The Boy at the Back of the Class

by Onjali Q. Raúf

  With my fondest best wishes,

  Elizabeth R

  (92 years old)

  After Mrs. Khan had read it out loud for us and Ms. Hemsi had finished telling Ahmet what the letter said, we all sat in silence. I guess there are just some things that even grown-ups don’t have any words for—and a message from the Queen is one of them.

  It’s been two weeks since we were all in the newspapers and received the Queen’s letter and, in lots of ways, things feel just like they did before. Mum doesn’t walk me to the bus stop anymore, and strangers have stopped staring at us with funny looks on their faces, and I’m still hoping to win first prize for my photosynthesis plant, even though Ahmet’s plant is growing faster than everyone else’s again. He’s teaching me some words in Kurdish like “grow more” and “grow up” and “I love you lots,” and I think it’s working!

  But in lots of other ways, things aren’t normal at all. Aunt Christina comes around much more often and she buys me presents too. I think she likes us now because we were in the newspapers. I still don’t like her. Whenever she comes, I ignore her and make Uncle Lenny play Scrabble with me and Mum like he used to.

  Mr. and Mrs. Rashid from the floor below have invited Mum and me for dinner this weekend, which means Mum might have a new best friend.

  And next week, I’ll be going with Tom and Josie and Michael and Ahmet to Buckingham Palace to have tea with the Queen. Sometimes I get so excited thinking about it that I have to jump up and down just as high as I can until my insides feel calmer. I think they must know that things can never be the same again after you’ve had tea with an actual Queen.

  Mum asked me what I’d like to take as a present for the Queen and I thought about it for three hours. In the end, I decided that, since she doesn’t really need anything, and I can’t afford to buy her real diamonds or a ruby, I would buy her a pomegranate from the man with the royal heart. Because I think the next best thing to wearing lots of jewels must be to eat lots of little ones instead.

  The other thing that’s changing is that I turn ten today. When I woke up extra, extra early this morning, I found the Birthday Card on the kitchen table.

  The Birthday Card is a very old card. It was the last one Dad gave to me before he died, and every year, Mum puts it out so that he can be there to greet me when I wake up, just like he used to when he was alive.

  It doesn’t say much inside. Just:

  To my Pumpkin,

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Try not to grow up too fast!

  Love, Dad X

  I’m glad Mum had to leave for work early, because seeing the card always makes me want to sit down and cry. So I did. And then I went to my room and played one of Dad’s favorite songs on his old record player. That made me feel better too. Sometimes all you really need is somewhere to cry without anyone ever knowing.

  I didn’t remind anyone it was my birthday because I wasn’t having a party and I didn’t have anything to take into class with me. Josie brings in a big cake on her birthday and Michael’s mum always hands out goodie bags to everyone. But Mum doesn’t have time to bake and goodie bags are expensive. That’s why it’s easier to pretend that I don’t have a birthday at all.

  I met Tom and Josie and Michael by the bus stop as usual, and when they didn’t say anything about my birthday, I felt sad and glad at the same time. I was afraid Mrs. Khan might say something, but she didn’t. Uncle Lenny usually sends me something in the mail, so I would probably get home to find a card with some extra allowance or chocolate in it like I did last year. If I did, that would be nice.

  At afternoon break, Josie and Tom and Michael and Ahmet and I talked about what we were going to wear to Buckingham Palace next week. Josie’s mum was going to buy her a new dress and a new pair of soccer cleats. Michael was wearing a suit with a bow tie. Tom said he had a purple suit his uncle had made him wear to a wedding in San Francisco but that might not fit anymore. And Ahmet said his foster mum was going to buy him something that weekend and that he would also take his backpack.

  “You can’t take your backpack with you,” said Josie. “It’s old and ripped and it’s got a hole in the front pocket! The Queen might not even let it inside the palace.”

  “But important!” said Ahmet, looking panicked. “My dad give me for birthday before war—and I carry from Syria, so next time I see, I tell him it is seen by Queen!”

  “Oh,” said Josie, looking sorry that she had said anything.

  “Then you have to take it,” I said. “The Queen will want to see it.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom. “And your dad will love it.”

  Ahmet smiled and said, “I know you to understand.”

  The bell for last period began to ring, but as we all headed back to class, we met Ms. Hemsi in the hall outside. She was clasping her hands together and her eyes looked red. As soon as she saw us, she ran over and, whispering something into Ahmet’s ear, took him by the hand and quickly led him away.

  “Where’s she taking him?” asked Josie as Ahmet looked over his shoulder with a confused look on his face.

  None of us could think of an answer, so we made our way into class. After we had all gotten out our spelling books and had spent ten minutes learning the meaning and spelling of three new words—“possession,” “depression,” and “objection”—there was a light knock on the door.

  We all looked around to see who it was. After a few seconds, Ms. Hemsi’s head popped around the door and, after she gave Mrs. Khan a thumbs-up, disappeared again.

  Mrs. Khan smiled and, clapping her hands, said, “All right, everyone! Close your books, please. I have a very important announcement to make.”

