by S A Tameez
“Mr Khaleel...” he said quietly, “My name is Ahmed and this is my wife and son... erm...”
The man appeared to fight to tear his eyes away from the book he was reading and glanced over at them, then stuck his head back into the book.
“Sir... we have just come from Syria and we have no—”
“They say that books nourish the brain like food nourishes the body,” Khaleel said, still not looking away from the book, “Can you imagine... the man that wrote this book...” he held up the mammoth-sized volume, entitled How to Build a Septic Tank System. “He must have spent years working on it, developing it... sharing his knowledge so that we can learn from it.” The man put the book down and removed his reading glasses.
“Tell me Ahmed, can you see a future here, at camp Amal, for you and your family?”
Ahmed looked at his family and thought for a moment before responding, “I... I can see that we can build a future.”
The man leaned back into his chair and smiled. “Exactly. I have a vision of developing this area into a place that can fend for its self.” His eyes began to glow. “Just think about it, the people that are here have escaped war, not poverty. Their minds are not limited to filling their bellies, many are educated, others are skilled. Is this not amal… is this not hope?”
“Of course, it is,” Ahmed responded confidently.
Khaleel smiled. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“We came from Syria... to escape the war. My wife… her foot is injured and looks infected. We were helped by two amazing volunteers, Antonio and Jane. They brought us here. We were told that you could help us?”
“OK, take one of these forms and fill it in. We have limited spaces, but since you have your wife and child with you, and with your wife’s injury, we will get you sorted as quickly as we can.” Khaleel handed him the three-page form. “Have you got passports and any other paperwork?”
Ahmed removed the passports and the paperwork that Afzal had put in the waterproof bag and handed it to him. Khaleel glanced at the passports, but then looked fascinated when he saw the paperwork.
“Well, I haven’t seen documents like this before. You must have been well connected in Syria. It says here that you are a college professor. A person who has contributed greatly to the education sector… and that some high up politicians vouch for you.”
Ahmed thought back to his friend Afzal. He must have a had to really pull some strings to get this…
“He looked thoughtful. “It’s a shame really...”
“What do you mean?” Ahmed asked.
“Well, we could have really benefited from having a man of your calibre teaching our young ones, but looking at this impressive paperwork, and recommendations, you won’t be here long.” The man handed the paperwork and passports back. “Take this to the main office soon as it reopens, they’ll process it pretty quick, I imagine.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, now let me give someone a call to come and get you housed for now.”
“My wife… she needs medical attention… please.”
“I understand. Unfortunately, with the camp being in lock down, I can’t get her to a hospital. I will see what I can do.” Judging from his expression, he didn’t share the same concerns as Ahmed regarding the seriousness of Maryam’s injury.
It wasn’t long before Ahmed and his family found themselves in the comfort of a small makeshift house. It had a small ramp at the entrance which was perfect for Maryam’s wheelchair. It had one large bed for them to sleep on, a toilet and a sink. This was a luxury as many of the others didn’t have a toilet and the occupants had to go outside to relieve themselves. The small window barely let light in and the corners of the roof were leaking but they were relieved just to have a roof over their heads.
Before they could properly take in their new surroundings, Maryam collapsed onto the bed like a rock. Malik shook her vigorously. “Mum! Mum!” he yelled, and her eyes opened slightly, but she was unable to speak.
Ahmed was by her side in a moment, gently pushing his son, aside. “Maryam! What is it?”
“Dad, what’s wrong with her?” Malik whimpered.
Maryam’s eyes were glazed and she was looking at Ahmed with such fear it broke his heart. She was trying to speak, but her speech was incoherent. Beads of sweat were gathering on her forehead and she was burning up.
Ahmed looked at Malik and saw that he, too, had that same look of fear. He had to do something. Now! He was not a doctor, but he could tell that something was seriously wrong with his beloved wife.
“Is she going to be all right, Daddy?” Malik asked, choking back his sobs.
“She is very unwell, my son,” Ahmed replied. “Stay here and look after her, I must go and get some help.”
