Boy, Everywhere, page 6
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed we wouldn’t. I prayed as hard as I’d ever prayed in my life.
* * *
We spent the whole of the next day sitting quietly, huddled in a corner of the room, watching people leaving and being dropped off. I was so bored, but I just tried to pretend I was sleeping.
When the same driver that had brought us here appeared at the door and called for Baba, we quickly scrambled up, glad that we were leaving. He handed Baba a SIM card before starting the engine of his rusty old car. Baba thanked him, fumbling with his mobile to take out his Syrian SIM.
We passed field after field in silence before we got to the next building. It was an old, white four-story villa in the middle of nowhere, with countless windows stacked one above the other. All the windows on the bottom two levels had metal shutters covering them.
The driver stopped in front of an old flaking garage door and jumped out to lift it open. Insects murmured all around. I fiddled with Jiddo’s ring as cold air rushed in, bringing the scent of rotting fruit from the trees surrounding us.
The driver got back in the car and parked inside. My heart thumped as we followed him out into the empty, freezing garage and through an internal door leading into a musty corridor. I stared at a spider building its web in a corner, then noticed Mama’s face was paler than the peeling white walls. Please let this be a better place than the last one, I thought.
We went down some stone steps to a painted black door, where the driver opened a bolt, turned a key, and let us into a room. I blinked hard as the foul smell of drains hit me and pulled my arm over my nose. The driver closed the door behind us and slid the bolt across. He was locking us in again.
The room was candlelit, like the other place, and cold—I couldn’t see any heating. But it had mattresses to sleep on. I wrapped my jacket tighter as I looked around. There must have been at least twenty people scattered about, including a few young children and some teenagers, who looked as fed up as I felt.
I guessed it was an apartment of some kind—maybe it used to be for the staff of the villa. On the wall to the left of the front door was a stainless-steel sink with a cupboard underneath. A doorframe with no door led to a smaller room on the right. A few meters from the kitchen sink was a small bathroom. There was no flooring in either room, just gray concrete. The walls hadn’t been painted, just plastered a long time ago, and were covered in cracks. There was no furniture. It was an apartment full of only mattresses and people.
An old man with a white moustache and beard pushed himself off his mattress and went to the kitchen sink. There was a small boarded-up window above it. He picked up a smudgy glass, filled it with tap water, then came over to Baba and offered it to him with a smile.
Sara flinched and hid her face in Mama’s headscarf, and I looked around the room for cleaner glasses. They were all filthy. There didn’t seem to be anything to wash them with either. I felt sick thinking about it. And, there was no fridge to keep drinks in—there wasn’t even a place to plug one in.
Baba offered me the glass of water but I shook my head, even though I was thirsty. I headed toward the bathroom, but as I neared the door, I stepped back. It stank. There was no toilet paper, no soap. It wasn’t tiled, and there was dirt on the concrete floor.
But I had no choice. I had to go in. As I pulled down my jeans, I wanted to cry. I swallowed hard and made myself stop, reminding myself that the people we saw didn’t even have toilets in their camps, and they slept in tents in the cold. At least we had walls and a roof.
Baba took Mama and Sara to the smaller room, which looked as if it was for the women, then led me to a spare mattress in the main room. “Just try to sleep,” he said gently. I sat on a spongy mattress opposite the entrance and watched Baba walk away to his, which was pushed up against the wall adjoining the women’s room.
I overheard a blue-eyed boy with dark blond hair on the mattress next to mine telling a man in a low voice that his house had been bombed. He was probably a year or two older than me.
“I lost my baba, sister, grandma, and uncle in one go,” he said with a slight lisp. “My mama’s legs were injured when parts of the house fell on her—she can’t walk now. She wants me to get to England to earn some money. I’m just waiting to get a boat across into Europe. What about you?” he asked the man beside him.
My shoulders juddered thinking about what he’d lost, and my brain struggled to process what I’d heard. I couldn’t imagine leaving my parents and going off alone across the world to get a job. I stayed quiet and didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to know what we’d left behind or who my baba was and what he did. The people here looked much poorer than us … not that we had much left now.
I lay down on my pillow and pulled the thin, holey blanket over me. I decided Mama was right—until we got to England and were safe, I would stay quiet and just listen. That would be the way I’d get through this.
Chapter 7
I lay on my mattress, hands under my head, staring at the cracked ceiling, wishing I had my iPad. Clammy fingers stroked my cheeks. I jumped away from them, hitting my head on the wall behind me. A woman in a pink headscarf stood over me, her eyes glazed. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand.
I sat up, rubbing the back of my sore head and pulling my knees toward my chest. A girl, around nine years old with scruffy shoulder-length hair, ran up behind the lady and put her hand on her arm.
“Please. Let her touch you. You remind her of my brother,” she said to me as she itched the side of her head.
My eyes widened but I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve tried to explain that you aren’t my brother. But he looked just like you. He had light brown hair and eyes too.”
The blue-eyed boy on the mattress next to mine sat up and muttered something quickly to the woman and girl.
