by Hamed Amiri
Time seemed to stop. The dog was near me now, and if I looked back I could see the dribble coming from its mouth. It could smell me, and I felt sure that if it found me it would probably eat me. I knew that our only hope of escaping the dog was by staying on this side of the fence and somehow finding somewhere to hide. I needed to catch up with the others and warn them.
But then there was another noise – a rumbling – and the track started to vibrate underneath me. I couldn’t hear the group ahead of me now and I guessed the police officer wouldn’t be able to either. But the dog could still smell us.
The rumble of the train got louder and louder. I needed to warn everyone, but at the same time I could feel the police dog right behind me. If I shouted to the others the policeman would hear and we’d be straight back to the camp. What could I do?
Even as I started to run I knew how it would end. I headed towards the others, hoping to warn them of the train and the dog. But running seemed to set the dog off, and straight away it started to bark.
‘Arrêtez! STOP!’ shouted the police officer, shining his torch towards me. I ran towards Mum, tears in my eyes. She turned around just as I got to her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I called. Mum scooped me up. There was no point trying to hide now. The police officer could see us. There was nothing we could do.
The dog growled and I turned to Dad. He looked so disappointed. The police officer shone his light on us and shouted at us to stay there while he looked for a way through the fence. He talked quickly into his radio. I guessed he was telling his fellow police officers the good news.
I looked at Ali Reza, and could see his disappointment too. I felt terrible. All that walking, being hunted in that field like animals, and all for nothing. His fifteenth failed attempt. To make things worse, the train coming up behind us had now started to slow down, and I realised that this was the sign the handler had been waiting for. We were supposed to get on the train and be on our way to the UK. Seconds earlier and we’d have made it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I wailed at Mum again, and she hugged me tightly. Hussein came up next to me too, and I thought he was going to start teasing me for messing things up. But he just put his hand on my back and said, ‘Don’t worry, bro. There’s always next time.’ I sobbed then, knowing that every time we failed at this he got weaker and weaker. We didn’t have lots of chances.
We all felt pretty depressed as we waited on the tarmac for the police van to arrive. Yes, there would be other nights and other attempts, but I wondered how much more money and effort it would take. Hussein couldn’t take much more, and the money was surely going to run out at some point. We were back to square one – miles from the UK and with no escape route. To make matters worse, the handler didn’t even seem to care. He’d got his money, so he was happy. When I looked over at him I realised he was fast asleep.
CHAPTER 14
Soran
We were all quiet on the van ride back to the camp. Missing out so narrowly felt so frustrating. The only person who seemed positive was Hussein, even though I knew he must be exhausted from all that walking.
We didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night, and it felt like hours before the sun finally came up. When I woke up properly, Mum was praying. I went to sit next to Dad to talk about last night. He said he wasn’t sure trusting Ali Reza was the right thing after all.
We were all tired and grumpy that day. Hussein and I played around, distracting Hessam and keeping him busy. But all we wanted was to get to our safe haven. I just wished there was a way of helping Mum and Dad, a way of finally getting us out of here. Dad seemed stressed, and I knew he was desperately trying to think of a way we could try again. He didn’t look like he could face another failure.
As soon as we were up Mum forced us to go and get some breakfast. It could be a long day, she said, and we needed to give Dad a break. Hussein and I followed Mum to the canteen, but Hessam wouldn’t come and locked his arms around Dad’s leg. Dad seemed a bit annoyed at this, but eventually agreed to take him off for a walk.
Returning from breakfast we found Dad and Hessam already back in our room. Dad’s mood had changed from earlier that morning, and he seemed excited.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Mum.
‘We had a little meeting, didn’t we, Hessam?’ said Dad, ruffling Hessam’s hair. He then went on to tell us how they had been walking through the market in the camp when they’d heard a voice calling out to them.
‘I wasn’t in the right mood for a chat,’ said Dad, ‘so I ignored it at first. But this guy wouldn’t stop, so eventually I asked him what the hell he wanted. Well, he turned out to be the handler from last night.’
Mum’s eyes widened. ‘He’s got a cheek,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Dad. ‘But here’s the thing. I was about to give him a piece of my mind when he said he was sorry.’ When we all looked surprised Dad nodded. ‘He apologised that it hadn’t worked out and said he was really sorry we hadn’t reached our destination.’
We were all amazed. That was the first time we’d ever heard of a handler actually caring about what happened to us. Normally they were ruthless. As long as they had their money they were happy.
‘Turns out he is no ordinary handler,’ Dad said. ‘I asked him why he was apologising and he said that he’d still like to help us get across the border.’
‘But we don’t have any more money,’ said Mum.
‘I know. He said he’ll do it for free. He said we’d already paid and the money we’d given him was for him to get us to our destination. So he’s prepared to honour his agreement.’
Hussein and I looked at each other. We had thought that guy was a scumbag. ‘Really? That has to be a joke, right?’ Hussein said.
‘He seemed pretty serious,’ said Dad. ‘He said that no matter what, promises are not meant to be broken. So he’d like to help us again.’
