by Hamed Amiri
I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right, but I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the pepper.
‘Pour it by the door,’ Dad whispered, and I dumped the whole bag by the door and ran back, picking up my stick again.
Now Dad approached the door slowly, and we realised with horror that he was going to open it. I screwed up my eyes and prepared myself for the thugs standing behind it. Nothing happened.
Instead we were left looking at the hallway, and the remains of what looked like breadcrumbs on the floor. It was almost as if something had tried to eat its way through the door.
‘He was right,’ Dad said with relief. ‘Rats.’
We jumped. ‘Rats?’ we said in disbelief. How could rats have caused all that noise?
‘Is that what the pepper was for?’ asked Mum.
‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘My friend said there are huge rats in this building and the only thing that deters them is the strong taste of pepper. You can drop your bats, boys.’
We put down our weapons. Rats? Huge rats? I had been ready for anything, ready to protect my family against murderous thugs. But as I walked back to bed I shivered. The thought of rats was worse.
*
After six months in Moscow, we had begun to think of it as a sort of home. We had developed a routine as a family and I was enjoying the TV shows, especially Knight Rider. But we knew our journey must continue at some point, as Russia couldn’t offer Hussein the medical treatment he so desperately needed. As the months went by I didn’t notice him deteriorating, but Mum and Dad must have known he was getting weaker, as they seemed anxious to move on.
As for Hussein, he always seemed to take everything in his stride. His default setting was to put others before himself, and he was always more concerned that Hessam and I were okay. He was also protective over Mum and Dad, and he’d do anything to stop them worrying about him.
I had mixed feelings when Dad told us a contact had been in touch and we could move on. I didn’t want to leave this apartment as it was all we’d known for a while, but on the other hand I was keen to get to a safer location. Either way, we had no choice – the call had come, we’d be leaving tonight.
It wasn’t the first time we’d had to move at a moment’s notice, so it didn’t take us long to pack up our belongings. We were to wait until 11pm, when we would be picked up from the apartment by a trafficker, under cover of darkness.
Mum was calm as usual, but I’d grown to understand that this was mostly for our benefit. Over the past months we’d all become much more aware of what was going on, even Hessam, who continued to play the baby. In some ways we were no longer children, but partners with Mum and Dad in what we were trying to do. We’d had to grow up in the last few months, and I suppose I’d always been older than my years, as I had the constant responsibility of watching out for Hussein. And as for Hussein, he was used to facing challenges.
I remember feeling genuinely frightened that night as we waited to be collected. We didn’t know what would happen to us, where we were going or whether it was safe. As always, we were entirely in the hands of the traffickers.
The clock ticked on and 11pm came and went. We were restless, but I struggled to keep my eyes open. I must have dropped off, because suddenly I was jolted awake by the phone ringing. Dad quickly answered, then put it down and said, ‘We’ve got to be ready in 30 minutes.’
As always, we wrapped ourselves in several layers and mentally said goodbye to the ‘home’ we’d known for the last few months. It had kept us safe for the most part.
At around 2am the men came to collect us, and Dad locked the door to the apartment and handed them the keys. We were shown to a waiting car and bundled into the back once more. Dad was able to sit in the front as, with his unusual hazel eyes, he didn’t look as ‘foreign’ as we did.
I was dreading another long journey, never knowing when you were going to stop to go to the toilet or when you would get any food. As we settled into the boot all we could see out of the tops of the windows was the dark sky and fewer and fewer buildings as we left the city.
Hessam fell asleep and I could see Mum praying silently under her breath. I couldn’t see Dad’s face in the front, but I could tell by how upright he was sitting that he was tense.
Minutes became hours, and we had few stops for toilet breaks. Each time we did get out of the car we were somewhere more remote, and there were hardly any people around. It must have been the early hours of the morning, but it was still dark outside.
