Refugee 87

by Ele Fountain

  “I came with a friend,” I say eventually. “He is dead now.” It’s the first time I have said the words out loud.

  “I’m sorry, Shif,” she says, looking at me with genuine sorrow in her eyes. “We also lost friends on our journey here. I am Shewit.” She holds out her hand. “Where is your family, Shif?”

  “My mother and sister are at home. I don’t know where my father is.” I realize that not just the woman, but the young couple, too, are listening and nodding, as if they know exactly what has happened to me in the last few weeks. I cannot imagine anyone having been through the same things.

  “Where are you going now?”

  I pause before answering. Shewit is looking at me with interest. I feel I have nothing left to lose.

  “I was supposed to walk south to the refugee camp,” I say. “But I hurt my ankle and only just made it here. I couldn’t go any farther. My ankle is healing now, though, so perhaps I will be able to leave in a couple of days. I want to go to Europe.”

  Shewit and her husband start talking in low voices. As they talk, I look around the room again. It is very neat. There is a pile of folded clothes in the corner. Through an open door at the back of the room I see a small courtyard, from which wafts the smell of a wood fire burning. They must be cooking dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten a hot meal.

  My hunger must show because Shewit looks over and says, “Would you like to eat? We can talk more afterward.”

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “We have lentil stew and bread.”

  She gives me a small portion and I eat slowly, feeling full after a couple of mouthfuls. She advises me not to eat any more until my stomach is used to food again. She knows of people who have died because they’ve eaten too much after nearly starving. Their stomachs have torn.

  When we have all finished, the woman says, “You must not go to the refugee camp. A tribe in this area kidnaps people who have escaped from our country. They live in tents outside the big towns, but many can be found around the markets and bus stations, too, looking for people like us. They know that we have few friends and no relatives to help us.”

  “To send them back home again?” I ask.

  “No, to sell them.”

  “To sell the people?”

  “Yes, they sell them to be used as slaves. If they don’t capture you on the way to the camp, they come and find you there. They have gangs who patrol the camps, waiting for anyone new. Children get good prices. But selling isn’t all they do. They’re experts. Before selling you, they try to get hold of your family’s money.”

  “How? They don’t know where my family lives.”

  “They make you give them a phone number for a rich relative or your parents—whoever is going to pay for your passage to the sea.”

  “You could just say no,” I answer, confused.

  She smiles, a sad smile. “If you make too much trouble, then they kill you, or sell you again.”

  “Like a sheep,” I say in horror.

  “Perhaps,” she says. “Although the farmer respects his sheep. Rest now. Your body needs to recover from what it has been through before you can go anywhere.”

  Friend

  Wake up.” Someone is gently shaking my shoulder.

  I blink and sit up. “Where am I?”

  Then I recognize the lady kneeling next to me. Shewit. Pale light creeps under the door and around the shutter.

  “We’re going to the market.” She nods toward the girl.

  I rub my fists in my eyes. “I’ll come to help you carry things.”

  “No. It would be better for you to stay here. Rest your ankle.”

  I notice that the room will be empty except for me and the woman in the corner whose leg and arm are bandaged. She is sitting up but her eyes are closed.

  “Okay, thank you,” I say, but I would prefer to be useful.

  Once they have left, I go around the room folding blankets and tidying the small space. In the corner is the pile of clothes, including some white netela, the type that women and girls wear around their shoulders and heads back at home. I wonder why they don’t wear them here. I lay new wood on the fire and then go back inside to wait for people to return. I hear the distant sound of a donkey braying. The room is quiet.

  Soon there is a soft knock on the door, and Shewit and her daughter walk in with several bags.

  “It’s our job to cook for those who are working or cannot cook for themselves—my husband and Genet and her husband,” she says, removing her brightly colored headscarf. “You can help us prepare the food.”

  She points to the small courtyard and gives me a bowl of lentils so I can pick out the stones, then goes inside. I have watched my mother and Lemlem do it many times but have never done it myself.

  The girl sits on the floor next to me with a pile of onions. We work silently.

  After a few minutes, the girl puts down her onion and looks at me. “My name is Almaz,” she says.

  “Hello, Almaz,” I reply quietly. I don’t know what else to say, even though my head is almost bursting with questions. “Why aren’t you wearing your netela?” I ask, realizing immediately that I sound rude.

  She doesn’t seem annoyed. “Because it’s not safe.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “It’s best not to attract attention. There are people looking for anyone from our country, and white netela are pretty easy to pick out in a crowd.”

  “I thought your mother said those people were mostly near the camps?”

  “Not only near the camps. There are just more of them near the camps.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  Almaz pushes back her headscarf. Beneath it her hair is braided in neat rows.

  “Three months and four days,” she answers without hesitation, staring straight at me.

  “That’s such a long time,” I say, alarmed. “Do you want to stay here?”

