by Ele Fountain
We walk through the gate and toward the table where the man in the white shirt is waiting. He is on his own this time but talking loudly on his phone. When he sees us, he waves us over to sit at the table.
“Coffee?” he asks, holding his phone away from his face for a second.
Mesfin nods.
Medhanie shouts something toward the house, then continues his phone conversation, which seems to be making him angry. He cancels the call and slings his phone onto the table as a woman arrives with two small cups and a coffeepot. He looks at me. “What happened to your face?”
“Nothing. Just a fight,” I answer.
Medhanie nods, as if he isn’t surprised. “Your uncle must care about you. The money has arrived.” He looks at Mesfin. “You’ll pay me the rest of what you owe tomorrow?”
Mesfin nods. “As soon as I’ve finished work.”
“Good. Then it’s time to tell you what will happen next. Before I do, any questions?”
I can’t think of anything to ask. I know Bini would have thought of something important. So would Almaz.
He explains details of the pickup and the journey, then shakes our hands.
“I’ll be waiting by the truck on Monday to oversee the operation,” he says.
When we get home, Shewit and Almaz come silently over to greet us. Shewit points to Genet and her husband asleep on the floor, so we gather outside in the small courtyard, crouching among the pots and pans.
“Shif is coming with us,” says Mesfin.
Shewit reaches over and hugs me; then Almaz does, too. I feel included, part of something good.
“On Monday evening some men will come to the house and take us to the truck,” Mesfin explains. “We’ll be provided with water and food, but we must wear as many clothes as we can because there won’t be space for luggage—maybe one bag between us. Medhanie said the truck is a new one and we might reach the border to the north of the desert in five days. We’ll be met there by some of his contacts, who will drive the final stretch to the port. We must wait there until the boat is ready to take us, then we sail for Italy.”
That night I lie in bed staring at the ceiling. There are only three days between now and the truck to freedom.
Almaz is lying next to her mother on the other side of the room. Moonlight glows around the edge of the shutters and I see that her eyes are open, too.
I run through the list of names and phone numbers to try to calm myself. Mom taught me the number for her friend who lives in England. Once I arrive there, I am to call her first, and then call Mom to let her know that I’m okay. Only now I won’t be able to call Mom.
I wonder what school is like in England. I will never make another friend like Bini, but will I make any friends at all? I can speak pretty good English, but our teacher had never met a native English speaker and guessed at how words should actually sound. Perhaps no one in England will be able to understand me.
I wake early as usual, feeling groggy from little sleep.
The others are stretching and yawning. Genet is the only one lying still. Her husband takes a small cup of tea over to her and sits down quietly, stroking her hair. Genet’s leg has started to turn a bluish color. There is no money for a doctor. Everything her husband earns goes toward the fee for Medhanie.
Almaz goes outside to boil water but her father calls her back. Normally Mesfin is at work by now. He beckons for me to come and sit by him, Shewit, and Almaz.
“The men at work say that someone has been asking questions about me. I think the kidnappers are angry that Almaz escaped from them and they want to find us. All of us. Even if not to sell, then to punish. Take this money.” He hands me a small bundle of dirty notes. He looks at Shewit. “There isn’t much. I won’t be able to work today, and I needed to take out some extra money to make up the final payment for Ato Medhanie. Tell Shif what he needs to buy with it. This is the last time anyone will go to the market, so we must have food for the next few days, even if it’s just lentils.” He looks at me again. “Be quick, and make sure no one follows you. I’m going to take the money to Ato Medhanie now.”
As I slip on my shoes, Almaz passes me the shopping bags.
“Be careful,” she says.
I nod and silently leave the house.
As soon as I arrive at the market, I can tell that something is different. I walk toward the trader I’ve seen Almaz visit before to buy lentils for a good price. Around me is the normal hum of conversation, punctuated by a motorcycle horn or a shout, but the trader doesn’t chat in the relaxed way he usually does. He barely looks up as he gathers my order.
I notice a short man standing in the shadows near where I spent my first few nights in the market. He is watching me but turns away when he sees me looking. I scan the market and notice another man standing at the far edge of the traders, next to the road. He doesn’t look as if he’s buying anything; he’s just leaning against one of the poles, picking his teeth with a stick. He is wearing a blue keffiyeh, but I recognize him. It’s the man with the scar.
I pay for the food, gathering my bags together in one hand, and walk away from the stall, careful not to look as if I am hurrying. As I reach the edge of the market, both men peel away from their resting places and begin to walk slowly in the same direction as me.
I cross the road next to the market, but instead of following the network of streets home, I turn the corner onto the busy main road that runs through the center of town. I start to run, zigzagging around shoppers and coffee sellers.
After fifty yards I turn to see that the two men are still following me, looking left and right at the junction of the main road. Ahead is the movie theater. I step off the sidewalk toward the wide entrance doors. The main doors are padlocked, but around the side a door is ajar. I run over and push my way inside, kicking a bucket and mop to one side. I click the door shut and crouch down in the dark, waiting for my breathing to slow.
The handle of the door turns and a lady wearing a pink headscarf peers around the door. She lets out a squeal of surprise when she sees me.
