by S A Tameez
“This is amazing work!” Ahmed marvelled.
“Yes, indeed, it is.” Khaleel said and then added, “thanks to you! This wouldn’t have been possible without you. You have helped change the lives of the people here – people that may be here for a long time.”
“No, no I’m sure you guys would have arrived there... eventually!” They both chuckled.
“You must come and celebrate with us. We are all getting together in the next,” he looked at his watch, “oh, now, we’re meeting now.”
Ahmed was pleased with how the sewage system turned out and it made him feel good inside, knowing that he’d played a part in its development. He was already thinking about what he was going to say to Maryam when he got home – he couldn’t wait to tell her about it – then he realised she was no longer alive. His elation plummeted, then, knowing that he no longer had her to share his happiness, or to complain to, when things went wrong.
“I... I’m sorry, I can’t… not right now. I must go, my son is probably waiting for me.” Ahmed didn’t wait for a response and walked away. When he thought of Malik, a sudden feeling of anxiety overwhelmed him. It was that strange feeling of needing to be somewhere else, not sure exactly where, but somewhere. He only had Malik left in this world and just wanted to be with him and hold him close. The feeling of loneliness had become so potent that he ran to the football ground. In his head, he began planning what he would do with Malik this evening. Maybe they would have a kick about of their own, then read him his favourite book before bed. Or maybe they would sit and talk, picking a topic that Malik really liked. Regardless of what they did, he planned to make sure he gave Malik his undivided attention, like he had promised.
When he got to the football ground, it was impossible to spot Malik and, typically, he’d forgotten what Malik was wearing. His eyes skimmed over the entire area, but he couldn’t see him. It felt like a Deja-vu except, Malik was here, somewhere.
He had that nasty tight feeling in his chest again, this time, accompanied with an intense headache, the sort that would laugh at painkillers and force you to want to sit in a dark room, alone, and in complete silence.
“Malik!” he called out weakly. He ran on to the playground hoping that he would find him instantly, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. And a horrible feeling came over him, far worse than the last time he had found himself in this very situation.
“Malik!” he called again. Now short of breath, he gazed around searching for the boys that helped him previously. He couldn’t see them. He was on his own.
Suddenly, he spotted a boy who looked like Malik. From the back, he looked the right height, the right build, even had the same colour hair. Ahmed rushed towards him but as he got close, he was knocked to the floor by a large boy who’d run into him whilst chasing the ball.
“Sorry!” the boy yelled as he continued playing.
Ahmed’s whole body was aching from the fall and he gasped for breath, the wind had been knocked right out of him. He really didn’t need more difficulty breathing. He could feel a burning sensation in his knees and elbows; realising he must have grazed them.
He crawled into a crouching position, hoping that the painful cramps in his stomach would stop. They didn’t. He mumbled a prayer before wrestling to his feet. His legs felt like lead, and when he peered across the playground, the boy he presumed to be Malik was no longer in site.
The next twenty-minutes were the longest of his life. He desperately hunted for his son through the rough dirty streets of the camp, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were a few moments of hope when Ahmed mistook another child for Malik but no joy in finding him.
Hope and daylight faded simultaneously. He wouldn’t have gone home... why would he? Ahmed thought, I was only gone a short while. He wouldn’t have just gone... would he? Maybe he got scared and began looking for me? How could I have been so stupid…?
And so, began his process of self-loathing. Maryam would never have left their son, never!
“Malik!” he shouted, knowing that he couldn’t lose hope entirely. The sky was almost ready for sleep and Malik feared the dark. He would be terrified, all alone, lost in a strange place.
As the evening progressed, the stark realisation, of Malik being missing, rifled through him. He continued his search through the many streets and back to the football grounds again, until everywhere was almost empty. Malik was still nowhere in sight. Somewhere in the darkness of the
football grounds, Ahmed stepped on something. He looked down and saw that it was Quww. Quww!
The panic swiftly intensified, and his body almost shut down. He knew that Malik would never have left Quww behind. Something was wrong, Ahmed could feel it in his bones. He bent down. His hand shook as he picked up Quww. He wanted to scream but couldn’t. He hurried over to a group of remaining children and looked at them in terror, every part of him quivering.
He stopped one of the boys, and pleaded, “Have you seen a boy… my son… he is about your height and I think he was wearing a red t-shirt? Please…” He knew how ridiculous he sounded. There were lots of children that fitted Malik’s description. The boy shrugged his shoulders.
Ahmed continued scrutinising the remaining children before fully accepting that Malik wasn’t there. He ran towards his house, his legs like jelly, praying that he would find him at the house or run into him on the way home like last time. He began promising himself that he would never leave him alone again and that if he wanted to go to the grounds then he would go with him and wait there, watching him – or even try to join in, maybe he could referee or something like that, he thought, his mind racing.
His anxiety made him feel as if he was running in slow motion and the camp’s lack of light made it difficult to see where he was going. Ahmed feared that he was going to twist his ankle. But he couldn’t slow down. He had to find Malik.
When he got to the house, the door was locked, just like he’d left it. He looked about him, but there was no sign of Malik. He unlocked the door and stormed in, frantically looking around, even though he knew it was impossible that he would be inside. The door was locked and Malik didn’t have a key.
