by Hamed Amiri
Then some of the cars started to beep their horns. ‘I think we must be in the UK, Dad,’ I said. ‘Look how friendly they are.’
Dad winced. But then he seemed to realise something. ‘Look at the cars,’ he said, pointing at the traffic whizzing past. ‘Look where the drivers are sitting.’
At first I didn’t know what he meant, but then I realised that the drivers were all on the wrong side of the car. Isn’t that the thing about the UK? They drive on the other side? Mum came back and put her hands over her mouth. Then she made a funny noise. Dad grabbed her and they stood there, crying.
Then Dad turned to us. All these months, all the drama and all the travelling, he said, had finally been worth it. We were here. Our safe haven. ‘This is it boys,’ he added, smiling. ‘No more running away.’
I couldn’t believe it. After all the adventures, here we were. It was amazing, but hard to get used to. Did that mean things were going to be okay now? Here, at the side of a motorway with cars whizzing past us? Here, where we’d just peed on the road? I guessed it didn’t matter. The main thing was to get to the UK. The fact that we were starving hungry and had no idea when we were going to get some food didn’t matter. It felt good to be here.
Then Soran said what we were all thinking: we needed to find a way off this road. We started to walk along the empty lane at the side of the motorway, and eventually we came to a service station. In the distance I could see what I knew were signs for fast food shops, and my tummy began rumbling harder than ever. But Dad looked worried, and I suddenly realised we had no money.
Then Soran did something really kind. He pulled Dad to one side and showed him some notes in his pocket. He had money! I remembered all those times I’d hated him at the beginning and felt embarrassed. He might be a handler but he was definitely a good guy.
Eating hot food after so long with no food at all was the best feeling ever. Smothering everything with the little sachets of ketchup, we ate anything we could get our hands on. Straight away we started to feel better. The last time I’d felt this happy was at the camp with the football field, and I looked around at Mum with pride. She read my mind. ‘We’ve been through a lot to get here,’ she said. I nodded, food still in my mouth. ‘It just goes to show, Hamed, what happens when we don’t give up.’
After we’d eaten it was time to work out what to do. We didn’t know where we were, and even if we had it wouldn’t have meant much to us. How were we supposed to get to the authorities? We could hardly walk up to the service station staff and say ‘refugees’.
Dad asked Soran what we should do. But he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but here is where we have to say goodbye.’ We all looked at him. Goodbye? Why did he have to go? We’d got so used to his help that I’d almost forgotten he wasn’t a part of our family. But his mind was made up – he needed to make his own way now.
I looked at Hussein. He and Soran had become quite close over the last few days. He looked sad. ‘It’s okay, bro,’ said Soran, borrowing my nickname for Hussein. ‘You’ve got some work to do to get better now.’ He put his hand on Hussein’s heart and winked. Then he turned to Dad. ‘I hope he gets a doctor soon,’ he whispered.
It wasn’t just weird saying goodbye to Soran, it was worrying. We’d relied on him for so much on this trip that it didn’t feel good to be on our own. As he walked off out of the service station I wondered where he would go and what would happen to him. ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Mum.
Dad got back to business. ‘We need to find the local police,’ he said. He told us we needed to look out for anything that looked official, like a police car or uniform, and with our tummies finally full this felt like an adventure. We went out onto the tarmac and looked around. But none of the cars there looked like police cars, just people going on holiday. So Dad said we would just have to walk until we found someone.
As plans went it wasn’t very good. We’d set off down the motorway and try to get off it and into a town. There we might be able to find a police station. After walking along the empty lane for a bit we found an exit and eventually it became a smaller road. Then we were on regular streets and there started to be shops and houses. But we were exhausted. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept and the full tummy was starting to wear off. No one talked much.
Not knowing where we were going or who we could turn to, we just kept on walking for miles in the hope that Dad’s plan would fall into place. The joy of finding our safe haven started to become a distant memory as us boys bickered and jostled with each other. I got sick of looking at Hessam’s whingeing face and got more and more angry each time he tripped me up.
As day started to turn into evening, we were all really hungry. There really was no money this time, as Soran didn’t have enough to leave us any before he went. We kept passing shops that looked like they sold food, but how could we go in and ask for it if we had no way of paying?