Ahmed ran out of the house. “We need a doctor! We need help. Please!” he yelled.
A man from a house nearby dashed towards him, “What’s wrong?” the man asked, sounding concerned.
“It’s my wife, she is sick. I need a doctor.”
“Ok! I know of a doctor,” he said, and ran off. He must have seen the look of desperation in Ahmed’s eyes, for he didn’t hesitate or even ask what was wrong with her. Ahmed went back into the house where Maryam lay helpless. He wanted to scream, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to pick something and throw it. He hated the fact that he couldn’t help her. When she had been suffering silently with depression back in Syria, he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t help her when she injured her foot. He couldn’t help her when that monster of a man stamped his boot on her back, and he couldn’t help her now. He was her husband, sworn to defend and protect her, yet here he was unable to do a damn thing. He hated the people who started the war, he hated the man who stamped on her, but above all, he hated himself for being so useless.
They had been married for twenty-five years and loved each other very much. But, as with many couples, life had found a way to create a bit of distance between them over the years. This didn’t, however, change the fact that he would be torn apart without her. They met whilst studying in college and instantly clicked. The culture, especially at that time, meant that if they wanted to be together, they would have to get married; which was exactly what they wanted anyway. Being only nineteen at the time, they had a challenge on their hands to convince their parents that this was what they wanted; that it wasn’t just some fancy of two lovelorn teenagers. After a long year of disagreements and fighting, both of their stubborn parents came to accept the marriage. The thought of losing her now after the long struggle to get married, surviving a war and the awful journey to freedom, terrified him.
“Salam, my name is Dr Ali and this is my wife Aminah,” A man, said as he walked in with a woman and shook Ahmed’s outstretched hand. “We are both doctors – is this your wife?” He pointed to where Maryam lay on the bed, shivering and groaning. “May we examine her?”
“She cut her foot, its infected,” Ahmed told them.
“Cut it on what?”
“Glass,” replied Ahmed.
“Just glass?” asked the doctor.
Ahmed nodded. He felt himself shaking.
Dr Aminah went straight to Maryam, “Salam, Maryam. I am a doctor. Is it OK for me to check to see if I can help you?” Maryam didn’t respond.
Dr Aminah checked her pulse, while Dr Ali removed things from his bag.
“Thank you.” Ahmed said to the man who had rushed off to get them.
The man smiled back, “I am Abid, and I am staying at the house three houses down with my wife and three children.”
“It’s nice to meet you Abid. My name is Ahmed.”
“Hmm... your wife is burning up,” Dr Ali said, then looked back at Maryam, “Hello, my name is Doctor Ali, can you hear me?” Maryam’s eyes opened slightly, and she slowly nodded.
“Good, can you tell me your name?”
“M... Maryam...” she responded in a whisper.
“OK, Maryam, can you feel anyt
hing in your foot?”
“No, it feels numb and very warm.”
“Do you mind if my wife Aminah has a quick look at your foot?” Maryam nodded and closed her eyes again.
Dr Aminah put some gloves on and began to unravel the bandages on her foot. They all stopped and stared in horror. Her foot had changed colour completely and was now a hideous mixture of black, blue, purple, and green, and the discolouration had started travelling up her ankle. It was twice the size of her other foot, and puss was oozing out of the original wound.
“Get me the antiseptic pads,” Aminah instructed, with a look of concern. She cleaned the puss off. “She needs antibiotics,” she said grimly. “But whether, or not, that will save her foot, I don’t know.”
“She really needs to be taken to hospital!” Dr Ali insisted.
Ahmed began to panic, “What shall I do?” He could feel his head starting to spin. “I need to speak to Khaleel, maybe he can help.”
Ahmed didn’t wait for a response and left quickly. It was strange that he wanted to run as fast as he could, but was almost unable to move. It was like being in a nightmare, where you are trying to run, but it is as if your legs are sunk into the ground.