Suddenly the car took a sharp right onto a bumpy road and we were thrown around in the boot with no warning. Hessam started from his sleep and the lights of the car were turned off. We were told to stay quiet, and once again I found myself holding my breath so I wouldn’t make a sound.
We came to an abrupt stop and the engine was turned off. Translating in my head, I could just work out someone saying to Dad, ‘Get out and take your kids.’
We uncurled ourselves from the boot, glad to stretch our legs, but not having a clue where we were. The gloomy early morning light hit our eyes and we blinked, squinting into the pale sky.
‘Where are we?’ asked Hessam, as in front of us was an opening into what I can only describe as a jungle. It was like a scene from a movie: there were huge leaves and thick undergrowth and the trees were so tall they blocked out a lot of the light. Some of the leaves were bigger than Dad.
‘Wait here,’ said the driver, and he hurried back to his car.
I could see the panic on Dad’s face. Where was he going? He couldn’t just leave us here in the jungle! What were we supposed to do? Before we could shout after him, our driver started the engine and drove off. And there we were, left in the eerie quiet of the early morning, in the middle of nowhere, with no idea of where we were or what to do.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Dad unconvincingly. ‘He’ll be back, it’s fine.’ But in truth we had no idea whether he’d be back. What was to stop him from taking our money and then leaving us in the middle of nowhere?
We found a low branch and settled down to wait. It was good to stretch out our legs, but we were cold and hoped we wouldn’t have to wait for too long. Dad stood nearby, watching for the returning car, while Mum took out some dry bread from a bag, handing us each a piece.
I started to grow more and more impatient as the hours went by. Then, just as we started to believe we really had been left to find our own way, Dad whispered, ‘Shhhhh, I can hear something.’ He turned, cautiously, to the clearing where the car had dropped us, and sure enough we could see a four-by-four approaching from around the corner.
Dad’s guard was up. ‘This must be them,’ he said firmly.
The four-by-four pulled up and a man got out. ‘Get in,’ he ordered, and without hesitation we jumped into the car.
I wonder now in what other circumstances you would get into the car of a complete stranger in the middle of a jungle. And yet we were so relieved to see someone, to not be abandoned in the middle of nowhere, that we would have done anything without question. We were desperate, and it had become normal for us to do what strangers told us.
‘Hold tight,’ said the driver, and he wasn’t joking. He started the engine and charged towards the thick jungle ahead, the four-by-four breaking down undergrowth as we went. There wasn’t a clear path ahead, so we just made one ourselves, the branches scratching and scraping against the paintwork.
It felt like he was testing our limits, trying to scare us. The jungle seemed to be getting even denser, and he didn’t slow down when we hit bumps – in fact, he seemed to speed up. We were being thrown around inside the vehicle like rag dolls and my head hit the ceiling several times.
Eventually, the car slowed down and we saw that we were approaching a clearing. In it was a group of people surrounded by what we assumed were more traffickers. Dad called them ‘mercenaries’, which I suppose is what they were, as they were only really interested in money and certainly not our welfare.
‘Get out’ came from o
ur driver, and we immediately piled out of the vehicle. We stepped straight out onto a muddy patch of ground and could see that the group of people were families with kids just like us. There were children of all ages and elderly people, but they all had the same haunted expression. I realised that’s what we must look like, too.
I wondered what everyone else’s story was. What struggles had they gone through to get here? And what lay ahead for them, and for us? There was no way of telling. It was very possible we would all lose our lives right here in this jungle. And yet there was a sense that we were all in it together somehow. Even though we didn’t know these people there was something that pulled us together. We were all going to look after each other, that much I could tell. Race, religion, colour – none of it matters when you’re out of your comfort zone.
Mum, being Mum, tried to help some of the others who looked cold and hungry. Meanwhile, Hussein started trying to distract the younger children by playing the fool. He always did this – in a stressful situation he would always act the clown, putting himself out there to bring humour and make others laugh. It had always been his way of dealing with his illness, and it came in handy now.