Maybe he panicked and tried to find me and got lost… Ahmed broke down in tears. He hurried back outside and looked from side to side, ran back towards the football grounds, looking in every alley, every corner on the way. No joy.
When he reached the football grounds, he was faced with a dark deserted area, a few odd footballs that the children had left and some scattered litter. He went towards the sewage site, maybe he went there looking for me, he wondered, knowing full-well that Malik had no idea where the site was or how to get there. But maybe he would find him on the way. To his dismay, he wasn’t at the site. Ahmed sat on the ground, leaning his back against a tree. The adrenaline had worn off and his body had given up. His legs shook from all the running and he had a stitch that felt like a sharp kitchen knife stabbing him.
“Ahmed!” there was loud voice and he could no longer breathe – he was being sucked into the water and paddled his arms, desperately trying to swim, but it was no use. The murky, salty water flooded into his lungs mercilessly. “Ahmed… Ahmed,” he heard the voice again. It was Khaleel. “Ahmed…” Ahmed felt himself being gently shaken awake from his sleep.
“Ahmed, are you OK?”
Ahmed looked into Khaleel’s concerned face. “Where did you come from?”
“I was walking back from our celebration and saw you here, I thought you had collapsed. What’s wrong? What are you doing out here?”
“I… Malik… its Malik,” he gasped, “I can’t find him… he wasn’t at the football ground!”
“Ok Ahmed, take a few long breaths… that’s it… slowly does it.” Khaleel said.
Ahmed broke down and started to cry, “I left him there! I shouldn’t have left him there!”
“Ahmed, it’s ok, calm down, we will find him. Have you checked the house?”
“Yes, he’s not there.”
> “Where else have you looked?”
“I have searched the area around the football ground and the house, and nearly all the streets.”
Khaleel helped Ahmed to his feet. “Let’s go to the building where the stray children live. Maybe he went there with the other boys.” Which, although, unlikely, could be a possibility, Ahmed thought, regaining his senses.
They walked briskly to the ramshackle old building. Its stillness made the blood in Ahmed’s veins seize up. The paint on the exterior wall panels and half open door was flaking. The glowing windows stared like ghostly eyes.
Once inside, they were hit with a strong smell of damp wood. Children were scattered all over the building, some lying asleep in small cot-beds, some sleeping on the floor. Some of the boys looked like they were as young as six.
“Who looks after these boys?” Ahmed asked Khaleel.
“Well, there are some volunteers that are around during the day and…they do normally stick around but they must have left early.” Khaleel responded. Ahmed was shocked at the lack of responsibility that people were taking for the children. It seemed like they were forgotten, even the football ground, now seemed like a way of keeping them out of people’s hair while they focused on other things like the sewage project.
“But how do you account for who is here and who is not?” Ahmed knelt next to a young boy who didn’t look well.” The boy reminded him of Malik. Same height, same hair. Ahmed put the back of his hand on his head and looked in horror when he felt how hot his temperature was, “and what about their well-being? This boy… he needs attention.”
Khaleel looked at the boy and then nodded his head. He got onto his phone and called someone, requesting a doctor.
“You’re right… absolutely right. Things turn slow around here, but they do turn.”
Ahmed continued to search through the building, “Malik!” he called. He examined every quarter but Malik wasn’t there. Ahmed pulled out a picture of Malik that he picked up when he went to the house earlier looking for him, “Have you seen this boy?” he asked the children that were still awake. But no one knew where he was.
“This is insane!” Ahmed said, as he and Khaleel left the building. “He couldn’t have just vanished!”
“Ahmed… look, I hate to ask but how was Malik handling the loss of his mother? Was he ok? He seemed really quiet and—”
“Erm… yes, he found it hard, understandably, but...”
“Of course, I’m just saying—”
“Saying what exactly?”
“It’s just that the boy has been through a lot and with some kids, they bottle things up and then…”
Ahmed paused and gazed at Khaleel, his words turning in his mind. Of course, Malik must have found the war terrifying and stressful, the loss of Maryam would have made things much worse but… what was he implying? What…that Malik just ran off into the night?
“No! I know my son… he wouldn’t do that… I am all he has.” He began to sob again, “and he… he is all I have.”
Khaleel put his hand on Ahmed’s shoulder, “OK, let me get some torches and let’s look for him. I will call some of the guys to help with the search.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We can cover more ground the more people we can get to help.”
As daylight began to creep in, Khaleel decided to call off the search for the night. The men were tired, as was Khaleel.
This didn’t stop Ahmed. He kept searching, he must have walked through the football ground countless times until his feet were covered in blisters and his leg muscles ached as though he’d walked a thousand miles. He was exhausted, but kept pressing on, showing the photo of Malik to anyone he saw.
He decided to go to the office and speak to the guards, although the prospect daunted him. Maybe they could help, or maybe he could file a report; he had to do something, anything.
“The office is closed!” a man yelled as he approached. Ahmed could now tell whether the office was open or closed just by the facial expressions of the guards.
“I need to speak to someone about my son… can I speak to someone in charge please?”