It seemed crazy – a human trafficker talking about not breaking promises and honouring his agreement? I couldn’t believe it. After all we’d been through I’d doubted whether there were any good people at all, let alone handlers.
‘It just goes to show,’ said Mum. ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Hessam.
‘It’s a saying,’ said Mum. ‘It means that we often jump to conclusions and think people are one thing, when in reality they can be something totally different. Just because he’s a handler doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.’
‘So what do you think?’ said Dad. ‘Shall we trust him again?’
‘What other choice is there?’ said Mum.
Dad agreed, saying he’d repay his new-found faith in humanity by letting the handler honour his promise. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but I thought it was that we’d be having another try.
We had a ‘normal’ day, whatever that was these days. We squabbled and played together, but always with the next step of our journey hanging over us. We tried not to think too much about what it would involve. What had happened in the field and with the dog had scared us all. Dad at least seemed less stressed. I think just having a plan helped. Whatever we had to do, we all knew that we were doing it for Hussein. If we didn’t need to get medical help for him we could have settled in any one of the countries we’d been to so far. But it had to be the UK. Only there could we get the operation he needed. We had to keep going.
As morning became afternoon we started to think about what we might have to do. The story of the raft came into my head again but I tried not to think about it. I hoped there wouldn’t be so much walking this time at least. Hessam said he didn’t care as long as it wasn’t so dark. Hussein didn’t say much because he never complained as much as we did, but I knew he must be worried about all the walking too. I suddenly thought: what would we do if this attempt failed too? What if we ended up like Ali Reza, still here after fifteen failed attempts? I didn’t think Hussein’s heart would last that long.
As the afternoon
wore on, Dad started to worry. He said he wondered whether he should have asked the handler some more questions, like what the attempt would involve. Mum said it couldn’t be much worse than last night. And anyway, it was too late to get another handler. Dad said he needed to know. He was going to look for him in the camp – we needed to be prepared.
While Dad went off to find the handler we waited nervously for night time. Mum made us eat as much as we could so we’d be well prepared, and after that we just sat and waited. ‘It might be a long night,’ she said.
When Dad came back he was shaking his head in disbelief. Mum looked nervous.
‘What’s happened?’ she said.
‘I found out where the handler stays,’ said Dad. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I caught him packing away all his belongings!’
‘He’s doing a runner?’ I asked.
Dad shook his head. ‘No. That’s the strange thing. He says he’s sick of this life and wants to get away to the UK himself.’
We didn’t understand. ‘Why the change of heart?’ said Mum. ‘He must make good money doing this.’
‘I think he does,’ said Dad. ‘But – you won’t believe this – he says he wants to help us. I’ve no idea why, but he says he doesn’t want people’s money any more. He’s tired of exploiting people. He just wants to help us to get to the UK.’
I wondered why anyone would want to exploit people anyway. But what Dad was saying seemed true: the handler wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He wanted to help us because he liked us and felt sorry for Hussein, not because we’d paid him.
‘So do we get our money back?’ grinned Hussein.
Dad patted him on the head playfully. ‘I doubt it! But he does promise he’ll get us to the UK. This is his last trip, and he swears on his life it’s going to work.’
‘So what’s the route?’ asked Mum. Dad looked blank.
‘I didn’t ask!’
We all rolled our eyes at the thought of yet another night of unknown adventures. All we knew was that we were supposed to meet the handler later that night in the same place as last time. Dad told us we should get some rest first. This time, nothing was going to go wrong.
It was about midnight by the time we met the handler. Dad said he felt bad about leaving Ali Reza, but there was no way he was taking any risks this time, so it was just going to be us.
The handler said he had a ‘different route’, but he didn’t tell us what it would be. He just took us out of the camp onto a different path, still as pitch black as the other one. I hoped it wasn’t going to be a replay of last night. But this time he seemed to be on our side. Before we’d gone far he stopped and stooped down. ‘Come on,’ he said to Hussein. ‘Get on.’ Hussein couldn’t believe it. A handler, offering him a piggyback? It seemed weird. ‘We can’t have you getting tired like last time,’ he said.
After a bit of struggling and a lot of giggles as the handler tried to get Hussein up on his back, everyone felt warm and excited. Hussein wanted to thank him, and the handler said his name was Soran. It was definitely an improvement on the night before. Even though there was still a lot of walking, my legs didn’t feel so heavy. I also didn’t feel as scared as I had last night. I felt like we might even make it.
I didn’t know whether I was imagining it, but as we walked along the path it seemed to be getting lighter. Then we went up and down a few slopes. The grass was much shorter than last night, which was a relief. Then the handler said we were getting closer and stopped to put Hussein down. ‘Not far now,’ he said.
We were getting tired and the last bit was uphill, but in the distance we could see a light – or maybe a set of lights – coming from the other side of the hill. As we got closer I realised the lights were coming from a road. They were streetlights, rows of them all along the side of a motorway. But there were no cars. Had Soran got us lost? Train tracks made sense, but an empty motorway didn’t seem like it was going to get us out of here.
