Refugee 87

by Ele Fountain

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Almaz asks.

  “A little thirsty,” she answers, “but at least we had a place to sit.” Shewit unwinds the scarf from her head. “Come.” She points to the sand, intending to shade us all with her scarf.

  Before I can join them, one of the smugglers points at me and shouts, “You!”

  On the sand in front of him lies a pile of shovels. He chooses nine or ten other men and directs us each to a wheel. A different smuggler orders us to collect some worn wooden planks from the floor of the trailer.

  Without the breeze we enjoyed while driving, the pounding sun from above and the heat rising from the sand below start to seep through my skin, claiming me piece by piece for the parched desert. I blink the sweat from my eyes and try to breathe steadily.

  For an hour we dig away sand and place planks in front of the wheels, until the truck has inched to the top of the dune. The driver gets out to look for the firmest route down.

  My head is swimming and the blood thumps in my temples.

  “We need water,” one of the other men says in English.

  One of the smugglers slings his rifle over his shoulder and unties a yellow water container from the side of the truck. He pours a small plastic cupful for each of the men who helped dig out the truck. Then half a cup for the passengers strewn around the truck. They scramble to their feet and form an anxious line, but no one pushes. They let the family with the young boy move to the front.

  The truck engine revs again and slides down the dune toward firmer sand. People walk slowly after it. Shewit grabs my hands and looks at them, tutting and shaking her head when she sees the raw blisters, which sting from my salty sweat. At least the sweat might stop them from getting infected. There is no spare water to wash away the dirt.

  Almaz and I climb back into the truck. I hold out my hand to Shewit and Mesfin, then take up my spot in the middle.

  “Thank you for digging us out,” says Almaz while we can still hear each other.

  With barely enough energy to keep myself upright, I smile back.

  The truck sets off, creating a wonderful warm wind, and we rumble on toward the glow of the setting sun on the horizon.

  Desert 3

  The next morning, I am stiff from digging, and cold. A feeling I try to savor. We roll up the plastic sheets and set off while the sun is still a thin line in the distance. Medhanie said it would take five days to cross the desert. Maybe tonight we will reach the border.

  After several hours, the flat desert rises up into small rocky hills ahead. The truck begins to rattle more than usual as the ground beneath becomes harder, with only a thin layer of soft sand on top.

  There is a sudden bang, and the truck jumps as if it’s been bitten, flinging the passengers sitting along the edge off the truck and onto the gritty track. They land with sickening thumps. There is the smell of diesel and the vehicle leans drunkenly. Almaz clings to me as we are crushed by the weight of people sliding to one side of the trailer. The pressure lifts as they start to scramble over the side and backboards and jump to the ground. People begin shouting and wailing. We can’t see what is happening.

  I hold Almaz by the shoulders and look in her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  “Yes, my arm, but I think it’s only bruised. You?”

  “I’m okay. Let’s find your parents.”

  We clamber up to the side and jump down to join the other passengers gathering in groups around people lying on the ground. The front wheel of the truck is bent to one side, next to a large rock.

  The driver is sitting on the ground with blood running down his face.

  One of the armed men is shouting into his mobile phone.

  “I can’t see Mom and Dad,” says Almaz.

  She starts running among the injured. Some are crying out, or clutching their arms or legs. Five or six aren’t moving.

  Almaz spots her father. He is kneeling in the sand, bent over someone. She rushes to his side and I see that Shewit is lying in front of him. Almaz brings her hands to her mouth and lets out a small cry. I follow her to Mesfin’s side.

  “Get water,” he says calmly.

  I run back through the sand to the truck and tug at one of the yellow containers until it comes loose. In the confusion, the smugglers don’t see me. There is a little water left at the bottom.

  When I return, Shewit’s eyes are open. “My leg. What has happened to my leg?”

  I look down and see that below the knee her leg is bent at an unnatural angle. “I think your leg is broken,” I say.

  “I’m so thirsty,” Shewit replies.

  I pour a little water into the lid of the container and pass it to Almaz. She gently tips it into her mother’s mouth. The sun is fierce, and Almaz removes her headscarf to make some shade for her mother.

  There is a man who seems to be a doctor, walking among the people lying on the ground. He crouches down next to Shewit. He looks as if he’s Mesfin’s age, but with many more wrinkles around his eyes.

  “Does it hurt anywhere apart from your leg?” he asks.

  “No, just my leg.”

  He lifts the fabric toward Shewit’s knee and she cries out. “You’re lucky it’s not your femur, but you have a nasty fracture in your lower leg. I have to put a splint on it to hold the bone in place until you can get to the hospital.”

  Almaz looks up and catches my eye.

  “Do you know how far we are from the border?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “We need something to use as a splint.”

  I look around and see several bundles of firewood hanging from the back of the truck. I pull out one long piece and take it back to the doctor.

  “That will work,” he says, snapping the stick in two. “Can I rip your dress?” He tears some fabric from the bottom of Shewit’s dress, then rips it into smaller pieces. One piece he gives to Shewit. “Put this between your teeth to bite down on. Hold your daughter’s hand. Okay, are you ready?”

