The Secrets We Live In: A Novel

by Fazle Chowdhury

  Zain agreed and stood to leave.

  “Before you go, let me tell you just one thing. This is a catastrophe unlike anything Europe has ever seen. As an ambassador, you can make a difference. So I ask you—as an old friend, despite our differences—to go with my Chief of Army staff, General Didier—I know he speaks very highly of you—to see what is happening on the ground. He’ll provide a helicopter. I know you’re upset with me and that we’ve drifted apart, but don’t let an opportunity pass you by to better Europe, like we talked about.”

  Zain thought hard for a moment. It was only a trip. Enjoy or not, he would see it first-hand.

  “When can I expect General Didier’s call?” Zain asked.

  “He is at Villacoublay right now. I can have a car take you there, and I am sure he’ll be more than happy to go with you. They take out a chopper every hour.”

  Zain turned to leave but stopped himself before exiting the Salon des Ambassadeurs.

  “Dominique, Europe did change, but we were the suckers who dreamed it to be our playground. It never was. And you and I didn’t drift apart. You chose power, and I chose a dream. The real tragedy here is that you just didn’t know how badly you wanted it. The difference was I knew that all along.”

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  On that warm afternoon, Zain took an H-160 helicopter with General Didier to Calais to see the large wave of migrants Prime Minister LaRue had warned about. The trip was quiet and tense. Zain had an important meeting with Kamikazed on his mind. He was aching to know what she had found out about Aylin.

  After half an hour, the pilot announced that they were about to land.

  “Stay on course,” Didier ordered.

  “Why is there smoke on this side General,” asked Zain.

  “These are campsites,” yelled the uninvited Chevalier over the noise of the chopper blades.

  “They move to different spots from night to night, so they are not forcibly moved.”

  “General, can you have your pilot go a little closer to the ground?” asked Zain.

  “It might help to view the area.”

  “That’s too close,” said the General.

  “We will land in an area a little further away, and then we can actually be on site.”

  Calais was a conveniently unoccupied area in the north and a key area for migrants. The police had tried to move them to decent shelter points without much success. The tents and sleeping bags were visible from the helicopter.

  The helicopter landed at a barren army airstrip in Lille, ninety-seven kilometers away. As the helicopter landed, a military officer came running to greet them.

  “General, Ambassador, Mr. Minister, my jeep is ready for you,” said Captain Pierre Dubois as he saluted.

  With four convoys behind them, Chevalier, Didier, and Zain were escorted to the center of Calais. As they drove through empty land, Zain feared how the medics would treat these groups whom, according to the army’s reports, had hiked more than sixty-five hundred kilometers with almost no food and water.

  Captain Pierre Dubois explained that Alice Derrida, the Mayor of the nearby Saint-Valery-sur-Somme, a former human rights lawyer, and Zain’s friend, complained to the press that reporters were not allowed to talk to migrants. They did not know the state of their health, the condition of the refugees, or their status. The situation seemed to have gotten worse, certainly after Foreign Minister Toussaint politicized the matter, culminating in major protests all around the country to deny compassion to the refugees. An open debate had taken place in political circles whether sovereignty was under threat, as the flow of refugees had extended the borders of the British Royal Navy into the shores, culminating in the “unmanageable crisis.”

  “There has been some friction in these areas,” yelled Chevalier, oblivious to the fact that everyone could hear him just fine.

  “I hear stories of evictions, but the police are stretched between requests of local residents and trying to keep the refugees out,” said Captain Dubois

  The convoy stopped.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Zain.

  “We’ve arrived,” said Captain Dubois.

  The General stepped out of the car, as did Chevalier, and Zain moved quickly to keep up with them. He had never seen such a sight before. The area was filled with tents, people, large arrays of garbage, and the police monitoring the migrants’ every move.

  “How many are there of them?” asked Zain.

  “About six thousand,” said Captain Dubois.

  “In such a small area?” Zain was shocked.

  “I know. It’s worse than a nightmare,” said the Captain.

  The four, along with three soldiers that accompanied them, stood still and took in all of the sounds of the place. Zain heard a muddle of voices and children crying. He saw a little girl walking with a crutch cuddle with a woman who placed a small, ragged cloth over her head. Zain assumed the child suffered from terrible headaches, and she looked in horrific pain. Next to them was a small hut of sorts, where a group of women comforted another one of them who was weeping. Another little girl seemed to have permanent damage to her legs and was carried around by a young woman. Everyone had bruises, and white bandages were a common sight. It was hard for Zain to see and stomach all.

  “If it makes you feel any better, some are starting to leave,” said Dubois.

  “Where do they go after here?” asked Zain.

  “They’re headed to England,” he said.

  “How do they cross the Channel?” Zain asked.

  “Same way they did on their way here...they’ll swim or take a barely functioning boat.”

