by S A Tameez
“Shut up!” One of the so called strong young men, who had proclaimed leadership, yelled. “Stop making people panic.” He pushed Ahmed, hard, and he fell over, treading on the people scattered across the boat.
“We are not stopping, we’ve nearly reached Chios!” the young man shouted. His eyes were blood-shot red. He was a tall man with a thick moustache and shoulders wide enough for two little children to sit on either side.
Maryam, who had screamed when Ahmed was pushed, rushed to him, checking to see if he had hurt himself.
“I think the engine’s going to blow, we should stop it and let it cool down... in the meantime, we could look at the leak and try to stop this water from coming in.” Ahmed told the man as Maryam helped him to his feet.
The man looked around at the distressed faces of the people on board. He leaned his face forward, towering Ahmed, as if to intentionally intimidate him.
“I told you to shut-the-hell-up. Don’t be an idiot!” He bellowed. The man peered back at his two comrades who had that same look of rage. Like guard dogs, ready to follow commands.
“Please Ahmed,” Maryam whispered, “I beg you… don’t say anything.”
Ahmed fell silent. He knew Maryam was right, another word would certainly earn him a beating, or worse. He held tightly onto Malik and Maryam. They were his responsibility. He’d be no good to them dead.
The mechanical smell soon turned into a strong smell of burning. It overwhelmed all the bad odours. The sea water pooling in the well was up to ankle level.
“Boss… I… I think we should stop the engine,” one of the men said.
The brawny man with the moustache suddenly looked scared. “Shut it down!” he yelled and then repeated, “Shut it down!” He sounded almost embarrassed about having to fold. But it didn’t really matter anymore. The burning smell was, in fact, areas of the boat that had caught fire. Ahmed could feel the heat from the flames.
The engine made a loud roar and then exploded. The back draft catapulted some people across the boat, and Ahmed could have sworn that someone had been launched out to sea like a cannon ball. Ahmed was horrified and his terror increased as he felt the boat sinking. Although Ahmed had predicted the outcome, it was all happening too fast to do anything about it.
The deafening screams of panic made it hard to concentrate but Ahmed knew that they had to find a way to survive. He took deep breaths to stop himself from panicking.
“Make sure your vests are strapped properly!” He checked to make sure the vests were strapped tightly.
“Everyone!” He shouted to the crowds of people. Their eyes resembled scared children waiting for instructions. “Get your vests on!” Even the strong, young men listened and strapped their vests on.
Within moments, the boat began to splinter and the sea started to swallow it up.
“Get ready to jump!” Ahmed shouted.
“What?” Maryam screamed.
“We’ve got no other choice.” He grabbed hold of Malik, who had iced-over in fear.
“I can’t…” Maryam said. Ahmed held Maryam’s trembling hand and they locked eyes.
“Trust me… please, just trust me.”
“…OK,” Maryam nodded, colour drained from her face.
“Hold on!” They jumped together holding each other’s hands, crashing into the cold sea. Water flooded up Ahmed’s nose and he couldn’t help but to swallow a mouthful. The taste was awful, the smell, even worse. His ears blocked. Silence.
As they resurfaced, Ahmed’s lungs threw up the salty water, he coughed loudly and gasped for air. His ears unblocked with the sounds of screaming people. He realised they had jumped just as the boat went under. Seemed like, once again, they had cheated death.
Some of the remains of the vessel floated around them and people appeared to be scattered everywhere in the water. Screams and cries for help were constant.
“Are you okay?” Ahmed asked, looking at Maryam’s and Malik’s terrified expressions as they bobbed in the cold sea. Ahmed looked at Malik carefully, asking, “Are you ok, Malik?”
“I’m ok, Daddy,” his son replied in a small voice.
Ahmed gave a sigh of relief, “We’re okay… we’re fine…”
He knew that this wasn’t the same for everyone, some people had not made it off the boat, and the cries he could hear for help told him that some were badly injured. They all had one thing in common – injured or uninjured, dead or alive – they were stranded.
