we went there, too. But, it could not find a solution, either. They should give us our children, we don't want anything else."
At that exact moment, a mother who says that she comes from Turkey's Black Sea province of Ordu joins the protest. Her name is Latife Ödümlü.
"My son Özgür is missing," she says. She is welcomed with applause. "I come here for my son. Why am I here? I saw the mothers on TV. My son came to Diyarbakır for university. He was going to study. Then, he was influenced by his friends. We could not hear from my son. They called us and said, 'Your child is with us.' My son was going to study", Ödümlü says further.
'Don't let mothers' hearts ache'
Saliha Edizer is also one of the mothers sitting on the stairs. She has the photograph of her son in her hands: "I am from Bitlis. I was born and raised in İstanbul. It was five years ago when I saw my son for the last time. I don't know whether he is dead or alive. All I want is my son.
"I came here after seeing the mothers. I have five children. My children are depressed. They cry everyday. They have low blood pressure. I want all children to come back. We want that the hearts of mothers not ache."
'We die everyday'
Bedirhan Çur comes from a village in Ağrı:
"We die everyday. This time, we would die only once. I won't go anywhere without taking back my child. My child was 16-17 years old. I have 8 children. But, my Vahit has a special place. I am waiting for him. This child of mine was looking after me. They have clipped my wings."
I see a father sleeping on the rug. Someone from the crowd says, "He has a slipped disc, he cannot sit on the stairs. That's why he lies like that."
When I tell them that I am a journalist, she says, "There are not only mothers from Diyarbakır. The press calls us 'Mothers from Diyarbakır". There are the ones coming from Mersin, from Bitlis... Look, one of them comes from Ordu. We are just mothers sitting in Diyarbakır."
At that moment, we hear that a new family joins the protest. Salih Aylu tells us that he joins the protest for his 20-year-old son Salih Aylu.
Mevlüde Üçdağ joint the protest yesterday (September 9). She wants to make her voice heard, but the turn of speaking is given to some other mother each time. Saying that she saw her son Ramazan Üçdağ five years ago for the last time, Özdağ adds, "I came here for my son. I don't know how it will happen... It should have a solution. All we want is our children. We will not go anywhere until our children come." (EMK/SD)
* Photographs: Evrim Kepenek/bianet