  The General had received a report from Dubois on the ground explaining that the police bring in trucks to move items that the migrants left behind, such as clothes and rubbish, to waste disposal centers. When they find minors, they had no choice but to call for social services, who were stretched thin.

  “Look, look, Zain.” Chevalier pointed to a group of men removing a tent and other items no longer in use.

  Zain thought if it would be worthwhile to speak to these people. Dubois explained that news of some aid agencies wanting to welcome some of the women and children to a facility to help re-build these communities had been floating, but nothing had been done so far.

  Dubois went on to say the refugees had created a community for themselves a few miles away and had created some kind of livable condition for themselves, at least better than here. The problem, however, is still not under control, and like the pictures he saw in the news, more were trooping in large numbers.

  “Can you see what they are doing?”

  Zain asked as he scanned the crowd. Dubois gave him a tour of the refugee camp, and he discovered that the adults could barely speak English, but many of the children and teenagers could speak fluent French, German, and Spanish. Many of them had sorrowful eyes, and the look of hopelessness made Zain sick. He knew they had all lost someone—he could recognize that look in them because he’d had it himself for the last twenty years.

  “Why are they moving in such large numbers?”.

  “For their own safety,” said Dubois,

  who said those words like they were supposed to explain all that the refugees had been through.

  “Some of these children lost their parents in the war—probably, some of them went missing during the chaos. These are the lucky ones that found a way to escape, but there are more on the way.” As Zain listened to every word, a small girl with a beautiful smile rushed to Zain and grabbed his legs. Zain was moved to tears, and he knew something had to be done. The ambassador picked up the little boy clinging to his feet, tossed her into the air, and caught her safely in his arms. She laughed with excitement and rushed to join her friends with glee. The touch of a child and her laughter moved Zain.

  “We need to do something ab
out this, General,” Zain said.

  “With all due respect, how? There are so many,” said the General.

  “There ’'s no harm in trying. Maybe we can get the Prime Minister to see things from our perspective. Those people need help,” Zain said with empathy.

  “I need to talk to my Prime Minister as I can.”

  “Not yet,” called out Dubois as he noted something down.

  Zain could not dispute, the refugee situation was becoming overwhelming. The local government needed all the help they could get, and now Zain saw this first hand. Dubois explained that whatever the army tried to do was not working. But Zain already had powerful enemies, and his presence here was just something that could blow up a story that could potentially cause him harm from his own government.

  “I need another meeting with La Rue,” Zain said before running off.

  “This is not what I expected. This is chaos.”

  he saw hungry faces and lost looks on the faces of people moving around.

  “Didn’t you just have a meeting with him, and so what will the government do about this? They can’t manage this, you know,” said the General.

  “Well, we tried telling you Ambassador that, but you wouldn’t listen,” said Chevalier.

  Zain heaved a deep sigh. Talking to his own bosses to help with the refugee crisis was not going to be an easy task. Just looking at the refugee camp from a distance gave Zain a nostalgic feeling. It was as if the little girl he met was his own child. His mind drifted to an episode in his past when he had problems with his own father after he wished to marry Aylin.

  His father had someone else in mind for him. This didn’t sit well with the senior Auzaar. Their relationship was always difficult, and now it was strained.

  “This is how you repay us after all the sacrifices we made for you.”

  The only words that would ring in his mind again and again and one that described the cruel relationship he shared with his late father.

  Zain knew if he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Aylin, there was only one way out, leaving his father’s company and all the inheritance for good. The senior Auzaar was strict on traditional values and norms, but now his son defied him, breaking a sacred rule.

  Things took a different turn. While in Granada, he felt an unimagined emptiness. Ha had been banished from his father’s home. He was expelled from the position as a board member, and now all he had was an ending contract with his second division Spanish football team. Banished, he longed for a place to call his own home with Aylin. Zain felt the same emptiness when he saw the children of a life he could have had but did not.

  “General Didier can I go in?” asked Zain.

  “Absolutely NOT…you are here only as an observer!” he said.

  Zain protested.

  “Come on, Jeremiah Didier!”

  “The answer is NO, Zain,” said the sensitive General as he did not want to risk his men to escort an Ambassador into an area where the police had very little control. It was a huge liability for him, and Zain was also a friend. He could send him to this area which he thought was an outright wilderness of no-good things.

  “Ok, I’ll go by myself!” protested Zain.

  “No, I’m coming with you,” cried out Chevalier.

  Dubois and his men opposed this immediately and petitioned the General to stop his friends.

  “My constituency is not so far away from here. Like the police, I too have some rights here,” called out Chevalier,

  “Besides, no one messes with a former Rugby player like me.”

  “Former Rugby player?” called out the General.

  Chevalier and Zain would walk into what Dubois specifically warned against. Zain threw his jacket and tie in the jeep. When they walked a little further, they heard, “STOP!”

  It was the General’s command.

  “I’m the son of Haitian Immigrants. You need me more than a rugby player,” the General pressed.

