by Hamed Amiri
Not long after, another sign was given – to another group. Dad sighed again. Maybe third time lucky, I thought.
In the darkness I could see another lorry being stopped and, after speaking with the driver, the trafficker gave another sign.
Then: ‘It’s time,’ he said to Dad. I couldn’t believe it. I felt a rush of adrenaline as Dad quickly grabbed us and pushed us towards the edge of the pit. We were handed the knife and waited patiently for the signal to go. Dad was given a final run-through of what we had to do and we were shuffled into the right order for climbing the ladder. Then he received a nod.
‘Go, go,’ a trafficker whispered, as he pushed Dad towards the ladder.
‘Hold on to me,’ Dad said to us all, and we hurried up behind him. The timing had to be just right, and we knew from watching the other families that every second counted.
Dad climbed quickly up the ladder, then Hussein, Hessam, Mum and me.
After a couple of seconds I could see that Dad had already reached the roof of the lorry. He took a quick glance behind him to see that we were all up too and then before we knew it he was attacking the lining of the roof with the knife. All he had to do was make a hole big enough for us to fit through.
He cut four corners first, just like the trafficker had told him, to make a big square. At this point I heard something behind me and noticed that the ladder was being taken away. Why were they doing that? What if we couldn’t get in? It seemed we were on our own now, and had no choice but to get inside it before the driver drove off.
With all four corners cut, I saw Dad jump down inside the vehicle. It was dark inside, and I couldn’t see where he landed. But I saw his face as he looked up at us and motioned for us to follow him one by one.
Suddenly there was a rush of noise and the lorry started to vibrate. It was moving off! I felt the driver put it into gear, and I knew that in a matter of seconds we’d be on the road. Mum had helped Hessam and Hussein through the hole and was climbing in herself, with Dad underneath still trying to make room. But I was still on top of the lorry. Suddenly I felt like I was moving backwards. Terrified, I realised this was because the lorry was moving forward, and I was being thrown backwards onto the canopy. There was no ladder and nothing to hold on to. Was I about to fall off a moving truck?
I clung desperately onto the tarpaulin covering the lorry, but in less than a second I felt Dad’s strong arm grab me. He must have reached up through the roof and taken hold of my shirt. Mum was in, and just as the lorry started to move Dad dragged me in through the hole into the darkness. I fell with a thud just as we started to pick up speed.
Falling into a moving lorry was one thing, but not knowing what I was falling into was another. I landed head-first into something rubbery, and soon realised I was stuck in a stack of tyres. I kicked my legs, trying to turn around and get out of my trap, but I was stuck. To make things worse, I could hear Hussein and Hessam laughing behind me.
‘Help!’ I whispered, just in case the lorry driver could hear us. The blood was rushing to my head. Hussein was sniggering. It was kind of funny, but I still really needed to get myself the right way up so I could get out of those tyres.
Dad started to whisper instructions to me, showing me how to turn myself around in the tiny space, and soon I managed to stand upright again.
We looked around the inside of the lorry. It was still dark outside, and we could see the stars through the gap Dad had cut in the roof. At least we were inside the truck. At one point I thought I’d be squashed like roadkill on the tarmac outside. But where were we going? We only had the traffickers’ word for it that we were going in the right direction. They said we were heading for Calais and then across the channel to the UK, but we all knew there was a chance we could be heading back the way we’d come. The thought that we might be taking Hussein further away from the help he needed instead of towards it made my tummy feel empty.
All we could do was stay put and hope. We spent the first hour or two reliving the last two days, talking over all the things that had happened in the pit. But after a while we felt the lorry start to slow down. Were we stopping? Mum told us to hide among the tyres just in case. It was probably a pit stop for the driver she said. She didn’t think anyone would open the back.
As the lorry came to a stop I could hear noises outside. People were talking, and I could hear car engines. We must have been underneath a street light or something, as there was a bright light shining through the gap in the roof. It was like a spotlight, and it started to hurt my eyes.
