by DV Berkom
“Because you could wiggle through smaller spaces like windows, right?”
She nodded. “After the first job I stood up to him and told him I didn’t want to work for him anymore. I said I’d report him to the police if he came anywhere near me.”
“And he didn’t?”
“The next night he was captured by the police breaking into one of the homes near the medina. I have not seen him since.”
“That was lucky.”
A smile ghosted across her face. “I am a very lucky person.”
“If it’s all right with you, I think we should go back to Qaram and look around,” Leine said. “Then if we don’t find anything about your mother, we can check with the refugee camp.”
“They will only tell you she’s dead.”
“If that’s true, we can request her death certificate or at least see the report regarding what happened.”
“And you think the people at the camp will give this to us?”
“I’ll tell them that I’m your advocate—that’s someone who works on behalf of someone else. In this case, that someone else is you. I’m sure they’ll allow us to at least look at a copy if there is one.”
“What if we can’t find her?”
“Then with your permission I’ll begin proceedings to place you in protective care. That’s the first step to finding you a new home.”
Jinn seemed to think that over for a moment. She nodded. “All right. But I need to go to the market first.”
That was too easy. Why on earth does she want to risk going to the market?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. There could be more people looking for you. The man I left alive has most likely woken up by now.” She probably should have killed him, but she didn’t have the whole story and was hesitant to take a life without a compelling reason. Obviously, the man with the gun was prepared to kill a child, making that choice an easy one.
“I know how to get where I’m going without anyone seeing me.”
Leine studied her. There was something going on behind that sharp gaze, but Leine couldn’t put her finger on what.
“Please? It’s important.”
“Fine. But I’m going with you.”
“I’m all right on my own.”
“Humor me.” Something didn’t ring true about the girl’s story, and Leine wasn’t about to let her out of her sight. She had a feeling that she was being played, but she wasn’t sure how.
TRUE TO HER WORD, JINN led her through a maze of back alleys, corridors, and abandoned courtyards, ending up at the carpet seller’s stall. The merchant, an older, affable man called Ebrahim, brightened considerably when he saw Jinn.
“Sit, please. Keep an old man company.” Ebrahim nodded to two chairs near him, clustered around a small, engraved metal table with wooden legs. Leine and Jinn each took a seat and waited as he poured two glasses of sweet tea. He set the pot down and handed them both a cup.
Jinn fidgeted, cutting her gaze to the thoroughfare outside the store, watching the stream of people walking past, obviously worried they were being watched. Leine sipped her tea and affected a relaxed pose.
“How long have you been in this location?” she asked the shopkeeper.
Ebrahim gazed into the distance, lost in thought. “Many years. So many I’ve lost count.”
Jinn finished her tea in record time and stood. “I think I left something in the back the other day. Would it be all right if I went to look?”
Ebrahim waved her off. “Of course, of course. You needn’t ask my permission.” He watched her go, the tea momentarily forgotten.
“You’re fond of her,” Leine remarked, bringing him back to the present.
He smiled, revealing teeth stained with age and countless cups of tea. “Yes. She is a rarity—a child older than her years, who has had a difficult life but still cares for others.”
“How did you two meet?”
“One day she noticed I was having trouble lifting a carpet onto its display and she offered to help me. I gave her a little money to sweep out my storeroom and straighten the displays, and she’s been a fixture here ever since.”
He extracted a cigarette from a box lying on the table next to the teapot and offered her one. She declined. He lit his with a silver lighter and inhaled deeply. Exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, he continued. “She is a good soul, although she has had to resort to petty thievery in order to survive. A talent she’s cultivated to the detriment of all else, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “We do what we must.”
“This talent you speak of may have placed her in grave danger.”
“I am aware of this.” He turned his rheumy gaze to Leine’s. “There have been some recent enquiries.”
Leine leaned forward. “How recent?”
“Earlier today, and again this afternoon. The same man both times.” He took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled. The cloud of blue smoke clung to the air between them. “I expect his return. He didn’t find what he was looking for.”
“Can you describe him for me?”
Ebrahim gave her a description that closely matched the man she’d knocked unconscious, right down to the large swelling near his left temple.
“Be careful, Ebrahim. These men will stop at nothing. They were prepared to kill a child.”
“I am but an old man. They won’t believe I have anything of value. The real question is, what of Jinn?”
“She’ll be fine. I’m here to help her.”
“And how did you come to meet our Jinn?”
“Let’s just say I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I see her good fortune has not yet abandoned her.” He nodded, obviously pleased. “Allah, peace be upon him, has seen fit to bring you into her life for a reason.”
“Perhaps. May I ask if she has ever mentioned her family?”
“A mother, but I think she is no longer of this earth.”
“Has she ever spoken of a place called Qaram?”
Ebrahim frowned as he thought, but then shook his head. “Not that I can remember, no.”
“I’ve promised I would help her find her family, but it seems that may be a futile exercise.”
