Boy, Everywhere, page 15
I drew the curtains to get more light into the room and saw a gray top that looked like mine. I pulled it out of the carefully arranged pile to check the label—it was. As I drew it over my waist, Mama walked in.
“Ah, Sami, you’re awake. I washed our clothes last night—they’re on the desk.”
“Yeah, I know, I just found them. Thanks.”
Mama looked at me as if she wanted to say something, opening her mouth to speak. Then she hesitated and walked back out of the room.
“Mama!” I called after her. “Shall I come down? Where’s Sara and Baba?”
“Your baba’s gone to meet the lawyer.” She reappeared at the door. “He’s trying to sort out the paperwork to get those police charges dropped. Then he’s going to the factory to sort out his work.”
Work in a factory? I thought. A doctor, in a factory? Tete would be horrified.
“I think he’s going to try to sort out your school too,” Mama continued.
“Oh, Mamaaaa …” I hunched my shoulders.
“You’ve missed far more than we would’ve liked, Sami. I think you’ll agree it’s time to get back into your studies.”
“But … I—” I didn’t want to go to school. Especially not here.
“But nothing, Sami. Come down and I’ll make you some breakfast. Hurry up, because I need you to sit with Sara. Fatimah is taking me to a house to arrange some work after dropping Iman off.” She walked out of the room quickly, before I could reply.
Work? Where was she going to work? In a house? I pulled on my jeans and followed Mama.
Downstairs, Sara was snuggled with Iman on the sofa, watching a TV show called Balamory.
Mama came in and handed me a bowl of cornflakes and sat down on the sofa next to Sara, who had her eyes glued to the TV and didn’t even notice. I crunched them loudly—I could finally eat without worrying about being attacked by weird men. I couldn’t believe what I’d been through. It now felt as if Air Jordans guy had been in a nightmare—as if the attack hadn’t really happened.
I knew we were a lot better off than when we were in the detention center. I told myself to remember that the next time Hassan said something nasty to me.
Aunty Fatimah walked into the room wearing a long, beige coat and matching scarf. “Sami, can you bring your bowl into the kitchen when you’re done?” she said.
“Okay, Aunty.”
Mama looked down, shifting her feet.
I finished off my cereal, slurped the leftover milk, and took the bowl to the kitchen. Aunty Fatimah sat at the breakfast bar, the washing machine rumbling quietly in the background.
“Sami, can I have a word?” She got up, took the bowl from me, and put it in the dishwasher.
My hands felt clammy, as if I’d been sent to the principal for being disruptive in class.
She walked back, towering over me, and looked me in the eyes. “This is my house and there are some rules you need to stick to,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
I took a step back.
“You are not allowed to enter my room or Iman’s. You understand?”
“Yes, Hassan told me yesterday—” I started. I wondered if Hassan had lied about me going into her room.
“You are to tidy up after yourself, including in the bathroom. I don’t want to be wiping up after you.” She leaned further in to my face. “Don’t pester Hassan. He’s a good boy, studying for his exams—he doesn’t need distracting. Just know, I’m watching your every move.”
Her fancy long coat and mean face reminded me of Cruella de Vil in 101 Dalmatians. Ugh. Why was she being like this?
But I had her attention—I had to make the most of it. “Can I use your laptop please, Aunty? I need to send one email. I’ll be very quick.”
Her eyes narrowed more. “Have you heard a word of what I’ve just said?”
“Yes. It’s just—”
“Well, what do you have to say about it?”
“Yes, I’ll do all of that. I promise.”
She sighed loudly.
“Can I please send one email? It’s urgent.”
“Who do you need to send it to? And why?”
“To my friend. I just need to let him know I’m okay. That I made it to Manchester. I promised I would.”
“You can ask Hassan when he gets in from school.”
There was no way Hassan would let me use his laptop. I thought quickly. “Um … Aunty, can’t I just get it done now? You said I shouldn’t distract him.”
“Parasites,” she muttered, walking out of the kitchen.