We must have been the last family to arrive, as within a few minutes we were told to get in a line and start walking. No talking, we just had to follow the traffickers wherever they went.
To our alarm they all carried machetes. I wondered again whether we would all be brutally murdered right here in the forest, but Hussein said they were just for cutting back the undergrowth. Sure enough, they led the way, slashing at the leaves and brambles as they walked. Everyone followed behind, and before long we started to hold each other’s hands to help each other.
We walked and walked, and the traffickers stayed ahead, chopping through the thick, humid jungle with their machetes. Dad and Mum clutched onto us tightly, and every now and then Dad would give Hussein a piggyback. He was struggling, but Dad could only carry him some of the way.
As we walked, I got talking to one of the little girls in the group. She said her name was Zara, but I didn’t know where she was from or how she had got here. I asked if she had any brothers or sisters. Unlike most of the other families, she seemed to be alone with her parents.
‘I had a sister,’ she said quietly, and shot a look at her mother.
Before I could try to make sense of this, Dad tugged at my arm. This was his subtle way of telling me to change the subject, but Zara seemed to want to talk about her sister. Before I could stop her she told me how the traffickers had ‘lost her’ along the way. They didn’t know where she was or what had happened to her, but Zara’s dad, clearly upset, explained that there were rumours that young girls were sometimes taken and sold into slavery. They’d tried to save her but they had then targeted the mum and Zara too, and he had been severely beaten.
Until that point I’d thought that our experiences had been unbearable, but meeting Zara’s family put all that into perspective. I wondered what other families in this group had gone through just to get to this point.
I could tell that Dad was shocked by what he had heard. Mum too held our hands tighter, and I could tell their eyes had been opened to a new set of fears. As a family we were holding on to the promise of a ‘safe haven’, a bubble we had created and were willing to take risks for. But what if the risks weren’t worth it? What if the ‘safe haven’ didn’t exist? How much were we willing to sacrifice to get there?
I remember Mum reaching out and holding Zara’s mum’s hand without saying a word. What could we say? They would probably never see their daughter again, and we had no idea how that felt.
‘God give you patience,’ Dad said, giving Zara’s dad a hug.
For us, leaving Herat had been a matter of life and death – both for Mum and for Hussein. But for other families, maybe they regretted taking this risk? Maybe they had no idea how inhuman some people were. Maybe the risk hadn’t been worth it.
The group was subdued as the reality of our situation hit home. We marched on for what must have been several kilometres, the traffickers ahead of us the whole time. Every so often we would have to wait as the ‘watcher’ at the head of the group would confirm that the path was clear. Every time this happened it seemed we had to wait longer and longer, and being in the jungle was taking its toll. There were what seemed like hundreds of mosquitoes, and Hessam in particular was getting badly bitten. Mum would attempt to brush them away, but it was no use.
At the next stop, as we sat on the ground, the wait felt even longer than usual. It seemed like hours, and we were all getting tired and fed up, especially the younger children. Eventually, some of the group went ahead to see what the hold-up was, only to find that the traffickers were nowhere to be seen.
That was it, they were gone, leaving us alone in the jungle with no idea where we were or what we should do now. Dad had that worried look on his face again, and we knew we were in real trouble. Once again we had no idea what to do. What if they never came back and just left us here in the jungle? What if it started to get dark?
We had no means of transport, no food, no shelter and only the clothes we were wearing. I thought of home: the bed I shared with my brothers, the sofra set for dinner, the smell of lamb and saffron coming through from the kitchen. I just wanted to go back.
Mum rallied us by saying that we were a family, we were together and we were heading for a better future. We cheered up a little, and huddled together with the rest of the group. A few of the men volunteered to go ahead and see if they could see anything or anyone who might be able to help.
Mum’s look at Dad said ‘Don’t go’, and he held us tighter, his hands around our shoulders. Being separated was the worst thing that could happen, and we didn’t want to risk it. Instead, Dad tried to distract us with family memories. ‘Remember when Hamed fell into the big pan when he was little and we called him digcheh,’ he said with a cheeky smile. I hated this story, and immediately rose to the bait, getting defensive.