“Mr Khaleel!” Ahmed shouted and banged on Khaleel’s door. “I need your help, it’s my wife, she is very sick and I need to get her to a hospital! Please help me!”
Khaleel burst open the door with his coat already on, as if he was just about to leave to go somewhere. “What’s the matter with her?”
“It’s...” Ahmed tried to catch his breath, “it’s her foot, it got injured on our way here and now it’s infected... please I need your help. Please.”
“Wait here.” Khaleel ran back inside and grabbed a rucksack. “Come on... let’s go.”
When they got back to Maryam, Khaleel opened the rucksack and showed Dr Aminah the contents. “These are some antibiotics we keep safe for emergency cases, please see if they are any good?”
“These are perfect,” Aminah responded in relief. She removed a variety of penicillin, aminoglycosides and fluoroquinolones. “I will start her on some oral antibiotics, but Ali, if you could go and get me a syringe or two that would be helpful, it would be better to get her on a drip.
“I’ll see what I can rustle up.” Dr Ali said.
“I’ll come with you,” Abid said. They left together.
Malik was looking petrified. He hadn’t said a word or let go of his mother’s hand the entire time.
“Hello,” Aminah said and stroked his hair. “Are you hungry? Or thirsty?” She looked in her bag to see if there was anything she could offer him, but Malik shook his head anyway, the hungry look in his eyes belying his denial.
“Sorry, he is a little shy,” Ahmed said and then put his arm around Malik.
“He’s a real blessing,” the doctor remarked. And that’s exactly what he was, Ahmed and Maryam had spent fifteen-years unable to have a child. Some of Ahmed’s extended family said it was because they chose to get married, instead of letting their elders chose their spouses for them. They said they were shameless, and because of this, God was punishing them. But neither Ahmed nor Maryam took any notice of that rubbish. And they believed that when God wanted them to have a child they would. And after fifteen-years Malik came into their lives – a true blessing. But by this point most of their families had disowned them except for their parents. They were outcasts – Better for it! Ahmed would say.
The next day Maryam appeared brighter; she was more hydrated and didn’t look so pale. Her foot was still badly infected, but she seemed more alert. Ahmed knew that despite her looking a little better, she needed to get to a hospital – fast.
Malik had been sitting on an old wooden chair by his mother, holding her hand, looking very solemn. Ahmed knelt down and put his palms on Malik’s shoulders, and said, “I have to go and see if the office is open and I... I need to figure out what to do next. I need you to look after your mother while I’m gone, do you think you can do that for me?”
Malik paused for a moment and then nodded, slowly. He appeared dazed, as if he didn’t really know where he was.
“Good boy.”
Ahmed kissed Maryam on the forehead, something that he used to do every day, once upon a time. “I won’t be long. We are going to be ok… I promise.” His words usually had a way of reassuring her, but they didn’t seem to work this time. She forced a smile and nodded.
He felt guilty and anxious leaving them, but he knew that he had no choice. If he didn’t go, the paperwork would take even longer to process and he couldn’t risk that, not when Maryam was so ill.
The office was still closed and the large metal gates were still locked. Great big chains wrapped around the gates like pythons. The chains weren’t even necessary, the gates already had enormous padlocks. It was as though they were there to send a message – there is no escape.
“I need to speak to someone!” Ahmed yelled and banged on the gate, “I need to speak to someone now!”
After a few moments, “You are speaking to someone, what do you want?” Someone from the other side yelled back.
“I need some help… my wife is seriously ill and I need to speak to a man called John. He works in the office.”
“The office is closed,” the man replied.
“I know…” Ahmed sighed, “I know it’s closed. How can I speak to him?”
“You’ll have to wait until he comes back.”
“When will that be?” Ahmed put his palms on the metal gate, “Please, help me…”
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to take your hands off the gate and step back.”
Ahmed let go of the gate and stepped back. “Then can you tell me when he is going to be back? Or,” Ahmed stepped forward and he raised his voice, “there is a volunteer… Her name is Jane and she is with a man called Antonio, they helped us. Do you know where they are?” There was no response. Ahmed stepped a bit closer to the gate. “Can you at least tell me how to get in contact with them?”
