When fellow revolutionaries and activists had to flee Bahrain, I was always grateful not to be in their shoes. I was born and lived in exile until I was 17. Until then, I had never seen my own country, didn’t know most of my relatives, and had absolutely nothing official to prove my nationality. But that made me more passionate about Bahrain, and more determined to help my people.
An emir had to die for me and my family to finally be allowed to return to our land. And as soon as I set foot on its soil, and took a deep breath of humid air, I knew I was home.
Fifteen years later, I walk back into that same airport, with two children and a heavy heart, forced to leave my land, my home and my relatives.
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