‘That’s why we call you “hot head”,’ said Hussein cheerfully. ‘’Cos you fell into a hot pan.’ He giggled, knowing he would get a reaction from me. Suddenly we could hear someone running towards the group. Terrified, we ran for cover – behind logs, branches, anything we could find.
‘They’re here,’ said one of the men, as they all came back through the undergrowth. Sure enough the traffickers were on their tail, thrashing through the jungle with their machetes. Who would have thought we’d be so relieved to see a bunch of strangers coming through the jungle with machetes!
They barked at us that the road ahead was blocked, and that we needed to go a different way. There was an audible groan from the children, as they knew this would mean yet more walking, but the parents chivvied them along and we set off in a slightly different direction.
After what must have been a few more hours of walking, darkness started to fall. This made the jungle even more wild and terrifying, and we were extra relieved when we finally heard the traffickers say that we were nearly there. We didn’t know where ‘there’ was, or what was in store for us, but at least we could stop walking.
I started to visualise what would be waiting for us on the other side of this journey. Would it be any better? I was starting to lose faith. After a whole day of trekking through the jungle I just wanted a comfy bed and some food.
Instead, my heart sank as I saw yet another four-by-four ahead of us. I couldn’t bear the thought of another bumpy ride. The driver pointed at the vehicle and told us to hurry up and get in. We didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the friends we’d made in the group and I wondered what would happen to them. As we got into the car I waved to Zara and wished she could be my sister.
So there we were, back in a four-by-four, Mum clutching onto Hussein so he wouldn’t hit the roof or sides. Dad was in the front seat and Hessam and I were left to bounce around in the back. The crazy driver revved the engine and we hurtled off over the bumps and hills again. After a while I started to
feel sick, but soon the road became less bumpy and I wondered whether we were finally leaving the jungle.
Although I’d been concentrating on looking straight ahead so I wouldn’t throw up, I dared myself to look out of the window to see where we were. The darkness of the jungle had gone, but we were still on an off-road muddy track. The driver mumbled something and then pointed ahead of him on the track. Dad leaned forward to work out what he was pointing at and then turned around to us and said, ‘Get ready.’
Mum loosened here grip on Hussein and the car turned down a remote track to what looked like a farm. I could smell manure, which made me feel even more sick, and Hessam just laughed at the faces I was pulling. He started to wind me up, teasing me about cow muck, but then the driver opened the back door and told us to get out.
The first thing I saw when I jumped down from the four-by-four were farm animals. That explained the smell. A friendly-looking woman came up to us and pointed towards the barn, ushering us across the farmyard. We suddenly realised that this was where we’d be staying for the night. Dad told us that we weren’t in Russia any more but Ukraine, a neighbouring country, and we’d had to go through the jungle to avoid the border.
The woman led us to the barn and opened a battered wooden door, showing us inside our new home. Thankfully, the smell inside the barn wasn’t as bad as outside, but it was clear the last occupants had had four legs rather than two. As the door opened further, we saw that there was another group of people huddled in the corner of the barn. In some ways this was a relief – at least we weren’t the only ones using the farm for shelter.
The woman half pushed us inside and then shut the door behind us, and we heard her pull a bolt across it from the outside. So we were trapped in a barn, with people we didn’t know, in a country we had never been to before.
I suddenly realised how tired I was after such a long day walking, and we found a spot that looked comfortable and lay down to sleep while Dad inspected the barn.
I could hear Dad talking with one of the men from the other group, and Mum was checking on Hussein. Hessam was already asleep, but I couldn’t go to sleep as I was too interested in the barn and what was outside. I found some holes in the wall where the material had rotted, and I peered outside. I could make out some horses in a field and I wondered if there would be a black one. I liked black horses the best – they always seemed so strong and powerful.