by S A Tameez
Ahmed let out an ear-splitting scream, as if by doing so would somehow help relieve his sudden grief and the pressure of feeling guilty, and useless.
“No! This can’t be happening! It was just a cut on her foot... she can’t be...no!... She was looking better… she was getting better, I saw her earlier and she was looking better…” In the midst of his pain, he wanted to scream again, but fought to stop himself, when he saw how terrified Malik looked.
Ahmed fell to his knees and put his head on Maryam’s chest. “You can’t be gone! You know I am lost without you... you were always my strength.” Tears flowed from his eyes. “I’m so sorry I let you down... I’m s... sorry... you deserved so much better than me.”
Dr Ali and his wife, made to leave. “There are no words, nothing that could comfort you, we know, but we wish you well. Assalamualaikum.”
Ahmed was too distraught to give the response. The couple left, sensing that they needed to be alone to grieve.
Ahmed stayed, kneeling on the floor with his head on the bed beside his wife. Malik cried himself to sleep beside her.
For two hours Ahmed stayed like that, ruminating. How could I have let this happen? This is all my fault! Eventually, he stood up and began pacing around the room. We should have taken our chances in Syria, at least we would have died from a bomb or a gunshot… but this! For her to just die from a cut to her foot! This isn’t right... The sudden urge to scream in rage came back to him and he had to fight even harder to stop it this time.
He stopped pacing, “Maryam,” he whispered. He could have sworn he saw her hand move. “Maryam... Maryam...” He gently shook her, the way he used to when he would try to wake her for morning prayers. “Come on Maryam... you always found it hard to wake up in the early morning. But no matter how tired you were, you always woke with a smile for me – please wake up and give me a smile... Please Maryam.” He put his forehead on her arm and kept repeating “Please Maryam, please...” as if he had convinced himself that all he had to do was plead and convince her to wake up, and it would bring her back to life.
He felt the strange sensation of his left eye twitching, uncontrollably, and his left arm became numb, pins and needles crawled through it like a colony of ants.
Maybe it was his body giving him signs that his mind was malfunctioning, or maybe it was something else, either way, he didn’t care anymore. His wife was gone and things would never be the same again.
Another few hours went by before Dr Ali, his wife and Abid came back and faintly knocked on the door.
“Ahmed...” Abid called, “can you open the door please... we... we’ve got you and Malik some food and water.”
Ahmed did not respond.
“Ahmed?” Dr Ali called, “Malik must be hungry.”
Ahmed looked over at his son. Malik’s head was still on Maryam’s cold body. His lips had crusted over and his eyes had puffy bags underneath them. Ahmed blinked a few times in a bid to snap himself out of the string of negative thoughts that were torturing him. His body was sore and stiff. He struggled to his feet and dragged himself to the door. He paused for a few seconds to compose himself before opening it. Daylight ruthlessly barged into the house making Ahmed want to crawl into a dark corner and hide. He moved back and put his hands over his face to shield himself.
“Ahmed...” Dr Ali said, “can we come in?”
“Yes, of course,” Ahmed responded, faintly. After he regained the ability to see, he observed that they all had that look... the look of sympathy and pity. The look that meant they feared saying the wrong thing, or not saying something that they should. That look, for some reason, made Ahmed feel so furious that he wanted to scream at them to get the hell out.
“We... we have spoken to Khaleel… we’ve asked him to make all the erm... necessary arrangements for... for...” Abid said quietly.
Why couldn’t he just say what he wanted to say, and why is he fiddling with his hands? The man’s behaviour was annoying Ahmed. Stop fiddling and say what the hell you have come to say. Ahmed wanted to shriek at the top of voice. But instead, he muttered a cursory, “thank you”.
“I think we should wake Malik up and give him something to drink, he looks dehydrated,” Aminah said, with a look of concern that annoyed Ahmed. He couldn’t understand why they were annoying him, as if they thought he was unable to look after his family.
“Yes... thank you...” Ahmed said, and gently woke Malik.
These were good people who were going out of their way to help... Ahmed knew this, yet at that moment, he hated them.
A couple of days after the funeral, Ahmed ceased his resentment toward those who had been trying to help him. He realised that he had not quite been himself during that terrible time and when he tried to apologise, everyone reassured him that there was nothing to feel sorry for – that his feelings were part of the process of grieving.
“Dad?” Malik had hardly spoken since the funeral. They had remained in the house and moped around like lost sheep.
“Yes, son,” Ahmed replied, glad that they were finally engaging in conversation.
“Is mum in heaven?”
Ahmed desperately tried to not to break down. He nodded, “Yes... yes she is. I have no doubt.”
Malik put his arms around Ahmed and held on tightly like he used to when Ahmed would come home from work. And this was when Ahmed realised he hadn’t lost everything; he still had this beautiful little boy who needed him, now, more than ever.
“I miss her.” Malik said.
Ahmed paused and thought about how to respond positively, in way that didn’t really reflect how he was feeling. Maybe he would say something like, ‘she is in a better place now… and is waiting for us all to be together again.’ But he couldn’t.
“I miss her too, son,” Ahmed said.