The girl and her mother turned around and walked away.
“Don’t worry, she’s okay,” the boy said, clearing his throat. “She’s just confused.” He shuffled across his mattress and sat on the edge nearer to mine. “They left Syria after their family was killed in an air strike. Then on the way to Europe her son drowned when their boat capsized.”
I gulped at the mention of boats and drowning. I’d fallen out of one on vacation when I was seven years old and Baba had to pull me out of the water. I shuddered at the memory. I couldn’t get on one again.
“Oh, right. Sorry to hear that,” I said, after a couple of seconds of silence. I didn’t know how to respond to his friendliness. I wasn’t expecting it.
“The problem is, they keep overloading the boats,” he said, shaking his head like an adult.
“But how come they’re here and not in Europe?”
“I think they were taken back by the Turkish coast guard. They’re trying to get across again to get to the woman’s uncle in England.”
I couldn’t imagine trying to do the journey again after what they’d been through. I just wouldn’t, I thought.
“How long have you been here?” I asked the boy, trying to change the subject. It was hard to stay quiet, when he was being so friendly.
“I got here the day before you, but I’m hoping I won’t be here long.”
“Me too. I don’t even know why we’re stuck here.”
The boy raised his eyebrows. “It’s like a halfway place. You know, where smugglers bring people till they get their fake papers and the boats are ready to take us across. I’m Aadam, by the way.”
I had no idea what fake papers meant and didn’t want to show myself up anymore by asking, so I just said, “I’m Sami,” and watched him push his dark blond hair back with his palms. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. His eyes were the color of the sky. He could easily pass as an English boy, if he didn’t speak in his southern Syrian dialect.
Aadam smiled, then moved to the other side of his mattress as he saw Baba walking over. Baba nodded at him and sat down next to me, his weight making us sink closer to the floor.
I looked down at our knees and noticed the grime under Baba’s nails. I’d never seen them so dirty.
“I heard what happened to that girl and her mama, but it doesn’t happen often,” he said, putting his arms over his knees. “Sami, don’t worry. We’re taking one of the best boats available to get to Greece. I’ve paid extra money for it. That’s why we’re having to stay in this place.”
I shook my head as cold fear flooded my entire body. “I don’t care—there’s got to be another way. We can’t get on a boat, Baba. What if it capsizes? It’s too dangerous.”
Baba knew I’d avoided boats since I’d fallen in the sea, except for a pedal boat that Joseph had persuaded me into when we were at a theme park, and even then, I’d counted the seconds till we got off. He wouldn’t make me take a boat all the way across to Greece. He’d understand.
* * *
It was early morning the next day when the door handle rattled. Every single person inside jolted up in fear, hoping it wasn’t the police or the Turkish government. We all relaxed again when one of the drivers entered, the men’s faces falling when they realized he’d come to give bread to one of the families he’d brought to the apartment. My stomach groaned at the sight of the loaf, as if it was calling the bread over.
The dad from the family got up and walked over to the driver at the door. They had a brief conversation, the dad took the bread, and then he handed the driver some money.
“I don’t have any more!” the father started shouting. “How much are you going to take? You told me last week it was the last time you’d be asking!”
Everyone in the room looked up. The driver grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him against the wall. I gasped and froze on my mattress as he squeezed tighter. The whole room was silent, staring in fear.
Finally, the driver pulled himself away and turned to look at us.
I sat up, worried he might attack us too. But he walked out of the apartment, banging the door shut and locking it. The man the driver had threatened glared at the door.
“I’ve paid thousands and thousands for this damn boat trip and now he’s saying he needs more money for the life jackets. I’ve got nothing left!” he shouted to all of us. Tears streamed down his stubbly face as his body scraped down the wall and fell in a heap on the floor.
I dug my nails into my mattress, trying to force back tears as I watched him. It was only then that I realized that the drivers weren’t really just drivers, but criminals trying to make money out of desperate people.
The man crumpled on the floor was just as scared as I was. No matter how the men acted, I guessed that deep down everyone in the room felt the same. I had to show strength too, it didn’t matter how I felt. I had to make sure we got to England. I had to do it for Sara. I had to remember that. Then everything would be okay.
* * *
The following morning the atmosphere in the apartment was different, despite what we’d seen the day before. All the men and boys huddled together to talk. I sat on the cold, gray concrete opposite Baba, fidgeting with Jiddo’s ring, thinking about the plush rugs we’d had back at home. I looked up when I heard a familiar voice.
Aadam, the blue-eyed boy, was telling his story. “I left home five months ago. Mama sent me out to earn money after Baba died. I walked over the Syrian border into Lebanon, and a man there attacked me. He said if I didn’t give him all my money he’d kill me.” I gulped and looked around the room at the others sitting on mattresses in a circle, all listening as Aadam spoke. “I gave it all to him and tried to run away, but he and his friends recaptured me and forced me to beg for them. If I didn’t, they beat me all over.”
Goosebumps prickled over my arms as I listened.