  Didier removed his tunic and gave the tie to his liaison. Two of the soldiers removed their belts which consisted of weapons and left them at their vehicles to go along with the three as Dubois waited.

  Chevalier noticed as they walked further in, the ground was torridly wet. Perhaps it had rained the night before, but it hadn’t. This would be just sinking mud. How could one tent take over such a space? he asked. Worst still, how would any cars drive through these areas or even trucks?

  Zain’s attention reached over to a child just sitting down. It was a little girl. She had dirt all over her face. A part of her cloth ripped apart. Her feet were dirty, and her fingers were draped with mud. The astonishment at Zain’s face would not go away to see such a child living in such a barren state.

  “Where is your mother?” he asked the child.

  The child nodded her head.

  “Get out of there!” shouted someone.

  Zain could not spot who said that. Chevalier went forward to speak to a few, thinking to quell whatever objections they had leaving Zain and the General. But still, the child said no word. She just gazed at him with her blue eyes and her rounded cheeks. Zain asked one of the bystanders if they could translate what or if she could say anything. Then a woman came running. Zain assumed it was the mother. Immediately asked another man who stood still. A ragged-looking man, chewing his toothpick to translate that she didn’t mean any harm but only…

  The woman spoke in French and then in English. She begged not to take her child away. Zain calmed her down, stating they had no such intention but only wanted to know what was happening. Zain bent over and spoke more with this woman. He had one of the escorts signal to Dubois. The Captain brought some water with him as she looked thirsty. The woman said her name was Fatima. She had come from Salamiyah, a city in western Syria. She and her husband used to work at a local school as Chemistry teachers. He had drowned on the way here, and the only thing she had left was her prized daughter. She was heading to Bournemouth, where she had a brother.

  A few steps away, a man began conversing with the General.

  “It’s very difficult for us,”

  Yousif was from Mudaisis, from the south of Iraq.

  “We have no place to sleep, we barely have food, and when it rains here, we suffer from cold and fever and then have to worry for the people to come to clear our areas.”

  The General listened intensely. A part of him wanted to do something.

  Chevalier came back, having negotiated with a few medical volunteers to not interfere as they were present and hearing the stories of those who came here. But as he was told, this area was a transit point. Everyone who came would not be here for long, and ultimately it would be England’s problem to figure out the influx of these populations. But as Chevalier learned, people were dying and burying the dead. Disease spreading had become an outright unmanageable state of turmoil for the people here. This is why they were determined to clear the area as fast as possible.

  Chevalier reminded the others that during the 1990s, when people of Kosovo fled and had arrived here, they too were headed to England. But now, if the migrants were not in the forests, they were in the streets, and more problems could develop if this situation was not handled properly.

  “What is your daughter’s name?” asked Zain to the woman.

  “Her name is Aylin.”

  Zain felt as though someone had choked his breath like he couldn’t breathe. He remained composed. But in that child, Zain felt his own. It was bad enough what he was feeling that week but what was more painful was that he did not want a similar fate for this child. Zain feared what if both mother and child would perish if clashes erupted between the authorities and the migrants. He could sense the lack of protection and welfare.

  “Ah, the cool breeze is coming,” said Chevalier.

  His words were not of relief but warning. Zain thought it was the start of the cold night that would beckon among all those who habited here. He was almost sure that larger-scale means to provide heat or food was a hea
vy burden to the local councils or non-government organizations that descended upon the area.

  “Is there a facility nearby where these two can stay at least until the cold weather stops? Zain asked.

  All declined except Chevalier.

  “There is a pensioners home close by. I know someone who owes me a favor,” said Chevalier.

  Zain did not want Fatima and Aylin to stay in this area. He requested Chevalier to house them until he saw that they were airlifted to Bournemouth to be united with their family. The General and Dubois were against the idea.

  The small airport in Lille used by the army was fine, but if word got around, the army could not manage large groups like those present here to congregate there.

  “Captain Dubois, can your men work with my office to airlift these two?” Zain asked.

  The compassionate Dubois did not have the heart to say no. The General next to him knew how much risk this posed, but he relented. Dubois gave instructions to his men to transport the mother and daughter quietly when darkness settles.

  Chevalier insisted that the English would not permit so easily, and he would arrange for some nurses to do a full health check so the customs wouldn’t make their arrival harder than it has to. He also warned they might be arrested and deported back to where they came from.

  “Don’t worry, Zain, I’ll plan this out,” said the General.

  “And what about the rest of them?” asked Chevalier.

  “We’ll have to figure out a way for Mayor Derrida to take the lead and launch a campaign to get these people to safety, and I’ll start putting together a fund to make that all possible!” said Zain.

  The General whispered to Chevalier.

  “Told you he’ll come around.”

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  “Monsieur Ambassador, I would need you to come to the police station one more time,” called Inspector Pasquer as he spoke on the other side of the phone call.