“Her family is here in the market, although there are no blood relatives that I’m aware of. Still, she may not have shared that part of her life with an old man.”
“Be that as it may, I’m determined to help her in any way that I can.”
“Make sure that what you deem as help is actually helpful.”
“I will, Ebrahim.”
His eyes lost focus and he nodded. “We shall see.”
Behind them, Jinn cleared her throat. “We should go.”
Leine turned sharply at the urgency in Jinn’s voice. She stood several feet away, partially hidden by a large stack of carpets. Leine set her tea on the table, grabbed her satchel, and rose.
“Thank you for the tea and for your company, Ebrahim.”
Ebrahim bowed his head. “And for yours, as well. Take care of my Jinn.”
“I will.”
“This way.” Jinn led her past colorful and intricately patterned mounds of carpets to the rear of the store and through a passageway, depositing them into a back alley in the medina.
“You saw someone?” Leine asked.
“The man you knocked down. I don’t think he saw me, though.”
They moved quickly through the dark alleyways. Leine was glad Jinn knew her way around—she’d never have been able to find her way out as quickly as someone who lived there. A few minutes later they emerged from a back entrance used for deliveries and skirted the outer walls of the medina, headed for Rami and the Land Cruiser.
8
THE BLAZING-HOT afternoon sun bleached everything high-key white. The spike in temperature this time of year was unusual, and the relentless furnace of stifling desert heat voided all activity except for that warded off by the Toyota’s excellent air conditioning. Leine calculated they could
make it to the village of Qaram with plenty of daylight, allowing them to arrive at the refugee camp before sunset. Her meeting with the director was scheduled for early evening, so they were cutting it close. Rami assured her they would be fine, as long as they didn’t spend too long in Qaram.
As it turned out, the midsize village was much like Jinn had described—its infrastructure barely a memory. Crumbling block buildings and smoke-scarred rubble consisting of concrete and rebar were all that remained of a campaign to ferret out and destroy even the most embedded terrorist. Unfortunately, the government’s scorched-earth policy also pulverized the fabric of a community that had lived, worked, worshipped, and celebrated together.
Jinn was uncharacteristically silent as they picked through the rubble of what she claimed was her family home. There were no telltale markers of a habitable space—no dishes, no textiles, no burned-out husks of electronics or furniture, no decorative art. Human scavengers had long since taken advantage of the lawlessness of a place recently bombed beyond recognition. Anything valuable and portable, from copper wire to television and mobile components, to mattresses and pillows, had been stolen, stripped, and seized, all to be repurposed or sold on the black market for a hefty profit.
A gray-bearded man sporting the serious expression of a late-to-the-party scavenger sifted through the rubble nearby. He stopped to observe Leine and Jinn, his hands resting atop a long-handled shovel. Leine walked over to greet him.
“Assalamu ‘alaikum.”
He bowed and replied, “Wa’alaikum assalam.”
“Do you know what happened to the family who lived here?” Leine asked, continuing in Arabic.
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, no, although I have heard that most of the villagers fled to the refugee camp.”
“That’s what we had heard, too.”
“There is talk of rebuilding, but when and where, I couldn’t tell you. The government moves very slowly here.” He gave her an apologetic smile, revealing a missing incisor.
“Thank you for the information. Please forgive the intrusion.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
Leine left him to his digging and returned to Jinn. “He says there are plans to rebuild, but not right away. If we find your mother, it’s possible she could sign up for assistance from the government, although that won’t be much help right now, I’m afraid.” The government probably wouldn’t be much help in the next ten years, but Leine didn’t mention her thoughts to the kid.
Jinn shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d find anything. Nothing happens quickly in Libya.”
Her expression reminded Leine of someone who was years older than ten and had seen too much—the lack of a hopeful spark, a resignation that permeated survivors of war and became an integral part of a child’s narrative, especially when that child has been forced to fend for herself.
Leine nodded toward where Rami waited in the Land Cruiser.
“Let’s go. If we leave now, you should have plenty of time to look through the refugee camp records.”
THE SUN RODE LOW IN the sky, casting long shadows before the Land Cruiser as Rami followed the deep tracks through the desert sand. Leine checked her watch. They had half an hour to get to the refugee camp in time for Leine’s interview with the director.
“Think we’ll make it?” she asked.
Rami smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth. “Of course. Have I ever let you down before?” He was wearing a black T-shirt with the green and red Libyan flag on the front. Underneath in white lettering were the words “I’m Libyan. To save time, let’s just assume I’m always right.”
She looked behind her at Jinn, who was fast asleep in the backseat. The peaceful expression on her face was reward enough. A new-looking cell phone peeked out from her pants pocket.
Funny, she never told me she had a phone. Leine would have to ask her about it when she woke up.
She turned toward the front and settled back in her seat.
“What did you do before you came to work for SHEN?” she asked Rami.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I understand if you’d rather not talk about it.”