‘What’s next?’ asked Dad as we got to the edge of the road.
‘We need to cross over to the other side,’ said Soran. As if it was simple.
‘And then what? Thumb a ride?’ I muttered. The place was deserted.
We followed Soran to a place where we could cross. Even though there were no cars in sight we still automatically looked both ways. It felt weird crossing what would normally be such a busy road. We walked halfway across to the middle section of the motorway. Here there were two big concrete blocks that separated the two sides. We waited again to make sure there weren’t any invisible cars on the other side, then crossed the final few lanes.
When we got to the other side we didn’t wait by the road like I thought we would but followed Soran away from it. Then I saw what he was heading for.
Ahead of us was a mass of huge metal boxes. Almost double my height, they were hard to miss, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen them from the other side of the road.
‘Let’s go, it’s almost time,’ Soran said, and he led us into the maze of boxes. There were so many. We zigzagged between them as Soran stopped by each one as if to inspect it. I couldn’t help but think it would be a fun place for hide-and-seek, if things were different.
As we went through more and more of the metal boxes, Soran was starting to look worried. Then he stopped still. Suddenly he smiled. What had he seen? He was putting his head against the closest rusty metal box now, just like the doctors used to when they listened to Hussein’s heart. Then he waved his hand at us, which I think meant ‘be quiet’ and we all stood there, waiting.
Seemingly happy with his examination, Soran brought his ear away from the box. Then he did something weird. He knocked on the side of the box in a funny combination of short and long knocks, leaving a different length of pause between each one. What was this? Some sort of code?
We all waited. There was a pause and then Soran made a few more knocks. ‘Step back,’ he said. Suddenly there was a huge clunking noise from inside the rusty box, and the big metal locks started to move. It was like the box was unlocking all by itself. Before we knew it the doors had opened completely, and by the lights from the motorway behind us we could just see what was inside – and it looked like lots of pairs of eyes.
I guess we must have looked exactly like that when the French border guards found us hiding in the lorry. As I looked from person to person, each pair of eyes looked more terrified. There were so many of them – almost 50 – more than I would ever have guessed would fit into a box that size. They were crammed in the box like farm animals. Soran seemed to know some of them, and I wondered whether they were his trafficker friends, but they didn’t seem to be expecting him. In fact, they all looked pretty surprised to see us.
Soran seemed keen to close the box again, so he started to push us towards it. Surely he didn’t expect us to get in there too? It was full to the brim! There wasn’t room for one more person, let alone six.
But that’s what he told us to do. He said it was dangerous to be out in the open and we had to get out of sight. So one by one we squeezed into the box, finding room wherever we could. Soran pushed and arranged us so everyone could fit.
Once we were in, Soran made sure all our arms and legs were inside before he pulled the doors shut. To anyone on the outside, our box now looked exactly the same as all the others in the maze. It was like we’d disappeared.
As soon as we were locked in the box things started to get stressful. The other handlers in the box didn’t seem too keen on our family being in there, and they were worried about having too many people to take care of. They had an angry argument with Soran, and I felt a bit sorry for him. We tried not to say anything.
I couldn’t hear everything Soran was saying to them, but it sounded like he was promising he’d take responsibility for us. They were still cross, but it seemed to settle it.
While this was going on, I looked around me. The inside smelt of rust and iron, and all I could see in the dim light were the faces of people and fa
milies. I thought again how much they looked like us – scared but sort of hopeful at the same time. There were all ages, from babies to grandparents, and they looked like they came from all continents and religions. But inside that box we were all basically the same. We just wanted to get to our safe haven.
There was a lot of waiting inside the box. The good thing was that we didn’t have to walk any more, but it was so cramped I felt like screaming. As time wore on the smell also worsened. After a while the other handlers started to choose people – every few minutes they’d point at a few people and open the box and take them out. I didn’t know what happened to them after that.
Waiting to be chosen like this reminded me of the pit. But there we were out in the open and there were stars and bushes to go to the toilet in. Here, we were trapped inside a rusty box. I hoped this choosing game wouldn’t be like last time. I hoped we wouldn’t be the last to get picked.
‘I beg you, don’t leave us here,’ Dad whispered to Soran.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, putting his hand on Dad’s shoulder. ‘I will be getting you and your family across this time.’ He shook Dad’s hand, as if that proved he was telling the truth. Dad shook his hand back and settled down next to us to wait.
The good thing about other families being taken out of the box was that it got emptier and emptier. We could finally stretch our legs around and breathe a bit more easily. Was it our turn soon? I worried that we’d be the last ones left.
Then: ‘It’s time,’ said Soran suddenly. I wondered how he knew. But he spoke to one of the other handlers, checking some number with him, and then pushed us towards the rusty doors.
Hussein and I stood up. We were ready. We didn’t know what for, but we were ready. As soon as the doors opened, Soran leapt out and we followed, the door clicking shut behind us. We were in the maze of other containers again, and Soran started sniffing around them like before.