I found a space among the tyres and crept in, making as little noise as I could. I pulled my legs up so no one could see me and tried hard to listen to what was going on outside. I could just about see Dad opposite me and, although I couldn’t see the others, it was so quiet in the truck that I could just about hear them breathing.
We heard the driver get out, and there was a sudden change in the light above us. It seemed to get even brighter, shining down into the lorry on top of us. We could still hear talking, and I could just about make out the heavy steps of the driver. It sounded like he was walking towards the container doors. Everyone stayed quiet, and Dad motioned to me to stay still.
Mum had said they probably wouldn’t open the back, but suddenly there was a loud clunk of locks and rotating hinges. It sounded like they were opening the back to me! Sure enough, the container doors opened with a huge creaking noise. The rust between the hinges made the metal look orange.
I didn’t move. I could see Dad’s face opposite me but I sat like a statue, holding my breath so I didn’t make any noise at all. All we could do was stay still and hope they didn’t spot us. I could hear the driver having a pretty serious conversation with someone, and from their voices I thought they must be border control police.
Suddenly, a torch light shone through the tyres and scanned the inside of the lorry. Surely it wouldn’t be able to pick us out hiding inside the tyres? I’d be okay as long as I didn’t make a noise.
The search went on for ages. Then the border police seemed to tell the driver to close the huge container doors, and we heard the hinges lock together. There was a final clunk of the lock by the driver and all was quiet again.
I heard everyone let out a big rush of air, and I realised I wasn’t the only one who’d been holding my breath. Then I heard the driver walk around the back of the lorry and swing himself up into his seat. We were safe.
Then the engine started, and I was relieved to feel the lorry moving forward again. But as we moved, I noticed that the light above us was even brighter now. It was shining right down through the hole in the top of the lorry like a bright searchlight. Once again I could hear steps, but this time it was hard to follow them or work out where they were coming from. It was weird, but it almost sounded like they were coming from the roof.
Suddenly I looked up, and straight away I could see where the steps were coming from. Right above me, alongside the top of the lorry, I could see border police walking along a ridge. They were checking the vehicle from above.
I could see a roof through the hole in the lorry, and I realised we were at a huge metal checkpoint. The light that was coming in was from searchlights pointing down on the lorry containers. There were border police all around us. This was where they checked the lorries for refugees.
What were we going to do? The police might not have noticed us from the back of the lorry, but they’d definitely notice the huge, gaping hole in the top. Dad put his fingers to his lips and whispered, ‘Shh,’ to me, and I tried to tuck myself even further in to my spot inside the tyres. All we could was hope the border police wouldn’t see us.
Because I was the last person to get into the lorry, I was the closest to the hole in the roof. If they looked in, I would be the person they’d see first. I held my breath again, wriggling my arms and legs to disappear further into my hole. I watched as the light from the torch above changed direction. Suddenly the steps of the border police were quicker. My heart
was beating out of my chest.
Then: ‘Nous avons quelque chose,’ I heard the police guard say. He shouted to one of his workmates, and I heard someone else shouting in the distance. The driver turned the engine off.
I looked straight at Dad, panic rising in my chest. He was looking straight back at me, and I could tell by his face that there was nothing I could do. I just had to stay quiet. Suddenly I felt the light of a torch shining on me and I looked up. Above me, looking down into the hole, was a border guard, and he was shining his light straight into my face.
‘Dad …’ I whispered slowly.
But Dad didn’t say anything. He just put his fingers to his lips again and shook his head. He couldn’t see the border guard above me and if I moved I would definitely be found out. How could I let him know I was staring straight up at the police?
‘Dad …’ I tried again.
He widened his eyes at me crossly and mouthed, ‘Hush.’ But I knew the game was up.
I wriggled my hand free from the tyres and pointed straight up. ‘He can see me,’ I said.