As the hours went by, the screams faded. Some had given up screaming for help, others had just given up. It was quiet, with only the sounds of water lapping at them, and the wind whistling in their ears. Grey clouds loomed over them, threatening to rain down on them.
Ahmed suddenly found himself drowning, the sea was spinning like a whirlpool, sucking him in. He was a brilliant swimmer, yet he just couldn’t move. He wanted to scream but couldn’t get a whisper out. His eyes filled with horror and his lungs with salty water. Suddenly, it felt like a giant arm had reached into the water and pulled him out.
His eyes opened. Terrified, he took a deep breath and flapped his hands in panic. He looked at Malik and Maryam, who were still sleeping. He realised it had been just a nightmare, he had nodded off. He looked around at the others in the water. They were going to die soon if they didn’t get out of the cold.
Maryam screamed suddenly, waking Malik.
“What?” Ahmed shouted in panic, still not fully recovered from the nightmare. “What is it?”
She screamed again. “Something just touched my leg!” Ahmed was surprised that she could still feel her legs.
“I think it’s… it’s a shark!” and she screamed again.
Ahmed wanted to say that he didn’t think it was a shark. Surely if it was, it would have had her leg off by now, but he thought it best not to say anything. Instead, he pulled her closer to him and held her tightly.
Some people, smart enough to have brought compasses along, had begun swimming in the direction of Greece. Makes sense I suppose, Ahmed thought, better than dying here. The young strong ones may even make it. No chance for us, not with Maryam’s foot. On the boat, her foot had looked infected, and being in the cold water this long wouldn’t be helping. Malik, although he could swim, wasn’t an experienced swimmer. They used to go to the beach, and Ahmed, who loved swimming, used to try to teach him, but he, like many children, preferred making sand castles.
“Over there!” Malik pointed. “Look over there… there is another boat!” he yelled. And there it was, in the distance, appearing as if from nowhere, like a mirage.
The yelling started again, and even Ahmed joined in. “Help! Please help us!” As the boat came closer, Malik’s eyes began to glow, “it’s a rescue boat… I know it is.” He smiled in excitement. “I remember seeing pictures of a similar boat in school.”
It was a large boat, black from the bottom and white at the top. It had a bow as sharp as a shark’s, and the stern of a sports car. It looked stylish and sophisticated, but most of all, it looked like hope. And God only knew how much they needed hope.
As the boat approached the stranded, it released a large, inflated life-boat. There were a few men and women on the rescue boat that were throwing the rings tied to ropes. Ahmed thought that they were angels, sent by Allah to rescue them.
The black, air-filled life-boat was overflowing within minutes. Ahmed and his family were further out than most. He hoped they would get to them soon.
He heard a woman’s voice shout across from the rescue boat that gave him hope. “Over there! There are more people!” She seemed to be looking over to where Ahmed and Malik were screaming for help, and waving their arms at the rescuers. But not Maryam, for she had passed out on Ahmed’s shoulder. The woman looked animated, as though she would have jumped in the water to rescue them if she could have. Ahmed was relieved that someone had noticed them, but could see a predicament.
It was Malik who voiced the concern. “Dad, the life-boat is full... what ar
e we going to do?” He was right, the life-boat was rammed with refugees and the rescue boat couldn’t get any closer because of the large chunks of broken wood in the way.
“We need to move closer...” Ahmed said, “hold on to me.” He knew that this wasn’t going to be easy, especially as he was exhausted and could hardy feel his legs. Ahmed told Malik to hold onto his arm, he put his other arm around Maryam, and began kicking his legs. It took a while for him to build any sort of momentum, like starting a cold engine that had been stationery for a year. It was slow and painful, his legs felt weak and heavy, but they made for the boat. By the time they got close, the woman who had noticed them, was in a harness and was waiting for them. Her legs were in the water. She had one arm on the rope and one reaching out.
“Can you speak English?” the lady asked.
Ahmed nodded, “Yes.” he replied.
“Great.” She smiled. “And you’re son?”
“Yes. A little.”
