I can see Omar is getting a bit uncomfortable, so I change the subject.
‘We’ve got some good news,’ I say to Mum and Dad. ‘Bibi’s really good at soccer. She’s going to be a soccer star.’
Bibi glows. She punches me hard on the shoulder. ‘So’s Jamal,’ she says. ‘Tell them the plan, Jammy.’
I stare at her.
Jammy?
‘A soccer star needs a nickname,’ says Bibi. ‘Omar told me.’
I tell Mum and Dad our plan for the future of Afghanistan. About having soccer careers in Australia and helping form a new government at home so we can all go back safely.
Mum and Dad look at each other and their eyes fill with tears again. I know how they feel. Happiness can do that.
42
Andrew is sitting in a small office in one of the peeling buildings.
‘Hello, Jamal,’ he says. ‘I’m so happy for you.’
I take a deep breath and open my mouth to ask the question I’ve come to ask.
Before I can, Andrew speaks again. ‘I’m also very sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have told you the truth about this place. I knew you thought it was Australia, but after what you’d been through I couldn’t bear to …’
He shrugs. I’ve never seen an Australian look so miserable.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I understand.’
But there’s something I don’t understand.
‘Why did you bring us here?’ I ask.
Andrew looks even more miserable.
‘The Australian government has changed its refugee policy,’ he says. ‘That is, they’ve revised the procedures and protocols. That is …’
I watch him struggling to find the right words. I wish he could. The words he’s used so far don’t sound right for an Australian, not even one speaking my language.
‘There was an election in Australia,’ he says. ‘The Australian government thought they’d get more votes by keeping you out.’ His voice goes even quieter and sadder than before. ‘And they did.’
I try to understand what Andrew is saying. I think I’m getting the idea. I’m also getting a sick and anxious feeling in my tummy.
Some Australians don’t want us.
My head is spinning.
Andrew stands up and goes to a shelf and hands something to me. It’s my soccer ball.
‘I mended it for you,’ he says.
I stare at the new patch on top of all the others. It’s an Australian flag.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
I give him a look so he knows I don’t just mean about the ball. So he knows I mean about everything.
But I don’t understand. Here’s a man who’s as kind as can be, from a country where people’s hearts are bigger than warm loaves, and yet some people there don’t want us.
Why?
‘Give it a try,’ says Andrew, nodding at the ball.
I’m not really in the mood for ball tricks, but Andrew’s looking so unhappy I do it to help him feel better. I drop the ball onto my foot and try to flip it to my knee. My hip explodes with pain. I scream and jerk my leg out.
The ball smashes through the window.
‘Sorry,’ I gasp as I stagger against Andrew’s desk.
Andrew doesn’t even look at the window. He looks at me, his face creased with worry.
‘You poor kid,’ he says. ‘You need medical attention. And you’re not the only one. We haven’t even got an X-ray machine.’
He sits down in his chair and puts his head in his hands.
For a second I think it’s about the window, but it’s not.
‘I hate what we’re doing to you people,’ he says quietly. ‘This isn’t what I thought we’d be doing and I hate being here and I’m so sorry.’
I can see he’s struggling to control his feelings. It’s what he’s been trained to do. But it’s not working, probably because he’s been on duty for such long hours lately.
A tear is rolling down his face.
He blinks hard.
I hobble round to his side of the desk and pat him on the arm.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I say.
I know how he feels. It can be very sad and lonely, being a long way from home. And having a dream and finding it’s going to be harder than you thought.
‘Do you know the secret of soccer?’ I ask him.
Andrew shakes his head.
I tell him. ‘Never give up,’ I say, ‘even when things are looking hopeless.’
For some reason this makes Andrew blink even harder, so I put my arm round his shoulders.
He looks up at me with a sad smile.
I smile back and think of all the other Australians there must be who are like Andrew.
‘Everything will be OK,’ I say to him. ‘I know it will.’
I look out of the broken window.
The sea is like a glistening desert in the morning sun.
Down on the beach I can see Mum and Dad and Bibi walking together at the water’s edge. Even though they’re picking their way through plastic bags and rotting seaweed, they look so happy my chest fills with love and I feel so lucky.
I know this isn’t really Australia, but it feels like Australia to me.
Teachers’ Notes
For Boy Overboard and Girl Underground
Teachers’ Notes which include a historical
and cultural background to the events in
this story, visit the Puffin website:
www.puffin.com.au
About the Author
Morris Gleitzman grew up in England and came to Australia when he was sixteen. He was a frozen-chicken thawer, sugar-mill rolling-stock unhooker, fashion-industry trainee, student, department-store Santa, TV producer, newspaper columnist and screenwriter. Then he wrote a novel for young people. Now he’s a children’s author. Boy Overboard is his eighteenth book.
Visit Morris at his website: www.morrisgleitzman.com
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