Dad quickly looked up. He could see straight away there was no getting away from this one.
The border guards above us were babbling away in French now and shining their torches, obviously trying to see how many others were hiding in the lorry. They were shouting at the lorry driver and he was shouting back. He was obviously in big trouble and I almost felt sorry for him. How was he supposed to know he had a family of five as cargo?
‘Come out, Hamed,’ said Dad now, and I started to unfold myself out of the tyres. One by one the others came out too. What was going to happen to us now? We were in big trouble, that was for sure, and we’d just have to do as we were told. There was definitely no way to make a run for it.
More police came, and someone eventually dropped a ladder down into the container so we could climb out. Feeling like criminals, we started to climb up the ladder and out into the light.
As we came out of the lorry we knew we must be at the French border. There were French police everywhere, and lorries were queuing to be searched. We were so close to the UK we could almost feel it. We got out of the lorry and watched as it disappeared into the distance. I wondered whether the driver would have to go to prison and I wanted to tell them it wasn’t his fault.
We hung around on some metal ramps by the side of the search area, waiting to be taken to the processing room. We knew the routine: us boys would (hopefully) be given some food while the police asked Mum and Dad loads of questions.
Sure enough, after a few minutes the guards brought us something to eat and then started to grill Dad. I could hear him giving them yet more false names and I supposed it was so they couldn’t trace us back to another location. The last thing we wanted was to be sent back the other way.
The questions didn’t take too long this time, and I guessed they could see that we were all tired. Or maybe they just didn’t want us to be their problem any more. Soon after, a van arrived for us and the guards told us we were going to be taken to the camp at Calais. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. Before we’d left Herat I’d heard lots of stories about this camp – and they weren’t good.
We got into the van. It was so frustrating, knowing we were being taken in the opposite direction to where we wanted to go! At least we got to sit up front. There was no need to hide in the boot any more. We were caught, busted, found out. Dad said not to worry and to look on the bright side: we’d soon find another way. In the meantime we just had to do what we were told. But I was sick of doing what we were told. Back in Herat it was the Taliban, now it was the border police. When were we going to live somewhere we could do what we liked?
CHAPTER 13
Calais
Of all the places we could have ended up, the one we didn’t want to visit was the Calais camp. Along our journey so far we had heard the stories of what had happened to some of the people who tried to leave that place – some of them true, others probably not – and although it was close to the UK, we’d become terrified of the thought of it. Dad said it would be okay and we’d be out of here in no time. Mum didn’t look so confident.
I tried to look on the bright side and tell myself the camp probably wasn’t as bad as everyone made out. I tried not to be scared.
When we got to the outskirts of the camp we had to go through registration. Dad gave them our new false names again, and Mum told us not to speak in case we accidentally got mixed up about who we were and where we’d come from. Then we stayed with Mum in a waiting area while Dad went off to find our room. Hussein was tired, so he and Hessam lay down across the seats while Mum and I went to find the canteen.
After we’d had some food, we went straight to our new accommodation. It didn’t feel as friendly and welcoming as in Austria. Our room was dirty and you could hear noises coming from other places around the camp from inside it. Dad said we should go straight to bed as the journey had been long and tiring. As I lay under the scratchy sheets I could hear Mum and Dad discussing things in whispers. Mum said she was worried about what was going to happen, but Dad reassured her, saying we should remember other families who weren’t so lucky.
‘What about Hussein?’ she said. ‘We’re putting him through too much.’
‘It’s okay, he’s strong,’ replied Dad. ‘He’s never been able to do what the other boys can, but does he ever complain? He’s a special boy, Fariba. If anyone’s going to beat the odds and survive this thing it’ll be him.’
‘I’m worried about Hamed and Hessam too,’ said Mum. ‘They have to take the burden of Hussein on themselves.’
‘I know,’ whispered Dad. ‘But they understand more than you think. Have you seen how they look after him? How they adjust what they do to make sure he can keep up? They’re a team.’