She managed to grab Malik, holding him gently, but tightly against her. She looked up at the men in the boat who then pulled them up. “It’s okay sweetie... you’re safe now,” Ahmed heard her say soothingly into Malik’s ear. Within minutes, she was back down, this time holding another harness in her hand. “We need to get her into this,” the woman told Ahmed. He helped her to get the large red and yellow straps of the harness around Maryam, and watched nervously as her limp body was hauled up. It wasn’t long before they were all on the boat with warm blankets around them.
Silver and black flasks, steam coming out of the top, were passed around.
“Here you go.” the courageous woman who rescued them said as she handed a flask filled with warm tea to Ahmed, “This will warm you up.”
“Thank you… thank you so much.” Ahmed said. The woman smiled, she was warm and sympathetic.
Ahmed felt the hot tea warming his insides. It was outlandish that, even though they were sitting in a boat filled with strangers, not knowing where they were heading or what was to come next, they felt safe. Ahmed wanted to ask who they were, or where they were heading, but his words were stuck at the bottom of his throat. He’d stopped shivering, but his voice was almost gone after the shouting he’d had to do. He’d never had to shout like that before in his life. It had left a drumming in his ear and he felt dizzy.
Some of the rescuers appeared to be doctors, caring for the people that they had saved from the unpitying sea, and some were like lighthouses, relentless in their searching for more stranded people.
The lady that saved them, approached them, and seemed to notice Maryam’s foot, still bandaged with Ahmed’s sleeve.
She bent down to speak to Maryam who was sitting on the deck with her legs stretched out. “My name is Jane and I am a doctor. What is your name?”
“Maryam... my name is Maryam.” Maryam murmured, indicating that her ears were troubling her.
“Hi Maryam,” Jane smiled, “is it okay if I look at your foot?”
“Yes, okay,” Maryam responded, holding tightly to Ahmed’s arm.
“It’s okay,” Jane knelt and gently placed Maryam’s foot on her thigh and began unravelling the tightly wrapped makeshift bandage. Maryam turned her head away. Knowing that she would be too afraid to look, Ahmed tenderly held her head to his shoulder. He hoped it would not be infected.
Alas he was wrong, her foot was seriously infected. The wound had crisped over with hard green and grey shell which covered nearly half the bottom of her foot.
“Is it bad, Ahmed?” she asked him, and he said nothing, but gave her a look of sadness.
“Antonio, I need a first aid kit,” Jane said, her eyes held an expression of concern. Antonio, a tall olive-skinned man with long, jet-black hair, hurried off to get the green first aid box. Jane put on some gloves and cleaned the wound before rebandaging it.
“This will need to be looked at as soon as we get to Chios,” she said, and turned to Malik and ran her hands through his hair. She stroked his cheek. “Your mum’s going to be fine – I need you to be brave and look after her, you think you can do that?”
Malik nodded slowly, but said nothing. Jane smiled as she walked away, and started checking on the other refugees.
Jane was a doctor and a humanitarian. More precisely, she would say that she was a humanitarian before a doctor. She left her job as a doctor in a top hospital in London, when she heard about the severity of the refugee crisis, a year-and-a-half ago. It was a move that both her mother and father supported. It was the best thing that she had ever done, she told anyone that asked. Saving these poor people’s lives had become her passion. She still did some locum work at the local doctor’s surgery, but only to finance her mission to save the lives of these refugees, desperate enough to risk their lives to flee from their war-torn countries – wars that meant nothing to them. The second-best thing she did was meet Antonio, like her, a passionate humanitarian. They met eight months ago, at the camp, and fell in love. He was a migrant from Italy and had been living in the UK for fifteen-years. He was caring, loving and he always made her laugh, even when all she wanted to do was cry. They both shared a love of literature and often spent nights reading works by Harper Lee, Leo Tolstoy, and Paulo Coelho; who were a few of their favourite authors.
Both Jane and Antonio refused to believe in races, they only believed in a race – the human race - where everyone was equal, treated the same, with dignity, and respect – and most importantly, had the right to live.