  We all fell quiet and waited for an explanation about what was going on—and where Ahmet was.

  “Today is a very special day,” said Mrs. Khan. “And we have a few very special guests to help us celebrate.”

  Everyone turned around to see if there was anyone at the door, but there was no one there yet.

  “Eyes to the front, please,” ordered Mrs. Khan. “Now, before our guests arrive, I want you all to promise me that you’ll be on your very best behavior!”

  Everyone shouted, “We promise, Mrs. Khaaaaaan,” wondering who the guests could be.

  “Do you think it’s the Queen?” whispered Josie.

  “Maybe it’s the Queen’s Guards again!” whispered Tom.

  But they were both wrong, because it was my mum! Carrying a cake with candles on it! And behind her was Mrs. Sanders and Ahmet’s foster mum and Ms. Hemsi and the woman who had been at The Interview and who Michael had said was Ahmet’s Case Worker, and another woman we’d never seen before who was walking with her hand on Ahmet’s shoulder. I could tell Ahmet was happy because he was smiling, but his eyes looked wet and a little red too—just like Ms. Hemsi’s had in the hall.

  And within a few seconds, the whole class was singing “Happy Birthday” to me just as loudly as they could.

  After Mum helped me blow out the candles, Ahmet and Ms. Hemsi and the woman who still had her hand on Ahmet’s shoulder stood at the front of the class with Mrs. Khan.

  “Quiet down, please, everyone!” called Mrs. Khan. “We’ll cut the cake in just a few minutes, but first, I want everyone to say ‘Good afternoon’ to our extra-special guest, Ms. Duncan.”

  The woman standing beside Ahmet stepped forward as everyone shouted out, “Good afternoon, Ms. Duncaaaaaan!” She was wearing a bright blue suit and had short gray hair and a green diamond ring.

  “Now, Ms. Duncan has come here today from very far away, because she has some important news to share with us all,” said Mrs. Khan. “Over to you, Ms. Duncan.”

  Ms. Duncan nodded and looked straight at me with a smile before looking around the room.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m from the Home Office, which is a gover
nment department that controls who comes in and out of our country.”

  “Like the police?” called out Dean.

  “No, not like the police.” Ms. Duncan smiled. She waited for more questions but no one else said anything.

  Everyone was deathly silent now, and I could feel my whole chest beating so hard that it felt like someone was playing drums inside my tummy.

  Ms. Duncan carried on. “Today, I had the pleasure of bringing Ahmet some special news. And he has very kindly said that he would like to share it with all of you. Ahmet?”

  She held out a plain white envelope that had no address on it, and offered it to him.

  But Ahmet didn’t take it and whispered something to Ms. Hemsi instead.

  Ms. Hemsi frowned at first, but then laughing and crying all at once, gestured at me to come up. “He would like his best friend to read it to everyone,” she explained.

  For a moment, I couldn’t move. Then Josie gave me a kick under the table that made me stand up and slowly walk over to where Ahmet was standing.

  Ms. Duncan waited until I was standing in front of her and, holding out the envelope to me, said, “A very happy birthday, Alexa, from all of us. Thanks to you—and to Josie and Michael and Tom, of course—there have been thousands of people writing in and signing petitions and calling our offices, just to ask how they could help Ahmet and lots of other refugee children like him. And because of that…well…here you go.”

  Ahmet nodded and added, “Happy birthday, best friend.”

  I opened my mouth, but I think all my words must have disappeared and my brain had stopped working, because I couldn’t really think any thoughts anymore.

  Ahmet tapped the envelope in my hand and said, “You read it! For me.”

  I tried to take the piece of paper out of the envelope, but there were so many eyes staring at me and Ahmet’s eyes looked so big that my fingers got nervous and started to shake.

  “Here, darling, let me help,” whispered my mum as she jumped up and quickly took out the folded piece of paper that lay inside. Opening it up, she held me close as we read it out loud together. It said:

  STATUS—FAMILY INVESTIGATION SUMMARY:

  AHMET SAQQAL (AGE 9)

  FATHER: MOHAMED SAQQAL

  AGE: 43

  PROFESSION: PROF. OF ENGINEERING

  COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: SYRIA

  STATUS: LOCATED CALAIS REFUGEE CAMP, FRANCE

  MOTHER: SAMIRA SAQQAL

  AGE: 45

  PROFESSION: JOURNALIST

  COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: SYRIA

  STATUS: LOCATED MED FAC. SURUC, TURKEY

  SISTER: SYRAH SAQQAL

  AGE: 3

  STATUS: DECEASED, MED. CROSSING

  H.O. OUTCOME: GRANTED PERMANENT ASYLUM IN THE UK. REUNIFICATION OF FAMILY IMMINENT.

  I looked up at Mum and then at Ahmet and then back at Mum again.

  “What’s as-as-asylum mean?”

  My mum smiled but her eyes were watery too. “It means they can come and live here, darling. Ahmet’s mum and dad are coming to the UK! They’ve been found!”