“How did you escape from them?” asked one of the men.
“One night, they were all drinking and gambling in a room, making so much noise, I knew it was my chance to get out. I climbed out of the bedroom window, onto a fire escape and down to the courtyard,” he said, brushing his nose on his sleeve. “I knocked on the window of the basement and begged the man below to let me in through his apartment and out of his front door.”
“So how did you get here?” asked Baba, rubbing his hands together for warmth as he listened.
“I needed money to get across to Turkey, so I begged for a while and then worked in Beirut as a cleaner for about a month. And because they knew I was from Syria, they gave me the worst job … cleaning the toilets.”
“You can do this one if you like!” one of the men said, laughing. Baba and a few of the others flashed him dirty looks and he stopped. Aadam’s cheeks turned flamingo pink, but he ignored the man and continued.
“They were filthy—worse than this one—and I could hear them laughing as they heard me retching. Sometimes I wondered if they made them dirtier on purpose. Anyway, when I had enough money, I jumped on the back of a truck and left.”
I turned away, feeling uneasy. What if I become like him? What if my life becomes like his?
I fiddled with my shoelaces as a deeper, rougher voice began to speak in broken English. I looked up. It was a balding man with a goatee.
“I from Afghanistan. Germany take refugees—so I’m go there with wife and daughter.” He pointed at his daughter, talking to a woman outside the bathroom. She was dainty and pretty, with long, brown hair that fell down to her elbows. Her nose was slender and her lips were a deep pink against her tanned face.
I blinked. She looked so much like Leila. Beautiful, intelligent Leila. I wondered what she was doing now. Was she at school with Joseph and the others? Was the school even standing? If I’d known I was leaving, I’d have taken a selfie with her and Joseph and the others. I’d never get to tell her that I liked her. I didn’t even know if I’d ever see anyone from school again.
I tried to picture Leila at her ice-skating party last year, when Joseph and I had taken my iPad screensaver photo. That was a good day.
Focus on the good days, Sami, I told myself. You’ll be out of here and in England soon.
Chapter 8
Aadam came and sat next to me that evening. I shifted across my mattress to give him space.
“So, what’s your story? You didn’t say anything today.” He put his arms over his knees and stared at me.
I didn’t know what to tell him. Compared to most of these people, we didn’t have a story. And I would never have dared to tell it in front of the whole group, anyway.
I decided I’d tell Aadam about the bomb that had gone off in the mall and how it scared my parents enough to leave the country. I talked about the distant airstrikes, the sirens and explosions.
“I used to feel sick when I’d hear planes fly over us,” said Aadam, looking at the floor. “You just don’t know where they’re going to hit. You could be dead in an instant. I remember being out in the market one day and hearing a jet above us. I ducked and then thwooomp—the explosion rang through my ears. Clouds of dust rose into the air and spread all over the city, making it difficult to breathe.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize at the time that it was my house it hit.”
“Sheesh, Aadam … that’s awful.”
There was a long silence. I didn’t know how to fill it.
He looked down at the floor for a few seconds then raised his head to look at me, his eyes brighter.
“What’s Damascus like? I’ve always wanted to go there.”
I relaxed, relieved he’d changed the subject. “Oh man, it’s one of the best places.” I looked at him, suddenly homesick. “On Saturdays, I’d meet up with my friend Joseph and go ice-skating at the mall and have pizza, then later I’d meet Mama and Baba for ice cream before going off to the cinema with Joseph and our other friends. I didn’t realize how good life was until it all went wrong.”
I sighed deeply, thinking about how much we hadn’t done recently. I didn’t ever imagine I’d end up being locked up in an apartment in Turkey with total strangers. I glanced at my watch. Joseph would be having his dinner right now.
“I’ve never been to a mall with an ice rink or cinema. I didn’t even know there were ice rinks in Syria. It sounds amazing!” said Aadam.
I felt bad then. I’d been so lucky. “What about football?” I asked. Everyone played football, didn’t they? “Do you play?”
Aadam’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, of course! Who do you support?”
“Manchester United and Real Madrid obviously! They’re the best.”
“Me too! Glory, glory Man United,” he sang, grinning.
“Glory, glory Man United!” I chanted, forgetting where I was. He leaned in toward me and laughed. For the first time in over a week, I was smiling again.
“We really need to up our game though. We’re slipping in the table. I’m worried,” said Aadam, frowning.
It was the exact same expression Joseph would’ve made while saying that. I suddenly felt lighter and more relaxed, as if I’d known Aadam for ages. “I know! It’s been a while since we were on top—I’m worried too,” I said. “They were fifth last week. God knows where they’ll be at the end of the season …” I drifted off as I realized I had no way of finding out.
“We’ll know soon enough,” he said with a nod. It was like he’d read my troubled mind. Joseph and I would hang out with him, I decided.
Before I could reply, I spotted Baba bringing Sara into the room. He was struggling to hold her as she kicked him and cried. I jumped up, feeling a pang of guilt run through me. “Hang on,” I said to Aadam.
