Growing up in Canada, I was shielded from many things. My childhood was plain and simple; I went to school, played with friends, watched TV and movies, and went out with my parents. My biggest worries were things like: ‘Who am I going to have a playdate with today?’ and ‘Do I have enough Barbies?’.
The first time I visited Morocco to see my dad’s family, I was 9 years-old. The moment I stepped off the plane I noticed things were different. The air was smoky, the airport was old, and people dressed quite differently. In the car ride to my grandma’s house I noticed even more differences like fields of garbage and old rural buildings; it was nothing like Canada. I remember being so excited to finally meet my family, especially since I had so many cousins my age. Even though we didn’t speak the same language, we bonded instantly. They toured me around the neighbourhood introducing me to their friends and showed me all the small corner stores where they bought candy. We had so much fun together and did the exact same things my friends and I did back home; it didn’t matter that there was a language barrier because we kids had our own.
As the month went on, I noticed even more differences. Although many of my cousins were my age, I realized that their lives were much different than mine. The boys played outside most of the day with worn out soccer balls, while the girls did chores, sometimes playing with their knock off toys and dolls if they had time. They would all take turns playing and admiring my mom’s iPhone or my Nintendo DS. That’s when I understood why we brought an extra suitcase full of toys and clothes from home. Sometimes they were even sent to do the grocery shopping–my parents wouldn’t even let me walk to school alone. Even though I was young, I recognized the differences; I realized how lucky I had it growing up in Canada. I remember thinking how unfair it was, how we were all so alike yet their lives were so different just because they were raised in another country. And although my cousins weren’t growing up in the middle of a war like Marji in ‘Persepolis’, they still had it a lot more difficult than most of us did.
Growing up in the middle of the Iran-Iraq War, Marji faced many struggles as a child that most of us, including myself, will never face in our lives. Instead of just worrying about school and friends, Marji also had to worry about bombs or missiles hitting her house. She had to illegally buy music and even made her parents smuggle posters from Turkey, simple things most of us enjoy without even thinking about them. She is made aware of many horrors at a very young age, and this wasn’t just her experience, but the experience of all Iranian kids at this time. Growing up in a period of war as a child extremely affects the childhood experience. One doesn’t have time to be a kid when you are fearing for your life. Unfortunately, this experience isn’t unique to Marji, but applies to many kids even to this day in war-torn countries.
The Syrian Civil War has been going on for almost 7 years. As a result many children have lost their homes and some even family members. This is an issue many children in different countries are facing right now. It is completely unfair to deprive a child of their childhood due to a political matter. For some reason, when we think about war we somehow forget about the children. Our minds jump to political leaders, weapons and armies, but we fail to remember the children involved. No child should have to worry about whether a bomb is going to hit their house or not. This is why it is important to recognize the privilege many of us have growing up in first-world countries, and living lives some can only dream of. We should all use our privilege to fight for the rights of children in the world that do not have the same opportunities that we do and for the children growing up in the middle of a war zone.