THE BICYCLE

Co-author and former child refugee Babakar remembers a special joy from her harrowing journey.

Young Mevan adores “lush and hilly” Kurdistan, where her family has lived for generations. Surrounded by loving relatives and community members, the budding poet feels “ten feet tall.” That all changes when Iraqi soldiers push her family out of their home. Depicting the soldiers with uniforms but no guns, the art works with the text to soften the desperation of the situation without glossing over it—a tricky yet essential needle to thread. As Mevan and her parents make an arduous voyage from Kurdistan to Turkey to Azerbaijan to Russia, she feels increasingly small. The art’s muted, earthy palette adeptly captures their alienation while also highlighting the nature (or lack thereof) in their surroundings. After two years in Russia, the family goes to the “green and bright” Netherlands, where a kind handyman named Egbert gives Mevan a bicycle. A wordless spread shows Mevan riding playfully around the neighborhood while her parents and Egbert look on—enjoying a carefree experience at last. Eventually the family finds a permanent home in another country, but they aren’t able to say goodbye to Egbert. Mevan never forgets his kindness, but it’s a bittersweet ending. Relegated to the backmatter is an astonishing revelation: a photo of Babakar and Egbert, along with an epilogue and author’s note stating that they reunited years later.

An important, stirring tale—just be sure to read the backmatter.