My mouth dropped open, stunned. Had she really just said that? I exhaled a long breath. Now I knew where Hassan got his attitude.
I wasn’t expecting her to return, so I gasped when she stormed back in and thumped something silver down on the black granite breakfast bar. “Here. Just this once. Don’t ask me again.” She opened the lid of the MacBook and entered a password. “What account have you got?” she snapped.
“Gmail,” I said quietly.
She got the website up and slid the laptop along the counter to me. I typed in my login details and looked at her sideways, hoping she’d leave.
“Oh, I’m not leaving you with it, if that’s what you’re expecting!” She folded her arms and stood over me.
I didn’t want to check my inbox with her looking, so I quickly pressed Compose at the top of the page and started typing.
I began writing to Aadam, trying to ignore Aunty’s eyes piercing into the screen. She sat back on the bar stool, folded her arms, and scoffed when she saw me type:
How are you? Hope you made it to England safely. Email me as soon as you get this. I need to know you’re safe. I’m hoping you’ll come to Manchester. I’m in an area called Stockport. I don’t have a number yet, but when I do, I’ll email it to you. Sami 😀
As soon as I pressed Send, Aunty Fatimah snatched the laptop away and slammed it shut. I turned to her, my mouth hanging open.
“You’ve sent your email. Now leave,” she said, baring her teeth.
I didn’t dare ask her to let me email Joseph too, so I rushed out of the kitchen and closed the door behind me.
Chapter 26
Later that Monday, after Hassan got back from school, the phone rang as we sat watching a quiz show in the living room. Sara was drawing on an Etch a Sketch with Iman, the two of them nestled close together. Sara seemed to like her a lot and Iman was really good with her.
Hassan picked up the phone. He stared at the TV, his brow furrowed.
“Yeah, I’m going in a bit.… But Dad! I can’t take him to football! He can’t just join the team!” He paused then tutted and clenched his jaw. “All right! He can watch. But that’s it—he ain’t playing.”
Hassan continued to listen for a few seconds then put the phone down.
I didn’t want to play football with him and I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t be rude to Uncle Muhammad. I knew he was just being kind.
As soon as we’d left the front drive, Hassan said, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you, parasite,” and walked off ahead of me. “You better be at the top of the street in an hour!” he shouted back.
I stopped and shook my head. He was the nastiest kid I’d ever met. We wouldn’t dare treat a guest like this in Syria. All I wanted right then was to be with Joseph, around my people. I left him when I said I wouldn’t. I said I’d always stick up for him. I had to go back home. Where I was needed. Where I belonged. I didn’t want to be in horrid England anymore.
I waited for Hassan to get to the end of the street and then walked in the opposite direction, toward the main road, soon reaching a small park with a play area. I pushed open the gate and sat on the swings. The younger kids around me kept looking over as if I was a loser. Which I was, I supposed. I’d lost everything. I had no friends, no house, no bedroom, nothing.
I sat with my hands in my pockets on the park swing, barely swaying, just staring up at the sky above. The sun was setting and the sky flamed in pinks, oranges, and yellow. Every ten minutes a plane flew through its colors.
A couple of older-looking boys strode into the park. I didn’t want any trouble so I got off the swing and walked to the exit, my head hung low, my hands shoved even deeper in my jacket pockets.
I almost walked past the library on the main road but stopped when I realized they might have computers. I wouldn’t have to ask anyone again and I could email Joseph in peace. I walked in through the automatic barrier and stopped in front of the blonde-haired lady sitting behind a computer. The smell of books hugged me in the quiet, calm library. A few people inside browsed books and read at tables.
“Uh … hi … can I use a computer, please?” I asked in my best English accent.
“Have you booked?” she asked, standing up to face me and straightening her bright-purple cardigan.
“Uh … no …” I didn’t know I had to book an appointment or even how to.
“If you give me your library card, I’ll book you in for a slot. Because we’re quiet, you can use one now.”
“I don’t have a library card,” I said, rubbing Jiddo’s ring.
“Do you want to set one up?” she asked, sighing. “I’ll need proof of your address. Have you got anything with you?”