  He gently places the sticks on either side of the bent bone and begins to push it back into place. Shewit screams with pain, then her eyes close as she passes out.

  “It is better that way,” the doctor says without looking up.

  Tears run down Almaz’s face.

  Mesfin says nothing. He strokes his wife’s forehead.

  The doctor finishes securing the splint to Shewit’s leg. “This will allow her to travel without causing the fracture to worsen. She needs as much water as you can give her.”

  He stands up and looks around. People are waving at him and shouting to get his attention.

  One of the smugglers fires a shot in the air. There is silence, only the sound of one woman moaning in pain, as everyone who can turns to look at the man with the gun. He starts shouting, but I can only understand a few words of what he says.

  Almaz is listening intently. As soon as he finishes talking, people start gathering the items scattered around the truck.

  “He says that we’re close to the border, only ten miles away,” Almaz says. Two large tears spill down her face; she wipes them away. “He says we have to walk. We should reach the border by nightfall, when another truck will come to collect us. They’ll send a smaller truck into the desert tomorrow for the wounded and take them to be treated.”

  I hear the man with the gun shouting again. I think he is trying to get people moving.

  Mesfin speaks again. “Almaz, shikorina, your mother cannot walk. We have to rest here and leave tomorrow when the other truck comes. You must go ahead with Shif. You must not miss the boat.”

  “No!” It is the first time I have ever heard Almaz raise her voice. “I’m staying here with you and Mom. You’ll need me to help you carry her and look after her.”

  “I can look after your mother.”

  “I won’t go without you.”

  My last night at home comes rushing back to me. The feeling of emptiness when Mom told me that she and Lemlem wouldn’t be coming with me.

  “You must go ahe
ad. I have to wait for your mother’s leg to heal before they’ll let her travel on the boat. I’ve already paid for our crossing and I won’t get the money back. It will be your job to get in touch with Aunty in England so when your mother and I reach the port, she can wire enough money for us to take the boat. If you don’t go now, we’ll all be stuck here. We have our mobile phone. When we get to somewhere where I can buy a SIM card, then I’ll call Aunty with our new number. You will know where we are.”

  Almaz buries her face in her hands.

  Mesfin looks at me. “Take care of my daughter. That is your job from this minute onward. I know that I can trust you with her life—you’ve saved it once already.”

  I nod, but I don’t know if he is right to trust me with anyone’s life.

  Shewit begins to stir and moan. Mesfin lifts the lid with water to her lips. Behind us, those who can still walk have gathered their few belongings together and are waiting next to the smugglers, trying to shelter in the shade of the truck. The smugglers pass water containers to the men. Only a few containers are left.

  “Let’s move Mom to the shade,” says Almaz.

  Mesfin lifts Shewit under the shoulder, and Almaz and I slide our arms under her thighs to support her.

  She cries out in pain. “Please, please leave me here.”

  We walk crabwise as fast as we can to the shade by the truck. Shewit is moaning in agony when we rest her in the sand.

  I spot our laundry bag marooned on the ground nearby. I drag it over to Shewit and Mesfin.

  “You keep this,” I say. “You might need extra clothes to keep warm at night.”

  The smuggler shouts something else I don’t understand, but he stands up, and the people scattered around him get slowly to their feet.

  I say good-bye to Mesfin and Shewit. Almaz hugs her father, then bends down to kiss her mother on the cheek. Shewit is barely conscious.

  “I will see you soon, Mom,” Almaz whispers.

  Then Almaz stands up and walks with me toward the man with the gun. Tears stream down her face. Mine, too.

  While other passengers sift through the precious objects in their bags to see if there is something they can leave behind, it seems Almaz and I are shedding family and friends as we make our way north.

  Although the midday sun is beating down, we begin to walk slowly through the stony sand, our feet slipping back with each step.

  After two hours we stop for water. Each person is allowed one capful from the container. There is no more food. My feet are blistered from the sand and sweat rubbing inside my shoes. My hands sting. My head thumps to the rhythm of my heartbeat; my body is so hot that everything feels swollen.

  Almaz struggles to keep up with the pace set by the smugglers. She isn’t alone. Several people begin to fall behind, including the family with the small boy. I hold out my hand to Almaz.

  “It’s easier to walk when I have both hands free,” she says without stopping.

  The group that started out together from the damaged truck is scattered across the desert behind us, moving so slowly that it’s hard to tell the people from the rocks that are forever lodged within the shifting sands.

  My thoughts are strangely calm. I don’t have spare energy to focus on anything but placing one foot in front of the other. I hope that Almaz is feeling a similar temporary peace.

  As the sun begins to drift down toward the horizon, I see the outline of a truck several hundred feet ahead. One of the smugglers shouts something, and a man on the truck shouts back. He waves his gun in the air. We have to hurry up. Five or six men with guns are waiting for us.

  Perhaps fifty people gather around the armed men. I cannot see the family with the young boy. They start to herd us up onto the back of the truck.

  Almaz touches my arm. “Please come with me,” she says. “I don’t want to speak to them on my own.” She walks toward one of the armed men. “When will the truck come to pick up the people who are hurt?” she asks in English.

