Refugee Boy

by Benjamin Zephaniah

  In the morning a very excited Mrs Fitzgerald shook Alem with one hand – ‘Alem, Alem, wake up!’ In the other hand she held a spatula. She was wearing a flowery apron and was flushed with excitement. ‘Alem, good news! I’ve just had a phone call from Great Milford. You can start school on Monday. Isn’t that just wonderful now?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ Alem replied, excited but a little too sleepy to express his excitement, ‘it’s just wonderful now. How long can I stay there for?’

  ‘You can stay there for as long as you like,’ she said, levelling out her voice. ‘You can stay there until you’re sixteen if you like, if you’re good, that is; it’s your school.’

  Alem swiftly sat up in the bed. ‘What, do you think I will still be here when I am sixteen?’

  ‘That’s another question,’ Mrs Fitzgerald replied, ‘and one we don’t know the answer to – so let’s deal with what we know now, you’re going to school. Come down and get your breakfast, there’s a good boy.’ She looked down on the floor and then at the bookshelves. ‘Alem, Mr Fitzgerald made all these wonderful bookshelves so that the books could be put on them for safekeeping; try using them, please.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald, I’m sorry,’ Alem replied, looking down at the tower blocks of books he had created.

  The main topic of conversation at breakfast was the admission of Alem to the school. Alem asked many questions about attending the school, most of which were about money. He found it hard to believe that not only was the attendance at the school free, but he didn’t have to pay for books either. Mrs Fitzgerald told Alem that she already had a uniform on order with a deposit paid.

  Alem and Mrs Fitzgerald spent most of Saturday shopping on Romford Road. Alem’s uniform was ready and waiting for him and it fitted perfectly, but he also had to try on new trainers and get the right bag to put them in. Most of the shopkeepers were familiar with Mrs Fitzgerald. Alem could see that she had done this before, but still he felt special being the centre of attention.

  He spent most of Sunday trying on his new uniform.

  Chapter 9

  ˜ First Class ˜

  ‘Those of you who are observant will have noticed that new wastepaper baskets have been placed at various locations around the playground. Personally, I have always felt that the number of bins that we had previously was adequate, but judging by the amount of litter we are finding in the playground, it seems that many of you are unable to use one unless it is right under your nose. I do hope that you will make use of these waste-placement vessels from now on. They do cost money, they do have a purpose, and they do help to make the school a much better place to be in.’

  Alem sat right at the back of the assembly hall listening to the headmaster speaking. He had never seen anything like this. Teachers looked on from various points around the hall as the headmaster delivered his address to the fidgety pupils from the raised stage. Alem was mesmerised.

  ‘Unfortunately, two boys were permanently excluded last week for bringing knives on to the school premises. We exclude pupils only very reluctantly from this school, but there are simply no two ways about it, we will not tolerate the presence of any weapons on these premises. We, all of us here, sent a message of condolence to St Luke’s when Mr Gatsby was stabbed to death in his own classroom. And then, in this very hall, we spoke about what could have possibly led up to such a killing taking place in an educational institution. And all of us agreed – and if I remember well, there were no dissenting voices – that we would try our very best to make sure that we never reached that point. Well, this was the second time those boys had been caught with knives. They simply could not be allowed to get away with it a second time, so I was left with no alternative but to exclude them. Let this be a lesson to you all, but more important, let the death of Mr Gatsby be a lesson to us all. Remember our school motto, live to learn, learn to live, and let us be true to our word.’

  Alem was still fully focused on the headmaster. He took in every single word as if his life depended on it. He was shocked by what he was hearing and wondered if the headmaster might be exaggerating. This was the first talk of anything like war that he had heard since arriving in Britain and here he was, hearing it on his first day at school.

  ‘Now I want to give you some good news,’ the headmaster continued. ‘Those of you that read the Newham Recorder would have seen two of our pupils on its front page this week. Both Teresa Grant and Inderjit Singh made the front page of our local paper because of the amount of time they have devoted to helping the older members of our community. This is an example of the kind of news that Great Milford School should be known for; these are the kind of pupils that we can all be proud of. I would like them both to come up on the stage to receive one of our very own Positive Pupil’s Certificates.’

  The two pupils walked to the stage to receive their certificates as the teachers and the other pupils clapped. Alem clapped and quietly whispered to himself, ‘Positive pupil.’ He liked the sound of it.

  ‘Now, off to your classes, and let’s be wiser come the end of the day,’ said the headmaster as the two pupils left the stage. Immediately, the hall erupted with sound as everyone stood up and began to chatter.

  ‘Quietly!’ shouted the headmaster at the top of his voice.

  ‘Hello, Alem!’ The voice came from a teacher approaching him. She was wearing a sari and it looked to Alem as if she was gliding towards him. ‘My name is Mrs Kumar, I’m head of your form and I need to give you this.’ She handed him a timetable. ‘If you spend a few minutes on it, you’ll see how it works. Pretty straightforward really, subject, classroom, time, it’s easy, and if you have any problems finding the classrooms, just ask another pupil. Your first lesson is English. I’m going that way, follow me.’

  Two corridors later, Mrs Kumar opened the classroom door for Alem. ‘There you go,’ she said and walked away.