Dad said we had no choice, and that he had heard a lady on TV called Oprah say ‘You get in life what you have the courage to ask for’. So, trying to be brave, we went into each of the shops and asked at the counter if they could spare anything as we didn’t have any money. At first I found this embarrassing, but Mum said everyone had a bad day now and then, and it was always okay to ask for help.
Shop after shop politely told us no, they couldn’t give us something for nothing. But then something happened that changed everything. Just as we came out of the third shop, Dad felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned around, and was greeted by a big, kind smile. It was a man in uniform. Police!
Crying with joy, Dad took hold of his shoulders. ‘Refugees,’ he said, pointing at us. ‘Refugees.’
CHAPTER 16
Safe
The kind policeman got us some food. Then he arranged for a van to come and get us, and as we waited Dad kept saying that he knew it would be like this eventually. This was why we called it a safe haven. He seemed pleased that all our hard work had paid off.
Our tummies full again, we got into the van and watched colourful shops pass the window while we were taken to the refugee processing centre. On the way, Dad and Mum talked about how they should tell the police about Hussein’s illness. Neither of them could speak English, and it was a complicated thing to describe. But he was looking weaker than ever after the journey in the container, and I couldn’t believe how pale he was. They needed to say something now.
Sitting in the front seat, Dad kept turning to the policeman, and I could tell that he was trying to think of how to explain Hussein’s situation. But when the policeman saw him looking and asked him something in English, all Dad could manage to say was ‘thank you’. The driver smiled and put his hand on Dad’s shoulder.
Eventually the van came to a huge building with white walls and a big metal gate. We stopped at the gate and the policeman had to wait to be buzzed in. Inside it was like a compound, and the van stopped. The policeman helped us out and made sure we were okay. Then he took us to a waiting room, where he shook hands with Dad before going back to duty. Suddenly we didn’t feel so safe. The other policemen and women didn’t seem so friendly, and I wished the first guy would come back.
Then a new policeman came over and said something in English. He kept asking Dad questions, but they didn’t seem to realise we couldn’t understand. All Dad could do was keep saying ‘refugee’, but the policeman asking the questions was just getting annoyed. Eventually another policeman started saying names, and after a while we realised he was listing countries. ‘They’re asking where we’re from,’ said Mum.
‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘Afghan, Afghanistan – Afghani.’ The policeman seemed relieved. He said something to the other policemen and I heard the word again: ‘Afghanistan’. They looked back at Dad and he nodded to confirm. The policeman said something else, but it all sounded like an alien language.
Then one of them came back to us and said slowly, ‘Farsi or Pashto?’ and Dad nodded quickly. ‘Farsi,’ he said. He turned to us and
put his thumbs up. Success!
But then things started to feel less positive. One of the policemen came back over and asked Dad to stand in front of him. He looked cross. Then he started patting Dad with both hands down the sides of his body, just like I’d seen police do to criminals on the TV. But Dad wasn’t a criminal! What did they think we had? A gun? Next it was Mum’s turn, and then they even searched each of us, as if Hessam was going to have a hidden revolver down in his trousers. It felt horrible.
Eventually the police seemed happy that we weren’t carrying any weapons, so one of them took us down a bright corridor with white, shiny walls. The floor squeaked as we walked on it. At the end of the corridor was a set of blue metal doors with big handles. I wondered if this was what prison was like.
We stopped by the doors and the policeman unlocked them and pointed inside. Hessam looked scared. ‘Dad,’ he whimpered, but I held on to him so he’d be quiet.
‘It’s okay,’ said Dad and nodded and smiled. He told us to go into the room, so we all trooped in. It really was like a prison. The room was bright white just like the corridor and there was no window. In the corner was a metal container which, when I looked closer, turned out to be a toilet. A toilet in a box! We’ve been arrested, I thought.
The policeman told us boys to sit down and he pointed to a solid shelf with a thin blue layer of material on top of it. Hessam asked if it was a bed and I giggled – until I realised that it was.
Then the policeman said something else to Dad in English and went out of the room, shutting and locking the metal doors behind us.
‘Why do I feel like we’re in prison?’ said Hussein as soon as he’d gone.
‘Because we are,’ I said.