“Dad? There are some boys that play outside... over there,” he pointed out of the window, “Can I go out and play with them?”
Ahmed smiled. He was surprised that Malik wanted to go out and play. He hadn’t wanted to interact with other kids since he was forced to leave school.
“Of course, you can, son, of course you can.”
5
It was now the near the end of March, they had been in the camp for a little over 2 weeks – 2 painful weeks. It had been a while since Ahmed wrote anything in his journal, but, as he sat outside whilst Malik play with the other children, he seized the opportunity.
I have never felt so alone. I have never felt so empty. I have never felt so lost. I feel as if I have lost everything – until I look at this boy. A boy that has only me, and now I have only him.
Every part of my body and mind wants me to give up except when I see this boy, my son – then, and only then, every part of me wants to fight.
“So, word on the street – if we can call this a street – is that the main offices maybe open next week,” Khaleel said. Ahmed snapped his journal shut. He was so absorbed into writing that he didn’t even notice Khaleel approach.
“That’s great news, right?” Khaleel asked.
Ahmed got to his feet and smiled. “Yes... yes, it’s great news.”
“It’s erm... it’s good to see you out.” Khaleel said, putting out his hand. Ahmed took his hand and shook it.
“Daddy!” Malik shouted, and came running. “Can I go to the football playground? All the other boys are going.”
Ahmed remained silent. He didn’t quite know what to say. “Football field? I... I don’t know.”
“It’s ok, Ahmed,” Khaleel interrupted. “We found that the boys around here love to play football, so some of the volunteers decided to create them a small playground where they could play football, and keep out of trouble. It’s really quite nice – we can go and check it out if you like?”
Malik tugged at Ahmed’s arm. “Can we? Please?”
Ahmed smiled, then nodded in agreement. Not that he was in any mood to go.
He looked back at the house as he walked away, feeling as if Maryam was
still inside and he was abandoning her. It was a strange feeling.
“Ahmed, we are working on a large project here; new guttering to stop the place from flooding and a real sewage system that will stop people from dying from poor hygiene,” Khaleel said, pointing in the distance to where work was being carried out by some of the residents. “Now... I know, looking at your paperwork, you won’t be sticking around long, but while you’re here... we could really use a person like you to help us.”
Ahmed looked to the ground in deep thought, “I am not sure that I can help... I’m sorry.”
“Take a minute and look around you.” Khaleel stopped walking. “Most of these people are not in your situation. Look over there at that old lady.” A grey-haired lady sat outside her door knitting. Her face covered with wrinkles and an expression that could tell hundreds of awful stories. “She’s sixty-seven-years-old. All her family were killed in an airstrike in Syria, except her and her sixteen-year-old grandson… he drowned on the way here. She has no paperwork, no family, no hope. And these boys that your son is playing with, most of them have no family. They’ve either been sent here on their own out of desperation, or their parents and siblings were killed. Either way, they’re on their own. Tell me, Ahmed, who will look after these people? Who is responsible for these people… our people?”
Ahmed looked over at the old lady and for a second he began imagining that he had died and that it was Maryam siting there. She had grown old, had no one to rely on. Khaleel is right. It is our job to look after these people… because they are our people. The rest of the world has forgotten about us… we are all we have.
He looked back at Khaleel and nodded, “Ok... how can I help?”
“Good man,” Khaleel said, “We’re meeting up tomorrow morning, where you saw those men working, and we’ll be discussing the plans for the new system, we’d like you to attend.”
“I’ll see you there tomorrow,” Ahmed said, confidently. He looked at Malik, remembering that he had this young innocent boy that depended on him. “Wait… what about my son?” He had momentarily forgotten the painful truth that Maryam was no more.
“The boy needs an education, we’ll take him to the new school close by, another area in which we want your expertise.”
“Of course,” Ahmed nodded his head, secretly looking forward to reuniting himself with his real passion. The thought of going back into a teaching position was far more exciting than the sewage project.
When they got back home, Malik fell on the bed like a log. There wasn’t much in terms of food and Ahmed felt guilty that he went to sleep without eating, but not nearly as guilty as he felt about moving forward without Maryam. Even feeling excited about teaching felt wrong. How could he feel excited about something while she lay six-feet under the ground, alone? He had promised to look after her, protect her, be there for her, yet she now lay buried, deep in the ground of a land far from home.
He suddenly fell into the water and began drowning, his brain felt like it was about to explode as the salty water began to fill his lungs. His eyes began to burn and he was unable to see anything.
He shouted, “Help!” as he woke up in a panic with sweat pouring off him. He had fallen asleep on the floor with Maryam’s scarf around him. He had that same nightmare again, a nightmare that he just couldn’t seem to escape. He sat up and cried and continued to cry until the sun came up.
Malik seemed happy with the little school. It had lots of boys and girls his age, and the teacher was nice. There were only three teachers and the ratio of teachers per students was low, the building was falling apart, and materials were in short supply. There weren’t enough chairs or desks for all the students, so some of the children sat on the floor. But it was a school, none-the-less, and it was the first-time Malik felt a sense of normality since the war began. He sat at the front of the class and paid close attention every lesson. He wasn’t sure if he was interested in learning, or whether not allowing his mind to wonder, was a way of distracting himself from missing his mother. He missed her so much and dreamt about her almost every night. The dreams felt so real that when he woke up he would look for her.