“Sorry,” I say, lowering the shopping bags and raising my empty hands in the air, but the lady still looks fearful, unsure what to do next.
I grab a big white floorcloth from the shelf of supplies and the bags of shopping before squeezing past her, back out into the blinding morning light. I wrap the thin cloth around my head and then, looking down, carry on walking along the main road. I will find a different route home that doesn’t go past the market.
I want to know if I’m being followed but do not turn around. After fifty feet I bear right off the main road.
Away from the traffic, it seems quiet. The street is empty. I listen for the crunch of footsteps behind me. I turn right, and then right again, hoping that my sense of direction will lead me closer to home. Soon I recognize the narrow street leading up to our alley.
I reach the front door and knock softly in the rhythm we have agreed on. As I step out of the sun and into the cool dark, I notice that my back is damp with sweat.
“There were two men waiting for me at the market,” I say to the room of faces all focused on me.
Mesfin has already returned from delivering the money. He locks the door and then goes over to the window, peering out through a gap behind the shutters. “Did they follow you?”
“No, I lost them at the movie theater.”
Almaz giggles, and I realize that I am smiling, too. Perhaps because I am still free. Perhaps because losing your kidnappers at the movie theater sounds ridiculous.
It’s obvious we will be unable to leave the compound again until Monday, when we will leave forever.
We open the few bags of food we have. There is perhaps just enough to last until then, but nothing extra to take for the journey. Shewit tends to Genet, so Almaz and I begin our normal lunchtime routine of chopping and stirring. She is fast and methodical. I am messy, even though I try to follow her example. I find that cooking with Almaz makes me feel calm.
“You’re getting pretty good,” she says. “Maybe you should train as a chef in England instead of teaching.”
I laugh. “I like cooking, but my favorite part is eating.”
After a moment or two of silence, I ask, “Did you know that we’ll be sailing to Italy instead of England?”
“Not until you came back that night with Dad and told us. But Dad says we don’t have any good contacts in Italy, and it’s harder to find work. We’ll have to find a way to get to England from Italy.”
“I’d love to eat a real Italian pizza,” I say. “But all of my contacts are in England, too, and now that I can’t call my mom, I have to make sure I’m easy for her to find. Did your friends know you were going to leave?”
“No. No one knew. Dad said we couldn’t say anything, and that the most important thing was to carry on like normal. On my last day at school, I knew I wasn’t going to see any of my friends again, but I couldn’t even say good-bye. I had to pretend I would see them all the next morning.”
Almaz pours a little water into the pan. It sizzles and a jet of burnt-onion steam billows out. She doesn’t normally burn things.
The next few days pass slowly. We try to keep ourselves busy by choosing what to pack and what to leave, which takes very little time as we don’t have much among us. Shewit mends the zipper on her big laundry bag, which we’re going to squash everything into.
I exercise my ankle, which started to bother me again after running twice from the kidnappers.
Almaz spends time with a needle and thread, stitching a neat pattern around the bottom edge of her netela. It reminds me of evenings at home, when Mom brought back work to finish.
We play a lot of gebeta, even though four of the eggshell cups are broken and we are unable to replace them.
On Sunday night, we get ready to sleep in the same room for the last time.
In the morning, Shewit goes to sit with Genet and her husband. They speak quietly for some time. Genet starts crying and Shewit hugs her.
Genet’s fever is worse, and she seems weaker every day. I know that Shewit thinks Genet should go to the hospital and see what they can do for her. Otherwise her leg will turn septic and she will die. Her husband is worried about leaving her in the hospital alone, and about how he will pay for the treatment. There is no way they can travel with us.
When they have finished talking, Almaz goes over to Genet and gives her one of her two brightly colored headscarves.
When Almaz gets up, it is my turn.
I say good-bye to Genet’s husband. He will have to work, shop, and cook for both of them now.
Then I turn to speak to Genet. “I hope that you can follow us in a couple of months when your leg is better.”
She looks up at me and smiles a weak smile. Sometimes it’s easier to smile than to speak when you are feeling broken.
Shortly after lunch there is a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Mesfin asks.
“It’s time to leave,” replies an impatient voice in English.
Shewit and Almaz kiss Genet on the cheeks. She smiles, but the smile quickly fades.
I pick up the large striped laundry bag; Almaz grabs on to one of my arms as the four of us step outside.
Two men with rifles are waiting in the alleyway. “Try not to walk in a line behind us. Keep your heads down. Let’s go.”
I am leaving another home, but this time the destination is Europe. I try not to let excitement take over. When I left prison, Tesfay said the chances of making it were barely higher than zero. The odds for this journey must be higher. A wave of sadness rushes over me. I was supposed to look after Bini. We were supposed to look after each other. He made sure I escaped; I left him to die.
Maybe Almaz and her family are foolish to let me travel with them.
We follow silently through the maze of streets until we reach the main road. We are less conspicuous here among the dust lifted by the cars and trucks, and the people hurrying along beside the traffic. The armed men walk fast, and I find it hard to keep up. The laundry bag is an awkward shape. I have to carry it in front of me and I can barely see where I’m going. I feel sweat running down my back.