  Almaz laughs. “No, we don’t want to stay. We want to travel to England, but my mother and father didn’t have enough money to pay for the whole journey, so Dad is working collecting and sorting garbage. Back home he worked in a bank. They wanted to leave before I was old enough to start my military training, but we heard that the government was carrying out a giffa in our part of the city, and one week later we left. Dad had enough to get us here, but not enough to get us to the coast. Do you have money?”

  I am so happy to be sitting next to someone who is dealing with the same things I am dealing with, worrying about the same problems. I don’t even pause before answering Almaz.

  “I’m in the same situation as you—my mother wasn’t planning to send me anywhere soon, but they started rounding up kids in our neighborhood. She had saved enough money to get me to Europe, but not enough for her and my little sister, Lemlem, to come, too.”

  Almaz finishes peeling and starts chopping the onions. She is fast, and she can look at me to talk even when she is chopping.

  “I want to leave as soon as I can,” I say, “but I don’t know how to make contact with a smuggler. I don’t think I can wait for three months, though.”

  “Speak to my father when he comes home.”

  She has a way of making me feel that I don’t need to hide things. Like she won’t judge me. I wonder if this is what it would be like to have an older sister. I immediately think of Lemlem and feel guilty. I hope she hasn’t been missing me as much as I miss her; her little smiles, her little games, the way she always runs straight toward me for a hug after school.

  At dusk Almaz’s father returns, and then Genet’s husband. They seem tired, moving slowly as they go to wash their hands outside. I wait until Almaz’s father has drunk some tea before asking Shewit if I can speak with him.

  He beckons me over with an impatient wave of his hand. “I’m Mesfin,” he says.

  “I’m Shif,” I answer.

  “I know,” he says. He doesn’t smile but the way he looks at me makes me feel welcome. “How’s your ankle healing
?”

  “It’s a bit better. Maybe soon I’ll be able to work a little.”

  “You could,” he says. “Although it’s better if people don’t notice you’re here at all. So you have no money?”

  “I have no money to buy food. My family can send money for traveling, though.”

  He nods. “My wife has a kind heart. You’re lucky she found you first.”

  “I’m very grateful,” I say. “It’s kind of you to let me stay here when you have little space to share. But I want to travel to Europe as soon as I can. Can you help me find someone who can take me north?”

  “I can find you a smuggler. The trick is to find a smuggler who isn’t going to cheat you, sell you, or kill you.” Mesfin looks at me as if he is waiting for me to agree. “I’ve made contact with someone who says he can arrange for us to go.” He gestures around the room. “It’s safer to travel together. Who has the money for you?”

  “My mother.”

  “Have you spoken to her since you left?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know the military hasn’t put her in prison?”

  “I don’t know.” I realize that I sound stupid.

  “I have no phone,” Mesfin replies. He is quiet for a minute. “I’m going to see my contact tomorrow evening. I’ll introduce you to him. He’ll give you his phone to call for the money. We’ll be leaving in two weeks, by truck. If you can afford it, I recommend you do the same. The chances of your arriving in one piece, or arriving at all, are much better if you don’t have to walk across the desert. The truck will take you across the border to the port, then you’ll have to wait for a boat.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “If you can’t get the money, you’ll be on your own. We can’t wait for you.”

  “What can I do in return?”

  “You can help my wife and daughter. You can stay out of sight.”

  Almaz faces the other way as she sits outside preparing dinner, but I can tell that she has listened to every word.

  When her father goes to sit with Shewit, Almaz turns and beckons me to come outside.

  I crouch down next to her on the step.

  “Will you travel with us?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. It depends on how much money I need to pay and how much my mother has saved.”

  “I hope you can come with us,” she says. “I miss my friends. It’s been just me, Mom, and Dad for the last three months, then Genet and her husband arrived.”

  “Do you have brothers or sisters?” I ask.

  “I have an older brother but he went to military camp four years ago and I haven’t seen him since. My mother couldn’t bear to lose two children. Once we get settled somewhere, she’ll send money to my cousin to try to bribe some officials and find out where my brother is and whether they can get him out. How about you?”

  “Just my sister, Lemlem.”

  I want to let Almaz know that talking to her makes me feel like Shif again—not detainee eighty-seven or the boy no one knows. But I can’t find the right words to say anything at all, so I look at my feet.

  “I would love a little sister,” she says.

  “Maybe you can meet her one day,” I reply.

  That night, as I curl up on the floor, I think about speaking to my mother tomorrow. I will be able to tell her that someone may have seen Dad alive, and that he was okay, which means there’s a chance he is still alive now. It makes me think about Yonas and the other men in the container. When will I have a chance to call their families? I doubt Mesfin’s contact will let me work my way through a list of phone numbers. Maybe my first chance will be when I get to England. I go over the information I know about each of them until I start to feel tired.

  Tonight there is no black hole waiting for me, just sleep.

  Wait

  The next day I watch impatiently as everyone leaves for work or to shop for food. Almaz’s father told me that my ankle must be completely better before I can risk the journey north, so I have to take it easy. I look around for something useful to do. Folding the blankets and clothes takes me five minutes.