  Alem nervously walked into the room. There was no teacher. Pupils were sitting or standing around their desks talking loudly and joking. Alem didn’t know what to do with himself. He stood just inside the room waiting for something to happen, hoping that the teacher would come and instruct him on protocol, or at least tell him where to sit. Some of the pupils glanced at Alem but carried on telling their stories and trying to make each other laugh. Alem felt insignificant.

  Suddenly a pupil ran into the classroom, swinging open the door with great force. It hit Alem in the back and knocked him to the floor. The whole class began laughing. Alem lay completely still. He was physically unhurt but wished he could disappear through the crack in the floorboard that he was now looking down at. He wanted to fade away and reappear back home with the Fitzgeralds.

  ‘To your seats – now!’ The powerful shout came from a teacher standing beside Alem. The voice filled the room; the pupils fell silent, leaving the teacher’s shout to reverberate around the room for a few seconds.

  Alem looked up; the teacher towered above him like a giant. He leaned down and stretched out a helping hand.

  ‘And what are you doing down there?’

  ‘Getting up,’ shouted an unidentifiable pupil.

  ‘That’s enough of that.’ The teacher helped Alem to his feet. ‘What happened here?’ he continued.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alem’s words were barely audible.

  ‘You don’t know; why don’t you know?’

  Alem had nothing new to say. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It was my fault, sir,’ a voice interrupted.

  ‘You again, Fern?’

  ‘Sir, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was running to get to the lesson, and when I opened the door, the door hit him and he fell to the floor. It was an accident, sir, I didn’t mean it – honest, sir.’

  ‘Is this true?’ the teacher said, looking towards Alem.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alem said completely sincerely.

  All the pupils burst into laughter once more.

  ‘Quiet!’ the teacher shouted loudly. He put his hands on h
is hips and growled at Alem in a feeble attempt to look hard. ‘Do you know any other words?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alem hesitated. There were sniggers as the pupils tried hard to hold back and not laugh out loud.

  Alem was confused. ‘No – I mean yes – I mean I do, yes, I do know some more words.’

  ‘Good,’ said the teacher, sensing a conclusion. ‘Is his version of events true?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alem said loud and clear.

  ‘OK, that’s all I wanted to know. Now, both of you, to your seats – and Fern, don’t run in the building, and watch where you’re going or you’ll end up on the floor and you’ll be lost for words.’

  The boy walked away. Alem looked at the teacher, not knowing what to do with himself. ‘Please, teacher, where do I sit?’

  ‘On a chair,’ shouted another voice.

  There was more laughter from the class.

  ‘Quiet, please,’ said the teacher. ‘Wherever you can find a seat,’ he said, looking around the classroom.

  From the back of the room the boy who had just knocked Alem down spoke. ‘He could sit next to me, sir,’ he said, pointing to the empty seat next to him.

  ‘Would you like to sit there?’ the teacher asked, unsure whether Alem would want to sit next to the boy who had just floored him.

  ‘Yes,’ Alem replied, tactfully adding ‘sir’ in imitation of the other boy addressing the teacher.

  Alem was pleased to be going to the back of the class. After his big entrance, all he wanted to do now was sink into the background. But that was not to happen; he was to be the centre of attention for a little longer.

  ‘You must be the new boy,’ the teacher said to Alem. Now the whole class turned to look at Alem again.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And your name?’

  ‘Alem Kelo.’

  ‘Well, my name is Mr Walsh and I’m sure you’ll get to know the rest of the class soon enough. Have you ever read Charles Dickens, Alem?’

  ‘No, but I have heard of him,’ said Alem enthusiastically.

  ‘Very good,’ said the teacher. ‘We have all read Great Expectations, and today I would like us to discuss some of the issues raised in the novel. So for now you can just listen, but if you would like to make a contribution to the debate, feel free to do so.’

  The pupils turned to face the teacher and the lesson started. Although Alem had not read Great Expectations, there were plenty of times when he wanted to join in the debate but he just didn’t want to attract any kind of attention to himself.

  Outside the classroom after the lesson the boy who had knocked Alem down went straight to him.

  ‘Sorry about that, mate, I really didn’t mean it. I thought I was late for the lesson so there’s me running through the school like a nutter and there you was behind the door. Sorry.’

  ‘It is OK, I was not hurt,’ Alem replied smiling.

  ‘So yu new then?’

  ‘Yes, my first day and now I shall never forget my first entrance into an English classroom.’

  ‘I said I’m sorry,’ the boy replied swiftly.

  ‘No, it’s OK, maybe in the future I will think it was quite funny – it’s possible.’

  ‘My name’s Robert. Have you got science now?’

  Alem pulled out the timetable from his bag and looked at it. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me too,’ Robert replied, walking away quickly. ‘Let’s go.’

  There were no major problems throughout the rest of the day. Alem’s approach to the lessons was pretty much the same: take it easy, look, listen and pick up what you can. The teachers were aware that Alem was starting in the middle of the school term and most soon realised that he was new to the country.