“I can’t believe that governments aren’t doing more to help these people… I mean, look at that little boy, he’s petrified,” she said to Antonio when they got a moment to rest. She felt her cheeks flush. “Look at that old man over there,” she pointed, “it’s not fair. I haven’t had any responses from all those emails I sent out to MPs and Councils. Bloody useless bunch of…”
“La calma è la virtùdeiforti,” Antonio whispered to her in his soothing accent, which Jane adored. It meant, the calm is the virtue of the strong. It was almost like he had some kind of gift, something that gave him the ability to always say the right thing at the right time. Unlike Jane, who was always speaking without thinking, landing herself in all kinds of trouble.
Jane had never seen him lose his cool regardless of what type of situation he faced. It was a trait of his father, he’d told her. His father was a religious man who spent his days planting trees, feeding the poor and teaching people good morals. Antonio wasn’t religious, but adhered religiously to his father’s morals.
“Everything has a time and a place,” he said putting his hands on her arms, “and right now, it is time that we focus on helping these people.”
“I know, and you’re right, it’s just that we could do with a bit more support!”
Antonio raised his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly.
“I know… I know,” Jane said, “you’re right. I will save my complaining till later!”
“That’s my girl.” Antonio smiled, exposing his gleaming white teeth.
3
Only when Ahmed witnessed the rescue team’s determination to help people, did the crushed walls of hope begin restoring themselves. Although they were finally approaching land, they were still lost in a sea of uncertainty. They didn’t know what was in store for them next, would they be welcomed? Would people understand what they had lived through for the last year? Would they be accepted? Questions buzzed through Ahmed’s head.
Ahmed had never imagined himself being so thrilled to see land as they got off the boat, and on to a beach in Chios. The beach was covered with life vests and people – lots and lots of people. They would have all travelled a similar journey. Among the frightened and exhausted faces, there were more volunteers dotted around the area. Some were handing out blankets, some giving water bottles and small packs of food, some were just walking around, looking at the condition of people. And some were seeing to those who although had made it to land, did so at the cost of their lives. The bitter cold and deadly sea did not di
scriminate between sex or age, it savagely took what souls it could, returning what was left to float lifelessly to the shore – like a cruel reminder of human mortality.
The succulent smell of cooked food was making Ahmed’s mouth water. It smelt like rice, the spicy sort, the sort that they used to have a long time ago. Rice and vegetable curry; every Sunday. He couldn’t really remember how it tasted anymore, he knew it was delicious and that he would look forward to it, but couldn’t describe the taste.
In the distance, a group of people were handing out foiled containers, but with so many hungry mouths to feed before they got to theirs’, Ahmed couldn’t see them getting fed for some time. In addition, Maryam’s limp meant that they weren’t going anywhere fast.
“You guys must be starving!” A familiar voice emerged from behind them, it was Jane. She was looking at the people handing out the food. “Wait here,” she said, as she sprang into a run, weaving in out of the crowd, like ambulance on a busy highway.
Ahmed found a place to sit down and put his arms around Malik, whilst Maryam rested her head on his shoulder. It didn’t feel quite real. It was overwhelming how everything had happened so fast, and Ahmed was still getting his head around it. Never in his wildest imaginings did he think that one day, he would just up and go, leaving his home and everything he knew behind.
The children’s screams, the cries of the women, devastated him. Each cry had its own story, a story of a lost boy, an injured little girl, a dying person, a family reunited, a family destroyed… the list went on as did the cries… and the heartache.
His body shook vigorously, and his lungs filled with water as the sea swallowed him. He desperately tried to gasp for air, but couldn’t. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Something had clasped his leg, pulling him deeper under the cold dark water.
His eyes opened, and he fought to catch his breath, a moustache of sweat sparkled between his nose and upper lip... It was just a dream – just a dream, like the one he’d had before, except this time it felt too real to be a dream. Swearing that he could still taste the salty, sour flavour of the sea in his mouth, he spat a couple of times, trying to get rid of it. But how do you get rid of something that is only in your head?