I shook my head briefly. There was no way I could get proof of where we lived. I panicked, turned around, and walked back through the barrier, pulling it inward so I could leave.
I ran out of the building and back along the road. Traffic shot past me. Where would I go now? I couldn’t use the computers without a proper home—and I couldn’t go back to the house because I was meant to be with Hassan at football.
I walked past a convenience store, and a football magazine in the window caught my eye. I wished I could just walk in and buy it like I used to in Damascus, but I had no money. I felt empty inside. The shop assistant frowned at me through the window. I couldn’t remember anyone smiling at me here, apart from Uncle Muhammad. It was so different from Syria, where everyone was so welcoming. This place was nothing like I thought it would be. Everything sucked here. Life was much better back home. I gulped some air and continued to walk down the road.
I sat on a plastic bench at a bus stop and looked at the giant oak tree that stood tall next to it, its thick roots pushing through the cracked pavement below.
An old man sitting next to me was reading a newspaper, waiting for his bus. He looked as if he knew what he was doing, where he was going. Everyone else in England did. Except me.
Sitting watching the cars and trucks whoosh past, I thought about how much I wanted to go back to Syria. I needed to go back to Tete and Joseph. Manchester wasn’t the place for me, I knew it already. Damascus must be safe again, I thought. The government must’ve fought off the rebels by now. Joseph always said they’d never let the rebels take over Damascus.
There was a construction site across the road surrounded by steel fencing. It looked as if a building had been demolished between two others, leaving a wide gap ready to be filled. Men in yellow hard hats worked on the ground, with one on a digger, piling earth on a mound in the corner. Another poured powder into the cement mixer, while another builder had begun to lay big gray bricks to form the foundation of the building.
I thought back to the demolished places in Syria. This is what I can do when I get back, I thought. I can help rebuild it! Baba would be disappointed if I didn’t become a doctor, but I could be a builder or an engineer instead, and that was important too. I’d known deep down that I didn’t want to become a doctor, but I never dared to tell Baba. Going to the hospital to see Mama and Sara had confirmed that it wasn’t for me. I had to be mature like Baba wanted me to be—and make my own decisions. I could help rebuild Syria so that everyone who wanted to could go home again. I felt lighter just thinking about it.
A bus screeched and stopped at the sidewalk. The old man put his newspaper on the bench and got on the bus. With no one else around, I picked it up. I wanted to see if I could still read English. As soon as I started reading, a part of me wished I couldn’t.
The headline on the front page read:
BRITAIN TO BAN MIGRANTS
I gulped and quickly turned the page to look for the sports section. I didn’t want to read a sentence of that article. But midway through the paper, I came across another headline that made me stop.
STOWAWAY SURVIVES 11-HOUR JOURNEY FROM SOUTH AFRICA
As I read the description of the man who’d stowed away in the hold of a plane, my mouth fell open. I could do this. I could get away from Hassan and miserable England and go back home. I wouldn’t need to ask Baba to give me any money or stress him out anymore. The airport was really close—all I needed to do was figure out how to get on a plane without being caught.
The article explained that one man had fallen and died as the plane landed, because he’d hidden in the wheel arches of the plane. But the other had survived because he’d been in the luggage hold. So all I needed to do was get to the airport and watch how they loaded the luggage to see how I could get inside. I didn’t know how to get to the airport, but I’d work it out. I had to. I had to get back to Syria. Mama and Baba could fix Sara over here. And I could be there for Tete and Joseph. Tete couldn’t die all alone. She sounded so scared on the phone.
I looked at my Swatch—over an hour had passed. I put the newspaper down and walked back to the end of the road to meet Hassan. He was already there waiting.
“Idiot,” he sneered before jogging off toward his house. I walked behind him, dragging my legs wearily.
When I walked into the house, I found Baba, grinning from ear to ear, in the hallway.
“Here’s your new uniform.” He waved a gray sweater and a white shirt around. “You start on Wednesday at Hassan’s school. I just got the call!”