  The woman in the corner of the room, Genet, opens her eyes and looks at me. “You’re busy. Why not rest while you have the chance?”

  “I can’t just sit still and wait,” I say; then I realize that sounds as if I think she is lazy. “What did you do to your arm and leg?”

  “A land mine exploded when we were crossing the border,” she says. “Two people we were crossing with were killed. I was hit with some pieces of shrapnel. We managed to get the pieces out, but the cuts were deep and I wasn’t able to clean them properly so they became infected. Now that we’re here I’m able to bathe them and dress them, but they aren’t healed yet.”

  I feel shocked at what happened to Genet, but she seems very calm. “Did you know the people who were killed?” I ask.

  “We had met the day before. The smugglers put some of us together in a truck that took us closer to the border. So they weren’t my friends, but we had planned to travel together once we had crossed the border. It was a woman and her husband. They were both young, but at least they didn’t have any kids.”

  Genet looks young, too, but the way she talks makes her seem more like Shewit’s age.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  “I met Shewit two weeks ago. She found us in the market, just like she found you. What about your foot?”

  “I sprained my ankle running from some guards, but it’s nearly better.”

  “You’re lucky. I told my husband he must leave with Shewit and her family even if I can’t go, but I know he won’t leave me.”

  Although talking to strangers is becoming easier, there is a little piece of me that cannot shake the feeling that I am putting myself in danger every time I share my plans for the future.

  A little while later, Almaz and Shewit return. Money is so tight that they cannot afford large amounts of anything; instead they shop every day for whatever is about to run out.

  We will have scrambled egg sandwiches for lunch. I go outside to help Almaz prepare them.

  “Did you talk to Genet?” she asks.

  “She told me how she hurt her arm and leg, and that if they don’t heal, she won’t be able to go with you.”

  “I don’t think I could bear to stay for much longer. The only place we ever go to is the market—the rest of the time we’re stuck in here.”

  I think about playing chess with Bini, then push that away to remember how Lemlem and I used to fill our time at home; we normally played gebeta, her favorite game.

  “Why don’t we make a gebeta board?” I suggest.

  “Yes! What can we use to make it, though? All we have are plastic bags from the market.”

  “Do you have any cardboard?” I ask.

  Almaz disappears inside for a minute.

  “How about this?” she says, holding up an empty tissue box.

  “That would be perfect. Do you think you can break the eggs in half, so we can use the shells?”

  She smiles. “Of course I can.”

  After lunch we nestle the half eggshells in rows in the tissue box, then take some chickpeas and play our first game of gebeta together. As dinnertime approaches, we are still playing. We stow our board on the folded clothes in the corner of the room and start chopping. It feels so good to be busy.

  When Almaz’s father returns in the evening, he eats in silence, then wipes his hands and beckons me over.

  “We’ll go to meet Ato Medhanie now. He’s the man arranging our transport to Europe.”

  My heart flutters and I calm myself by running through the phone numbers that my mother taught me. Mesfin smooths down the front of his T-shirt. It occurs to me that he is nervous, too.

  We step through the door into the cool dusk air, and for a second I allow myself to enjoy the feeling that I can walk out whenever I please. Even though I know it’s not safe.

  We walk along several twisting alleyway
s, then cross a wide, busy road. On the other side of town are some large compounds sheltering big houses within. We knock on the door to one of these compounds. A man opens a grate to look at us, then unlocks the gate, and we pass through into a large walled space. There is a big tree in the corner heavy with grapefruit. Pots and flowers are scattered all around.

  In another corner is a table with two men drinking tea. We walk over. Mesfin greets them in their language and then pushes me forward. One of the men wears a white shirt. He has gray hair and a short beard and smells of aftershave. He greets me in my language. I can see that he is assessing me. I can tell he has done it many times before. He points to two empty chairs at the table, then sits back down. His friend wanders into the house.

  “I’m Medhanie,” says the man in the white shirt. “So you want to travel north?”

  “Yes, as far as the coast, and then get a boat to Europe. To England.”

  He smiles a quick smile. “You have money?”

  “My mother has saved money.”

  “Do you want to go on foot or by truck?”

  “I want to go by truck.”

  “Okay. Call her and tell her that you need five thousand dollars. Then give her the numbers she needs to transfer the money.” He leans to one side and reaches his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a large flat phone. He types something in. “There’s the country code. Now enter your mother’s number.”

  My finger wavers slightly over the keys as I type. I cannot imagine how my mother could possibly have saved this much money.

  After a pause, the phone rings. I am about to hear my mother’s voice again—the voice I have longed to hear for three weeks.

  But a man answers.

  “Who is this?” he asks abruptly.

  I don’t recognize his voice. I look up at Medhanie in confusion.

  He takes the phone and cancels the call.

  “I’m sorry for you,” he says. “It sounds like the military has your mother’s phone. It would be better for her if you never call her number again.”