“It isn’t that I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, finally. “It’s more that I would like to put the experience behind me.” He paused before continuing. “I am originally from Mali. I traveled north to find work, with the intention of possibly going on to Europe. You see, I met a man who told me he would take me to Italy, for a price.”
“Ah.” Leine could guess what happened to him but figured if he wanted to tell her, he would—on his own terms and in his own time.
“He was not a good man,” he continued. “He took my money and imprisoned me, along with other men from my country.” Rami stared out through the windshield, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. “They beat us to keep us from joining together to fight.”
“How did you escape?”
“One night, the man came to the place where we slept and forced three of the prisoners to go with him. I followed these men to see where they were going and couldn’t believe my eyes.” He shook his head at the memory. “He took them to a courtyard filled with men I’d never seen before, and ordered them to take their clothes off. He showed them a gun and threatened to shoot them if they didn’t do what he said. Then he made them stand on a long, wooden platform. As soon as they did, the other men in the courtyard began to shout out how much they would pay. The man with the gun would try to get them to bid higher by pointing out how strong they were, or how young and healthy.”
“A slave auction.”
Rami nodded, his eyes wide. “I knew then that I had to leave, no matter what. I could not believe that this kind of thing still happened. How could this be? I thought slavery had been abolished long ago.”
The reality was that slavery, in its bloody, horrific, historical sense, still happened in modern times—albeit not openly. A recent exposé by CNN about the burgeoning slave auctions in Libya set off an uproar in Europe and the United States. Leine hoped the outrage would spur change, but she wasn’t holding her breath. Talk was cheap. The celebrities who were now expressing their horror at the abominable practice of selling another human being would soon find a different cause du jour, abandoning these recent victims when the reality of trying to affect change set in. She didn’t judge them, though. Systemic problems couldn’t be fixed with a well-placed tweet or a flood of donations. It would take prolonged effort by hundreds of dedicated people to make a difference.
Which was why Leine did what she did: making a change, no matter how small.
“Is that why you chose to work for SHEN?” she asked.
“Yes—I wish to save others from this kind of treatment. No one deserves to be beaten or sold.”
Leine leaned her head back and stared out the window. “You are so right, Rami.”
They continued in silence, each with their own private thoughts. Twenty-five minutes later, they crested a rise for their first view of the camp. Stretched before them lay a grid of formerly white but now dust-covered tents surrounded by a chain link fence topped with concertina wire. The occasional bright red water truck punctuated the military-precise set up. Camp Azziz was one of the larger refugee sites in Libya built by the non-government organization, We Care International. There were no plans for what to do with the 9,000 inhabitants, and most had resigned themselves to living out their lives there.
Rami pulled up to the entrance and Leine got out to speak with the guard. She showed him her press credentials and he checked for her name on a visitor list. Once he’d confirmed her appointment, she walked back to the Land Cruiser.
“Looks like they’ll allow us to enter as long as I take responsibility for Jinn. They’re on lockdown since the children went missing, so you won’t be able to drive the Toyota through. You can park over there.” She pointed at a loosely defined parking area to their left. “There’s a cantina just inside the entrance where you can get
some tea, if you like.”
“I will wait out here in the car park. I prefer to remain with the vehicle.” He checked the dashboard. “We have plenty of fuel, so I can run the AC if I need it, and there is enough drinking water.”
“All right. This shouldn’t take more than an hour, tops.” She leaned down and looked inside the SUV at Jinn, who’d awakened when they stopped. “Ready to go?”
Jinn nodded. She climbed out of the vehicle and they walked to the entrance. The guard waved them through, directing them to the admin tent.
“Ava Yardley, from Slam News,” she said to the harried-looking man at the reception desk, once they were inside. “I’m here to interview Director La Pointe.”
“Assistant Director Hakim, but you can call me Kadeem. And who are you?” he asked, smiling at Jinn. In addition to his starched, white button-down Oxford shirt, the round spectacles he wore gave him a slightly bookish appearance.
Jinn smiled back and said, “I am called Jinn.”
“She’s looking for her mother,” Leine explained. “We think she may have come to the camp when Qaram was destroyed.”
Kadeem reached behind him for a large three-ring binder and slid it over the counter toward Jinn. “These are the names of everyone who has been through here since the camp was established. Most are in alphabetical order, but there are several pages at the back that were incorporated after this list was printed out. Before I arrived,” he added.
“Can she use the table over there while I speak with the director?”
“Of course.”
Leine carried the heavy binder over to a plastic table on the other side of the tent and pulled a chair up for Jinn to use. “The interview shouldn’t take more than an hour, and probably less depending on what the director has to say. You’ll be all right?”
Jinn sat down and gave her a look that said, are you kidding me? “I don’t know, Ava. What do you think?”
Leine almost laughed out loud at the sarcastic remark. The kid had survived on the streets of Tripoli by herself for two years. What the hell was she thinking?