  Without turning round, he grunts a single word at her.

  She turns to me. “He says tomorrow.” Almaz seems reassured but asks me, “Do you think they have enough water to last them until tomorrow?”

  “They left some containers with the injured people. Your mom and dad are sensible. They’ll stay in the shade, and they won’t be walking, which is what uses up water.”

  We are the last to climb up, and we sit right at the back. I wrap one arm underneath one of the water canisters and hold on to Almaz’s arm with the other. The engine sounds ridiculously loud as it revs in the descending darkness. We lurch slowly through the sand, rocking a little from side to side as the wheels struggle to grip. This truck is smaller than the first one and even more cramped, though there are fewer of us.

  Almaz dozes on my shoulder. My eyes ache with exhaustion. I promised to look after her and I know that if she slips off the back while she sleeps, they won’t even notice. And if they do, they won’t stop the truck to go and look for her. Apart from my family, Almaz is the most precious thing I have. I will not let her go.

  Near and Far

  At dawn I see what looks like a large town ahead. The truck leaves the wide road and starts whining down narrower streets lined with square white buildings. There is a new smell in the air, a bit like when my mother cooks alicha. Birds circle and screech overhead.

  “We’re near the sea,” says Almaz. “You can smell the seaweed. It smells a little bit like cabbage.”

  “How do you know? Have you been to the ocean before?” I ask her.

  “One of my father’s sisters lives near the coast. We went to visit her once when I was little. The water was warm and some people were swimming. I don’t remember it very well, but I do remember the smell.”

  I can tell that she is thinking about her parents. I want to distract her somehow.

  “England is an island, so we’ll never be far from the ocean there. Maybe we could go together,” I say.

  The truck slows and pulls over at the side of a narrow road. One of the smugglers starts tapping people on the shoulder and gesturing that they should get out. He taps me and Almaz. Soon there are about fifteen of us standing on the sidewalk, wrapping our arms around ourselves against the cold morning breeze.

  We follow the smuggler through the doors to one of the accommodation blocks and into a small room on the third floor.

  “Here you will wait for the boat,” he says in English. “But first we’ll check your money.”

  As we sit on the floor, silent tears roll down Almaz’s cheek. Her shoulders begin to shake and through a sob she says, “How will Mom and Dad find me in England?”

  “You know the same phone numbers, so you’ll be looking for the same people. Your dad said you should get in touch with your aunty, and your parents will be in touch with her, too, so she can send them money. When they come, they will find you. Don’t worry. At least they aren’t too far behind you.” I realize that I sound confident, reassuring. Not like myself.

  The smugglers didn’t wait for the slower walkers to reach the new truck. So I know they won’t send a truck for the injured passengers. There would be no extra money, and they would be responsible for a truckful of injured people. But I have learned that sometimes hope itself is as important as the thing you are actually hoping for.

  The smuggler writes all our names down, which takes a long time as we speak several languages among us. He asks in English if we have paid or not.

  “You must be quiet,” he says before he leaves. He taps his gun and points to the door. Men with guns will be waiting outside. I wonder how the money my uncle wired to the man in the white shirt could have made it up here.

  An hour or so later the man returns. He walks over to a lady by the window, which has a sheet draped in front of it.

  “You need to pay one thousand, six hundred dollars,” he says.

  She looks up at him and shouts something back—not in English.

  “Quiet,” he snaps, but she stands up and
starts waving her arms, still shouting.

  The man grabs her by the arm and drags her toward the door. I hear screaming and shouting in the corridor, and a loud cracking sound, then she is quiet.

  Almaz grips my arm.

  After a few minutes he returns. This time he goes over to one of the men in our group. “You also need to pay one thousand, six hundred dollars.”

  The man replies in his own language, but quietly. Eventually he takes a phone offered by the man with the gun. He is calling a friend or a relative. Maybe they will have the money, but if not, the man will be staying here.

  The smuggler turns and looks at me and Almaz but doesn’t come over.

  For three days we wait in the room. I am used to small spaces now, but some of the others pace around and shout at the smugglers until they come into the room and threaten to take them away. But we are given hot food to eat and warm blankets to sleep on. There is even a toilet in the corridor outside.

  We can hear the sea at night. It’s maybe a tenth of a mile from our room. I wish that Mom and Lemlem were waiting with me. Lemlem would sit on my lap and Mom would talk to me about what kind of work she might get, about whether we might live near the sea. She would wonder if the injera will be any good.

  To pass the time, Almaz teaches me what she knows about dinosaurs. We invent a stupid game, where she tells me the name of a dinosaur and I have to guess what it looks like. I get T. rex right, but apart from that I have to accept it’s really not a strong subject for me. In return, I try to teach her how to play chess; how to set up the board, and what the different pieces are called. I realize it sounds like a ridiculous game unless you’ve actually seen a chessboard in action.

  We are both exhausted from the desert journey, and the rest of the time we doze. Almaz rests her head on my lap rather than the hard floor, and I lean against the wall. A few months ago I could never have imagined a girl sleeping on my lap, but here it feels completely normal.