We reach the edge of town, where there is a patch of dirt the size of two soccer fields; it is noisy with buses, coaches, and taxis.
Almaz is walking next to her mother; both have their eyes to the ground.
I walk with Mesfin. Since I rescued Almaz, he has started treating me more like a member of the family. We even played gebeta together a few times. I wonder how he feels, taking his wife and daughter from their safe room to journey across the desert. I guess their room wasn’t going to be safe for much longer.
At the far edge of the bus depot is a large open-top truck with sixty or seventy people crammed inside. Yellow plastic containers drape over the sides, making it bulge like a pregnant donkey. I instantly know that this is the truck we will be traveling on. The little I can see of the actual truck is battered and dusty, and there is no shelter from the sun for the passengers. It is definitely not new, like Medhanie promised us. I cannot see him anywhere. Perhaps he is busy today after all.
One of the armed men takes a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “Name?” He looks at me.
“Shiferwa Gebreselassie.”
He stops in front of Almaz and smiles at her, but it is not a friendly smile. “Name?”
I can barely hear her reply as she speaks to the ground, not wishing to meet the man’s eyes.
The other man with a rifle is tall and has a curved nose that looks as if it may have been broken. He addresses all four of us. “The yellow containers are for fuel and water. Do not help yourselves. We’ll stop to eat and drink, and you’ll be given water then. If the road is good, it should take perhaps five or six days to cross the desert. You will be met at the border, where you’ll take a different truck to the port. Understand?”
We all nod mutely.
“Find a space on top. If there’s no room for your bag, you have to leave it behind.”
The truck is already full. Mesfin climbs on first, then holds out his hand to me. Together we pull Shewit and Almaz up. Bodies press against me from all sides. It’s hot, and the sun beats down relentlessly. Almaz and I push our way farther into the truck, but there is no room to sit.
The smugglers jump up and find a place to sit at the edge, resting their rifles on their knees. Shewit and Mesfin also find a place along the truck’s edge, where it’s cooler and less squashed. Before we can push our way back over to them, the engine revs loudly and we move slowly toward the desert in a haze of dust and diesel fumes.
We drive for hours without stopping. Although we speak different languages, I still manage to work out that the other people on the truck have come from the refugee camp farther south. They had been driving for an hour when they reached our town. There are a few boys my age, older men, and also a woman with a boy younger than Lemlem.
My mouth is so dry that it’s painful to swallow. My eyes are sore. As the reddish mountains and the town melt into the distance, a flat yellow landscape sprawls out around us in every direction. I feel as if I am speeding toward my future in a billowing cloud of orange sand.
Almaz turns and smiles.
I know why she is smiling. It’s good to feel part of something again. Part of a group. It makes our journey seem almost normal. I smile back.
“Ato Medhanie must make a lot of money,” I say.
Desert 2
For four days we drive, stopping only once in the morning and once in the afternoon to eat bread and cold lentils and to drink water. Then the stew runs out and we have only hard bread. At night we sleep under tattered plastic sheets, Almaz between her parents and me next to Mesfin. We dig a shallow pit in the sand and place the sheets on top, weighed down around the edges with another layer of sand. There are six or seven other people sharing our pit each evening. I can start to see my ribs again. As the road changes from gritty track to no road at al
l, we move more slowly, often sliding through soft sand, steering toward some point that only the driver magically knows. Sometimes I see a plume of dust in the distance. Maybe another truck bumping across the desert to the border.
Our ears become so accustomed to the rumble of the engine that there is a constant ringing noise in them when we stop. While we drive, Almaz and I get used to speaking loudly and lip-reading to understand. Almaz stares at me intently to make sure she doesn’t miss anything I am saying. She always pauses before answering, careful not to waste words. It’s exhausting to talk for long. We mostly discuss where we want to live in England.
“A big city,” says Almaz. “A big city will have good movie theaters and music. My mother knows some people in London.”
“I don’t know much about England,” I confess. “My uncle has a friend in London, too. My mother knows somebody in the north. I don’t know where. I think it’s cold in the north, though.”
“I heard it’s cold everywhere,” she says. “It’s like rainy season all the time.”
“But there must be a dry season, too.”
I think about Mom and Lemlem back at home. Who will I live with, without my family? It might take Mom a lot longer than six months to be able to leave now that the military is watching her. I want to stay with Almaz, Shewit, and Mesfin. Perhaps they won’t want me with them once we arrive in England. They will be busy looking for jobs and looking for a school for Almaz. I would be one extra person to think about.
The truck labors through a ridge of soft sand. As it nears the top, we slow despite the whining revs of the engine. Diesel fumes drift over the trailer and we slide to a stop. I hear the driver’s door open and he jumps down into the sand, shouting up to the men with guns.
One of the smugglers near the footboard shouts back angrily. “Everyone off!” he orders.
Our legs are stiff from lack of use. Slowly we climb down onto the footboard, then jump into the hot sand. Almaz and I wade toward her parents, who are waiting in the desert, several yards from the truck.