There was silence.
‘I just want to be able to tell them we’ve made it,’ said Mum.
I must have fallen asleep then, as the next thing I knew I was waking up in the bed I was sharing with my brothers. I could hear seagulls, and I remembered that we were near the sea. Dad was already up and seemed to be in a good mood after some sleep. He was humming a tune, and I could tell he was on a mission to get us out of here and across to the UK. He was busy making calls, probably trying to find a handler who could get us on the next stage of our journey. I never knew how he did this, but each time he did it seemed like magic.
Hussein was still asleep, so I sat by Dad as he made his phone calls. He haggled over the phone, trying to negotiate the best deal to get us out of here. ‘No,’ he’d say, ‘that was too unsafe …’ ‘No – too expensive …’ ‘No, that’s a risk we’re not prepared to take.’ I didn’t know there were so many options. The way Dad was talking reminded me of the Moscow market – everyone arguing over what price they would pay. But this wasn’t haggling for bread or cheese. It was haggling over us.
Dad was on the phone for ages, but eventually he seemed to be getting somewhere. He was still talking about group discounts and per person rates. How could these people treat us like this? Didn’t they understand Hussein was ill? We weren’t objects to be squeezed in or forced across the border. Then Dad seemed to be getting annoyed with the conversation, and he put the phone down and sighed.
‘Is it no good?’ I asked.
‘Not yet.’ Dad managed a smile.
Suddenly we heard someone knocking at the door. I couldn’t think who it could be, as we didn’t know anyone here. Nervously, Dad opened the door, but when he saw who was on the other side he immediately laughed out loud and grabbed the person in a huge hug.
‘That’s a friendly face!’ he was laughing. Clapping this stranger on the back, Dad hurried him into the room. I had no idea who this was, so was a bit surprised when he grabbed my cheeks and said, ‘This must be one of your boys.’
Dad introduced us. ‘This is Ali Reza,’ he said. ‘He’s a friend of your uncle’s. He left Herat a few months before us.’
Then Dad and Ali Reza
talked and talked about boring things, but because the others were still asleep I stayed to listen. My ears pricked up when Dad asked Ali Reza how long he’d been here in the camp.
‘Thirty days,’ he said. ‘And counting. We’ve had a few attempts to get out, but no luck so far.’
‘How many times?’ asked Dad.
‘Oh, just a few!’ laughed Ali Reza. ‘Maybe fourteen?’
Dad’s face fell and his eyes widened. So did mine. How could so many attempts have failed? I wondered where this guy was going wrong. Was it really that hard to get out of here and across to the UK? What if we were here for a month like him? What if we never left? I knew from what had happened in the field in the Netherlands that we didn’t have that long. Hussein would need his treatment before then.
Then Dad and Ali Reza started to talk about the best ways to get across. Dad said he’d had no luck trying to arrange something with the handlers as it was all too risky or expensive. We didn’t know anyone or have any real contacts. It seemed impossible.
Ali Reza started to tell Dad about some of the attempts he’d made. One of them had been by raft, and when it had sunk there weren’t enough lifejackets for everyone. The raft had been overcrowded, with too many people on it in the first place, and everyone ended up in the water. The traffickers were so terrified of being spotted that they told everyone to swim under water, even holding people’s heads under so they wouldn’t be discovered. Not everyone made it back to the camp alive.
Dad’s eyes darted at me and Ali Reza took the hint. I felt a rush of fear. Surely Dad wasn’t going to put us and Mum through something like that? Or did he think that sort of thing was worth a try?
They started to talk about other options, and it came up that Ali Reza had a chance to leave that evening. Dad was interested.
We shouldn’t get too hopeful, Ali Reza told us – there might not be any spaces left. And even if there were, it might not work at all. But I could tell Dad was going to get us on that trip if he could. After all, he’d promised us he’d get us out of here.