“Well, right now, I’m in charge,” the man responded abruptly. He was different from the guard that he spoke to last time. He didn’t appear polite or friendly. He seemed irritated that Ahmed had approached him, as if disturbed from the most enthralling daydream.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, with a tone that didn’t sound like he really cared.
Ahmed stepped closer to him. “It’s my son… he has been missing since last night. I have searched everywhere for him and—”
“Stop right there!” the guard ordered, “Don’t come any closer!” Ahmed froze, not sure what to expect. It was beginning to feel like Deja vu. The guard walked toward Ahmed clenching his weapon tightly. “Put your hands up,” he ordered, then patted Ahmed down, searching him for weapons. Ahmed sighed as the feeling that he was a dangerous criminal overcame him again. He understood that there were protocols that had to be adhered to, but this was getting ridiculous, and humiliating.
“The office is closed,” the man repeated, and then walked back to where he was stationed, seeming both satisfied and disappointed that he didn’t find anything suspicious on Ahmed.
Ahmed’s head felt like a steaming kettle. What an idiot man! he thought. Why didn’t he just tell me the office was closed earlier? Why did he search me? It was almost like he’s looking for a reaction!
“What about my son?” Ahmed asked, forcing himself to stay calm.
“What about him?” The man responded, sounding almost sarcastic.
“I need help to find him. He is only ten. He has never been alone – he must be terrified.”
The guard looked at his wrist watch and then back at Ahmed, “I can’t help you… the office will be open in a few hours, I suggest you come back then and see if they’ll do something for you.” The guard looked away, indicating that he was no longer interested in engaging in conversation.
Ahmed knew that if he persisted in pestering him, he would probably use force to get rid of him. And thinking back to his last encounter with these goons, it wasn’t worth it. Instead, he sat down, in his own misery. He wasn’t going to leave, where would he go? To the house? A house that would be haunted with brief memories of Maryam, and now Malik as well. He would go mad, if he hadn’t already, that was. This was a nightmare… worse than a nightmare. No, he was going to wait until that office opened, then he would barge in and demand for something to be done. It was his right. They were in charge of security and policing, and this was definitely a security issue. But in the back of his mind, he began to wonder… What if Malik were to find his way to the house and I wasn’t there. What would he do? With that in mind, he forced himself to his feet. Sitting here would be a waste of time and there would be no guarantee that anyone would help him anyway. He could feel the blisters under his feet burst and liquid soaked into his socks as he limped back to the house. He peered into alleyways all the way back. Hoping, praying that Malik would be there. A couple of times, he even thought that he caught sight of him but it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.
The house felt colder and darker than before. But more than anything else it was full of emptiness. A strange, painful emptiness.
Ahmed’s slaughtering headache forbade him from turning the light on. Instead, he sat on the empty bed in complete darkness, a darkness that accurately reflected his mood. The cold had made his feet go numb and a sharp pain ran up his ankle, but this didn’t bother him, nor did the stinging of his grazed knees. His jaw was getting more painful every day, he began to suspect that it may be broken.
He was a mess, both physically, and mentally.
He usually found solace in two things: praying and writing. He spent the next hour weeping, and in prayer, then removed his journal from under the pillow. He often wrote for the sheer love of writing, philosophy, poetry and delving into the nature of metaphysics.
But in times of great stress, writing was a systematic approach to perceiving his thoughts, concerns, and fears. He could then use this data to develop a method of processing these ideas into an action plan. This didn’t happen today.
How could I have been so foolish? he wrote. I am solely accountable for the destruction of my family. My other half, my wife, a woman defined by her faithfulness, righteousness, and honour, is now dead – as, I fear, are those three traits now dead within me.
The tenacity and strength that I once possessed is fading. I am lost, truly lost.
My courage and spirit once comprised of my love, care, and duty to those close to me, but I have let them down, failed in my responsibility to protect them. One I will never see again and the other…
Ahmed broke down into tears, the pen fell from his hand onto the floor and the journal soon followed. He stood up, fast, as if a bolt of lightning struck him and gave him a sudden surge of energy. He kicked the journal across the room. He clenched his fists tightly and then bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming. Although, he could taste the bitter flavour of blood in his mouth, pain was no longer an issue. With physical pain, came relief – a sedative for emotional hurt.
There was an abrupt bang on the door, startling him. It may be Malik. Maybe he had gotten lost but had found his way back. Suddenly he was full of hope.
“Ahmed! It’s Khaleel… open up.”
Ahmed felt the hope disintegrate. He had a sudden urge to spit the blood from his tongue. He quickly picked up his journal, dusting it off and carefully placed it back under his pillow.
“Coming… hold on…” He crept to the door, like a man broken. He was now accustomed to hopelessness and disappointment.
“It’s almost midday, we should look for your boy. Did you go to the main office to see if they would help?”
“Erm… no, I didn’t.” Ahmed had no idea why he lied. Maybe it was just to save himself from explaining what had happened. He momentarily thought about how stupid it was to lie, especially about something so unimportant. But now was not the time to come clean. It would be much more difficult to explain why he lied than explaining the lie itself. Besides, the real issue was finding his son, not his confused state of mind.