Ahmed spent some of his time looking through the illustrated ideas for the new sewage system. It was brilliant and would change the lives of the people living in camp Amal. But he found that there were quite a few possible flaws with the designs. He spent two days re-doing the plans, plans that the team had been working on for weeks. And although there were a lot of raised eyebrows at Khaleel for delaying the work until Ahmed had finished the plans, they all agreed that a fresh pair of eyes would do the project good.
“They’re brilliant!” Khaleel said, staring at the new plans Ahmed had handed over. The entire team was impressed. Ahmed had spent the last two days and nights reading books about building an effective sewage system, and then planning how it could be installed in this environment with limited materials and resources.
“I can’t believe we didn’t think of these ideas earlier,” one of the other men at the meeting said, looking through the plans for a second time.
“Thank you, Ahmed, thank you,” Khaleel said, putting out his hand for Ahmed to shake. “Now, let’s get to work.” The team cheered and then went to get things started.
“Ahmed…” Khaleel called just as Ahmed was filing out of the cabin with the others, “You know that the offices have reopened, you haven’t handed in your paperwork?”
Ahmed paused for a minute. He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know whether it was because of his decline in motivation since losing Maryam that was stopping him, or this new project. At the moment, the sewage works was the only thing that was keeping him going; that and looking after Malik. The project meant that he could make a difference, here, in the camp. It would keep his mind off having lost his beloved wife, also.
“I was thinking of hanging around for a bit… maybe until this project is completed.” Ahmed finally responded.
“Listen Ahmed,” Khaleel took off his reading glasses, “this is just one project, when this finishes another one will begin. You have all the right paperwork and if you do not submit it soon, it may affect your application for asylum.”
Ahmed remained silent for a few moments. When they had first arrived in Chios, and Maryam had been alive, he had been desperate to hand in that paperwork, but now he didn’t really know what he wanted. He felt that if he left the camp he would be deserting her.
“You know, there’s a selfish part of me that wants to keep you here. I could do with a man like you helping out in this place, but there’s also a righteous and sensible part of me. That part doesn’t like to surface very often, but…” he laughed warmly, “you are not stuck here… take your son and get out of here. Make a new life for yourself. Give that little boy his chance to change the world.”
Ahmed nodded and smiled, then looked at his watch remembering that he had to pick Malik up from school soon.
“Oh, and I just remembered,” Khaleel said as Ahmed was walking away, “I went with the food organisers to get supplies from the food bank, which, thank God, has reopened, and I met a young woman, a pretty little woman… Jane, that was her name, she was asking about you.”
Ahmed smiled, remembering how much Jane and Antonio had helped them. But his smile soon dropped as thoughts of Jane helping Maryam flooded back. It was as though the only way he could stop the pain was by not thinking about Maryam at all. One of the ways that he achieved this was to avoid everything associated with Maryam. He began hating the way the brain related one thought to another because it always led back to Maryam.
“I told her where you are staying, I hope you didn’t mind.”
Ahmed forced a smile. “Ok, I better go and get my son.”
Ahmed felt a desperate urge to be alone. He needed time to process his thoughts, thoughts that he had been suppressing for a while, but could no longer manage. His mind felt like it was going into overload, and he no longer had the ability to focus on one thing.
As he walked, he kept his eyes down, avoiding any eye contact from anyone, as if he was afraid that his eyes would give his feelings away. He walked at the pace of a snail to Malik’s school, nervous at the thought of Jane coming to see them. What would he say to her? He would have to talk about Maryam. She would be her nice self and probably look at him with sympathy – a look that he never wanted to see again. In fact, he no longer wanted anything from anyone.
Ahmed hadn’t realised he had taken so long to walk to the school, that he was now late. The rusty doors to the building were wedged open and there weren’t any sounds of children.
Ahmed rushed inside and looked around for his son.
“Where is Malik?” Ahmed asked the only teacher left in the building.
“I don’t know...” the teacher replied, “school finished twenty-minutes ago, and everyone has left.”
“I thought you didn’t let children go until someone came to pick them up?” Ahmed said, hearing the tone of his voice increase in crescendo.
“Sir, most of these children do not have someone to pick them up...”
Ahmed’s heart began to race, his arm running with pins and needles. “I need to find my son!” he yelled at the teacher, and burst out of the building.
“The boys sometimes play football at the new football ground, when school is over!” the teacher yelled behind Ahmed.
Ahmed ran fast to the football ground. He wanted to run faster but his chest felt heavy and he was running out of breath. “Come on!” he said out-loud to himself, like someone pointlessly talking to a car that wouldn’t start. The feeling of self-loathing crept back. He had let his son down, leaving him at school, waiting. He must have been terrified. Maybe he thought I’d forgotten about him? Maybe he just gave up waiting and tried to find his own way home? What if he wasn’t at the house or at the football ground? What if something has happened to him? Questions played on his mind and the anxiety wasn’t helping his breathing.
