“Yes, brother. I have one brother’s camera, and the other’s comb. I have my husband’s shirt as well.” Image via Maatram. Used with permission This post by Selvaraja Rajasegar originally appeared on Groundviews, an award-winning citizen journalism website in Sri Lanka. A translated and edited version is published below as part of a content-sharing agreement with Global Voices. About 300 days ago, a group of Sri Lankan people began protesting across the north (in places like Vavuniya, Kilinochchi, Mullaitivu) demanding the release of lists of secret detention camps, lists of the detained, or simply information on what had happened to their loved ones. Though the Sri Lankan President Maithripala Sirisena promised to release this information in June, he has not done so to date. Sri Lanka emerged from a 30-year-long civil war in May 2009 when the Sri Lankan military defeated the LTTE, also known as the Tamil Tigers. They fought almost three decades to create an independent Tamil state called Tamil Eelam in the north and the east of Sri Lanka. In the process of the conflict, many people have disappeared, not just in the north and east, where much of the last stages of the war was fought, but also in the Sinhala-majority south as well, during insurrections from as far back as the 1980s. However, disturbingly, many have also disappeared after the end of the war, when people handed over family members to the military (in some cases, these people were suspected members of the LTTE). The following is the translation of a series of stories by Selvaraja Rajasegar, editor of Maatram, a Sri Lankan citizen journalism site publishing content in Tamil (click here and here to view the series in Tamil). In some areas, across the north and east, the protests have been going on over 300 days. Their pleas, to provide details about what happened to their families, have yet to be answered. Five of the protesters have died since the demonstrations began. “I have, son. I kept it safely. I washed my son’s blood-stained shirt, and kept it with me.” Image Via Maatram. Used with permission The relatives of those who have been forcibly disappeared live on. They live surrounded by treasured possessions, each a reminder of their loved one’s absence. They pass by the places they once walked, and meet people their missing ones loved. Recently, Maatram visited these families to ask them a difficult question – if they would allow their loved one’s possessions to be photographed. Upon asking this question, they wept bitterly. Their pain is difficult to describe in words. Still, they came forward with these treasured belongings, wet with tears. They believe their loved ones will return. It was with great relief that their loved ones had survived through bullets and shellfire that they handed them over to the Army. Now, since they haven’t returned, they are suffering. Their sadness is immeasurable. Below is part one of their stories. (All names have been withheld to maintain the privacy of the individuals interviewed.) “I have the blazer that we made for him to wear for his elder brother’s wedding. Since that’s all I had left in my suitcase, that’s the only thing I have to remember him.” Image via Maatram. Used with permission During the last stages of the war, we handed our family over to the Army ourselves – my two younger brothers, aged 27 and 29 years, and my 30-year-old husband. Believing that they would question them and then release them shortly, we got into the bus and went to the IDP camp. At that time, I was seven months’ pregnant with my second child (a daughter). My father said, “We can’t wait here without food or drink, let’s go back. They’ll return soon.” They still haven’t come back. We have had to submit their documents to so many Commissions of Inquiry, and each time it costs us Rs. 300 (US$ 2) or Rs. 400 (US$ 2.66). They ask us who we handed our family over to, if we remember any names, and if we can remember any medals or symbols they were wearing. At that time we didn’t even have clothes to change into. We were going through such hardship, so how can we be expected to remember all these details? Instead of making us search all this time, they should tell us whether our loved ones are alive or not. My children are always asking for their father. My daughter is now 8, and she still hasn’t seen her father. My son is 11. Whenever there is an event at school, he always sings about his father. They ask me if I have his phone number. If I die without finding my husband, I can manage. But at least if they can find one of my brothers, my mother and father can die at peace. People who remember those who were lost in Mullivaikkal will remember in a month, six months, or a year.