  At dinnertime Robert found Alem wandering in the playground and invited him out to the fish and chip shop. They joined the queue and after a wait of about fifteen minutes, they managed to get themselves a bag of chips each. Alem had developed a habit of reading every notice in sight and was amused by the notice on the outside door of the shop. It said: ‘Only 3 schoolchildren at any one time.’

  After eating their chips they went on to the newsagent’s to buy some chocolates and there he saw a similar sign: ‘No more than 3 schoolchildren allowed.’

  Alem had read about the English tradition of queuing, but after spending most of his dinnertime waiting in line, he couldn’t understand why these shopkeepers were so keen on preserving this tradition and making them queue outside their shops for as long as possible.

  Alem and Robert were sitting on a wall finishing their chocolates when Robert looked at his watch. ‘Only ten minutes left, guy,’ he shouted, alluding to some type of emergency. He reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Want a fag?’

  Alem was horrified. ‘Do you smoke?’ he said, shaking his head vigorously.

  ‘Yeah, so do you want one or what?’

  ‘No,’ Alem replied calmly, ‘I’m much too young to smoke and look how close you are to school.’

  ‘Loads of kids smoke, look.’

  Alem looked around and noticed that many of the pupils were smoking, some even while heading back towards the school.

  ‘Is this allowed?’ he said, surprised.

  ‘They can’t stop us,’ Robert said smugly. ‘What can they do? So long as you put it out before you enter the school gates, you’re OK. You see that girl there?’ he said, pointing his cigarette in the direction of a girl walking towards them. ‘Look, she’s smoking, she smokes like a factory, and her dad’s a teacher, so don’t fret, guy, yu safe, trust me.’ He held the cigarette packet out, inviting Alem to partake.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ Alem said, pulling out his timetable to indicate his lack of interest.

  At the end of the day the smokers were more obvious. Alem found that as soon as they left the school grounds, many pupils lit cigarettes and few made any attempt to hide them. One boy even waved to a teacher who was leaving the school in his car.

  Alem made his way home alone. There was a spring in his step. All things considered, he thought it had been an interesting, if not perfect, first day in school. When he got to the road where he lived, he ran the rest of the way. He rang the bell and knocked on the door. Mrs Fitzgerald opened the door and Alem bounced in, a little out of breath but excited.

  ‘Mrs Fitzgerald, school was so good! So many different students, so many different lessons, and every lesson was in a different classroom.’

  ‘So you liked it then?’ Mrs Fitzgerald gave him a warm, motherly smile.

  ‘Yes. I made a few mistakes and I got pushed over flat on the ground, but that was an accident. It’s good, I liked it.’

  ‘And you want to go back?’ she asked, heading for the kitchen with Alem trailing behind her.

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Very good. Now, Alem, I want you to go up to your room, put your things away and change your clothes. The lady from the refugee place rang earlier, she wants to see you. She said she’d be here soon. Hurry up now.’

  Alem looked puzzled. ‘What does she want to see me for?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know, but don’t worry. I asked her the very same question and she told me not to worry. She said it looked like good news.’

  An hour later Mariam arrived at the house. Mr Fitzgerald joined them in the living room, knowing that something was going to happen.

  Mariam looked Alem up and down as if he was a relative she hadn’t seen for years. ‘You look very well, Alem. How was school?’

  ‘All right, thank you.’

  ‘Did you make any friends?’

  ‘I spoke to many people and made one friend.’

  ‘That’s not bad,’ Mariam said.

  ‘Please, please sit down,’ Mr Fitzgerald interjected. They all found themselves seats.

  Mariam continued with her small talk. ‘When I first went to school it took me a whole week before I made any friends. It was terrible; things got better but it took time.’


  ‘Cup of tea?’ Mrs Fitzgerald asked and everyone except Alem nodded their heads eagerly.

  Once the tea was on the table, Mariam revealed her reason for coming. When she spoke, she addressed Alem as if no one else was in the room.

  ‘Well, Alem, as you know, your application for political asylum has been submitted and we are still waiting for a response from the Home Office. We know that you said you didn’t have any relatives in Britain but we still made some investigations just in case there were some that you didn’t know about, and we have had no luck there.’

  Alem couldn’t understand why she should doubt him. ‘I told you that I have no relatives here. What’s the matter? Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘I believe you,’ Mariam replied, trying to reassure him, ‘but it’s not just about me; besides, we’ve had cases in the past where some asylum seekers genuinely were not aware they had relatives here.’

  ‘If I had relatives here, I would find them myself,’ Alem said slowly and firmly. Mariam knew he meant it.

  She put her file on her lap and began scrabbling through it, speaking as she did so. ‘This arrived yesterday at our head office in London.’ She pulled out a blue airmail letter; she leaned forward to hand it over to Alem. ‘It’s addressed to you, we have not opened it.’

  Alem took one look at it and immediately sprang off his seat. ‘It’s from my father, I can see! It’s from my father, I know it! I know his writing! Oh, Mariam, I am so happy! Mrs Fitzgerald, it’s my father!’

  For a few moments Alem walked in circles around his chair, looking at the letter as if it was a winning lottery ticket which was just about to change his life. The letter was a breakthrough. Everyone else looked at each other and smiled, pleased that Alem was pleased.