I walked up the stairs, my head down. I could feel Baba’s smile fade as he stepped up behind me.
“Sami, what is this? You know how much this uniform cost? I’m going to have to do overtime at the factory for three days to pay for it.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Stop that, now!” he shouted as we walked into the bedroom. He sighed and sat down next to me on the double bed. “You think I wanted to take you out of your old school?” he asked, folding up the uniform on his lap.
“No …”
“Do you know how it feels to work in a factory, lifting boxes in and out of trucks all day, when all you ever held before was a pen or scalpel? You have no idea.”
Baba looked exhausted, his body thin.
I dipped my chin into my chest and slumped. “I know … I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just … upset. I really hate it here,” I admitted, staring at my nails. They needed cutting.
“I know you do. It’s not easy for us either, believe me … but we have no choice right now.” He got up to walk to the window. “I’m grateful that we aren’t out on the streets or in a refugee camp.”
I glanced at the uniform and a thought struck me. “They’ll have computers in school, won’t they?”
Baba shook his head. “What is it with you and computers? You’re going to learn, not mess about.”
“I want to email Joseph,” I explained. “But Aunty Fatimah doesn’t like me using her laptop.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say? You can use my phone. Muhammad gave me the wi-fi code. Here.” He took the phone out of his pocket.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? Baba didn’t have a SIM to make calls, but I’d completely forgotten he could still use it with wi-fi. If I was going to be an engineer, I’d have to smarten up.
He typed in his password, opened up a browser window, and handed me the phone. He left his hand on mine for a few seconds. “It will get better, son, I promise,” he said with a smile.
I smiled back. It was a moment we hadn’t had for so long.
Baba eased himself off the bed as I logged into my email. I scanned my inbox and counted three unread emails from Joseph.
I bounced on the bed like a little kid. “He’s emailed me! He’s emailed, Baba!”
Baba nodded. “I’ll leave you to read them. Put it on to charge when you’re done and don’t you dare go on any other websites. Okay?”
“Yesss, Baba,” I said without looking up.
He closed the bedroom door as I scrolled down to find the first email Joseph had sent.
SAMI WHERE ARE YOU?!!
WHEN YOU COMING BACK TO SCHOOL? WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING YOUR PHONE? YOUR MAMA STILL GOT THE IPAD? YOU MUST BE SOOO BORED.
That boy pressed caps lock on his keyboard. Always. I checked the date—it had been sent a day after we left Syria.
I skipped to the next email from him:
OKAY. I KNOW YOU LEFT IN A RUSH. YOUR TETE TOLD MAMA THE OTHER DAY. SHE SAID YOUR BABA DIDN’T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW SO YOU COULD GET OUT QUICKLY AND SAFELY.
MY BABA IS THINKING TO DO THE SAME. I HEARD HIM AND MAMA TALKING ABOUT IT. I’M SCARED. HOW ARE YOU MAN?
I HOPE YOU CHECK YOUR EMAILS SOON AND REPLY BACK.
A stab of guilt went through me, but the next email made me feel much worse.
SAMI, WHY AREN’T YOU WRITING BACK??????
ARE YOU OKAY?! PLEASE REPLY!
WE’RE ALWAYS HEARING EXPLOSIONS AND GUNFIRE NOW. I THINK BABA WILL DEFINITELY MAKE US LEAVE SOON. WHERE ARE YOU?!!
WE MET YOUR TETE AS SHE WAS COMING OUT OF THE MOSQUE ON OUR WAY TO CHURCH. SHE SAID SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE AND SHE HASN’T HEARD FROM YOU. SHE WAS CRYING A LOT. SHE LOOKED SO SAD. I’M REALLY WORRIED, SAMI.
I MISS YOU MAN. WE SHOULD BE DOING THIS TOGETHER. PLEASE PLEASE WRITE BACK. TELL ME YOU’RE ALIVE. PLEASE.
JOSEPH 😟
My eyes welled up and my heart ached. He’d had to go through all of that, not knowing if I was even okay, yet he still kept trying to contact me. I had to see him.