  I looked up at Ahmet, who was nodding excitedly.

  And then I looked up at Josie and Tom and Michael, who were all staring back at me with their mouths open.

  And then I looked at Mrs. Khan, who was saying a prayer and Ms. Hemsi, who was crying so much that she had grabbed Mrs. Sanders and was making her go red in the face.

  And suddenly Michael jumped up and shouted, “WE DID IT!” and the whole class started cheering and whooping and jumping and clapping all at once.

  I know that afternoon was one of the best afternoons I will ever have. Not because it was my birthday, but because it was an end to one of the best adventures a brand-new ten-year-old could ever have and the beginning of a whole set of new adventures that I bet even Tintin never had!

  And, it was all thanks to a boy who came and sat at the back of the class and who let me be his friend.

  Did you know that by reading and whispering lots about this book, you will be helping refugee children and their families receive some very precious gifts?

  The author has committed a portion of the money that she receives from the sale of each copy of The Boy at the Back of the Class to some wonderfully brave people and charities who spend every single day trying to help save and rebuild the lives of refugees all over the world.

  So whether that’s food and water, warm clothes, or shelter—or lots and lots of chocolate to help make their insides feel happier—thank you for each and every gift you will be helping to deliver to refugee children just like Ahmet and their surviving families.

  The word “refugee” has a very special meaning, and is different from the word “immigrant.”

  An “immigrant” or “migrant” is someone who has deliberately moved to a new country (immigrant) or another part of their home country (migrant) because it is what they wanted to do—it was their choice. There are many reasons why people want to move to a new part of the world. They may want to live in a nicer house (like Dena’s parents) or somewhere with more trees, they may have found a brand-new job, or they may simply want to be closer to people they love.

  Unlike an immigrant or a migrant, a refugee has been forced to leave their home to escape war, persecution, or a natural disaster. If a refugee remained in their home region or country, they would face extremely difficult circumstances and risk death. According to international law, it is legal to leave your country to try to find safety in another country—and to travel as far as you need to until you find a home.

  There are currently over 65 million refugees trying to flee ongoing wars, human-made environmental disasters, economic destitution, or political persecution. That number is greater than the total number of refugees who fled Nazi persecution during World War II (UN Refugee Agency, 2016).

  Described as “the biggest refugee and displacement crisis of our time” by the United Nations secretary-general Ban Ki-moon, the ongoing wars in Syria, Yemen, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Sudan (and many other countries) mean an increasing number of people are trying to find a safe home elsewhere.

  In the United States, the Refugee Act of 1980 legally defined the word “refugee” and created the Reception and Placement Program (R&P) and the Office of Refugee Resettlement (ORR). These two departments help families find housing, food, clothing, doctors, employment, and language services and meet many other basic needs when they arrive in the United States.

  Working with Congress, the sitting president is supposed to name the number of refugees that can enter the United States each year. Today, refugees come to the United States from over sixty countries, with the most people coming from Democratic Republic of Congo, Iraq, and Syria. Refugees have resettled in all fifty states, but the three most popular areas for resettlement are California, Texas, and New York.

  No matter who you are or where you live, there’s a lot you can do. It’s crucial to treat everyone with kindness and respect. Empathy goes a long way. Consider standing up for your classmates and peers just as Ahmet’s friends gathered around him.

  Below is a list of thirteen domestic resettlement agencies, many of which work directly with the Department of State to help refugees create a new life in the US. If you’d like to help by donating money, physical resources, or your time, these organizations are places to start.

  Church World Service: cwsglobal.org

  Episcopal Migration Ministries: episcopalmigrationministries.org

  Ethiopian Community Development Council: ecdcus.org

  Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society: hias.org

  International Rescue Committee: rescue.org

  Karam Foundation: karamfoundation.org

  Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service: lirs.org

 
Sunrise USA: sunrise-usa.org

  Syrian American Medical Society: sams-usa.net

  UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency: unhcr.org

  U.S. Committee for Refugees and Immigrants: refugees.org

  United States Conference of Catholic Bishops/Migration and Refugee Services: usccb.org

  World Relief: wr.org

  * * *

  —

  For more information and statistics:

  Help Refugees: helprefugees.org

  Refugee Women’s Centre, Dunkirk: dunkirkrefugeewomenscentre.com

  Have you ever met a kid who is a refugee?

  If you have, have they ever told you their story?

  If you haven’t, how would you try to help them if you did meet one?

  If you are yourself a refugee child, what is the hardest thing about meeting new people?

  If you had to run away from a war and leave your house and school behind forever, what three things would you take with you?

  Most refugee children have to learn a completely new language quickly after leaving their country, and many find it very difficult to get used to the sounds and the way everyone around them is speaking. If you had to go to another country where no one could speak your language, what would you like people to do to help you understand them more easily?

  Have you read any newspaper stories or online articles about refugees or heard grown-ups speaking about them? What words did they use to describe refugees, and how did the words make you feel?