“You have been warned! Step back now!” the man shouted. This made Ahmed stumble back. He couldn’t believe how unhelpful the guards were being. It really was beginning to feel like some sort of detention centre, with them regarded as criminals – it would make sense if trying to survive was a crime. And in a strange way, Ahmed was beginning to feel like it was. He almost felt embarrassed about it, as though they really didn’t deserve to live. He felt like they were rejects, rejected from humanity.
He sat on the ground, mentally fatigued, contemplating how the guard would feel if the situation was reversed and it was his country that was in turmoil and he had fled to Syria. Would he be more concerned about keeping people away from the gate than the well-being of a person then? Would he conveniently forget that these are, in fact, people, all part of the human race?
Suddenly, he found the will to fight again. He got to his feet remembering all that he loved, and cherished, was relying on him, and they were in a camp that they couldn’t survive in. He had to survive, for all of them to survive.
“I need to get my wife to a hospital now!” he yelled at the gate.
“You’re a pushy little monkey, aint ya?” the man yelled back, “I can’t help you right now, there’s been a serious terrorist attack and we’ve gotta keep this place air-tight.”
Basically, thought Ahmed, die if you must, but these gates aren’t opening for anyone. It was useless, these guards have hearts made from stone.
It was a long walk back to the house. How was he going to face Maryam? How would he face Malik? What will I say to them? Tell them it will all be Ok? It isn’t Ok? Nothing is ok. He was tired of lying to them – lying to himself.
As he approached the house, he noticed that the door was open. And he had definitely locked it. He’d checked it twice or maybe even three times before he left. War had made him constantly paranoid about leaving doors unlocked. Back in Syria, he sometimes got so fearful that he would comeback after ten minutes of walking
just to make sure, and even then, he would question himself later. Not that locking the door would guarantee his family’s safety. A locked door wouldn’t stop armed barbarians, and certainly wouldn’t stop a bomb.
He knew Maryam wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed, and Malik wouldn’t have opened the door, he was too shy to answer the phone, usually. Something wasn’t right.
He looked around the ground for something, anything that he could use as a weapon to defend himself and his family. He saw a large rock and picked it up. He thought of all the ways he could use it as a weapon if he had to. His hands shook as he held it. And it was too large and odd shaped for him to hold it tightly. But it would have to do.
As he came closer, he threw the rock down, and picked up a tree branch. it was the perfect weight and size for him to grip, like a cricket bat, something he had experience of swinging in childhood. He held it out in front of him as if it were a sword, clenching it tightly with both hands.
He crept towards the door breathing heavily, sweaty hands slipping on the branch. He had no experience in any type of combat – swing and hope for the best – was the plan.
Images of that foul man who’d stomped on Maryam breaking in to take revenge, ran through his head. But their meeting would be different this time – Ahmed would be ready for him. He would rather die than let him hurt Maryam again, that he promised himself.
He took a deep breath and ran inside the house, ready to swing that branch at anyone. But when he got inside, blood began to rush to his head and he suddenly felt dizzy. The branch fell out of his hand and the walls began to cave in.
“W-what – what’s going on?” he stuttered as he saw Dr Ali and his wife with Maryam, who was lying motionless on the bed. Malik was crying hysterically, still clenching her hand tightly. So many thoughts went through Ahmed’s mind. He suddenly felt like someone punched him in the stomach.
He put a trembling hand on Dr Ali’s shoulder. “What is it?” hoping that he would be told that everything was ok, and that his eyes had betrayed him – it hasn’t happened.
“I’m so sorry...” Dr Ali began talking, but Ahmed could no longer hear him. He moved toward the bed, and stared at his wife. The doctor moved aside so he could get closer. She looked beautiful. So beautiful... The look of sadness and pain had gone from her face. She looked free, free from the fear, and anxiety, that had tormented her for so long.