Hessam panicked then and asked if we were baddies. Mum shushed him and said no, it was probably just to give us somewhere to go.
We sat on the hard bed while Mum and Dad paced round the room. I started to joke about the toilet in a box to Hussein, wanting to lighten the mood and stop everyone from looking so serious. But we all still felt worried. Thankfully we were also really tired, so it didn’t take much for us to fall asleep.
The next thing I knew was the clunking of the metal lock again. Mum went to the door and a different policeman handed her some plastic trays. Mum said thank you and brought the trays into the room. As soon as I saw the food I realised how hungry I was, and we ate what was on them quickly. As the policeman left I noticed that he didn’t lock the door this time. Mum noticed too. ‘So we’re not criminals after all,’ she said to Dad. She was stressed, and I knew it was just because she was worried about what was coming next, especially for Hussein.
We had to stay in the cell for another few hours, and then suddenly we heard the door creak open again. It was the same policeman who’d brought the food. He said something short to Dad in English, but none of us understood, and it looked like he wanted us to follow him. We felt cautious, but we got up and followed him out of the room. Mum kept us very close to her as we walked down the bright white corridors again.
We passed more blue metal doors, and I wondered whether there were real criminals behind them. It didn’t look much like the prisons I’d seen on TV. It made me feel nervous though. When we got to a set of big doors the policeman swiped a card and it beeped, then he pushed them and we went through. On the other side there were a few more policemen, and they looked like they were waiting for us. I noticed there was someone else there as well, and he wasn’t in uniform. He was smiling and looked a bit friendlier than the others.
After all our travels in the boots of cars, lorries and metal containers, a friendly, smiling face was an amazing thing to see. We all smiled back. When we got to the group the man said, ‘Salam, brother, hale shoma khobeh?’ and I suddenly realised I could understand what he was saying! He was a translator, he spoke Farsi and he was asking how we were.
We couldn’t believe it. Dad told him we were all ok, but we’d been put in a cell and had no idea what was going to happen to us. The man said he was sorry about that – they’d called him as soon as they’d worked out where we were from and he’d come as soon as he could. Dad seemed a bit speechless with emotion then – maybe at hearing his own language spoken by an official for the first time in months – so Mum thanked the man for coming and said we were grateful.
Then we were taken by the translator to a different room, this time a much more colourful one with toys and proper seats. They brought us another tray with some water and sandwiches on it, so we ate as much as we needed. Then the translator took Dad into a separate room to talk to him. Before he did he asked Mum and Dad if they would like a tea or coffee. Dad told him we hadn’t any money left at all. The translator smiled and said not to worry, it was all free. So they brought Mum some tea and Dad took his into the other room with the translator, whose name was Ali.
There was a big glass window between the two rooms, so we could see Dad through there with Ali while we played with the things in the first room. Every now and then I looked through. Dad seemed to be talking a lot, while Ali didn’t say so much but made notes on a piece of paper. I hoped Dad was finally telling him about Hussein.
Dad was with Ali for ages, and a policewoman brought them several more cups of tea before they were finished. We were getting bored, so we were glad when Dad finally came back through. Mum looked at him expectantly.
‘We’ve gone through everything,’ he sighed. ‘Why we had to leave, the details of the journey, all about Hussein,’ said Dad. ‘They understand that we need to see a doctor – or most likely a specialist – and fairly quickly. They’re going to find us somewhere to spend the night now.’
I was relieved we weren’t going to have to sleep in the prison cell with the toilet in a box. We got ready to go and Dad shook hands with Ali and even gave him a hug. He looked like he was going to cry again, and Hussein and I looked the other way as it was a bit embarrassing. Hessam asked Dad if he was okay, and Dad said yes, of course he was – he was just so grateful that we’d finally got here. I guessed it had been even more stressful for Dad than it had been for us. He was the one who always had to come up with a plan and make decisions. We just did what we were told. There must have been moments when he thought we wouldn’t make it here. I suddenly realised how much responsibility you had to take when you were a dad.
Ali told us there was a van waiting, but before we left Dad asked him to thank the policeman who found us. ‘He was very kind,’ Dad said. Ali said he would, and we all went outside to find the van.
In the van Mum and Dad talked about Hussein some more and Dad told Mum what he had said to Ali. They seemed obsessed with finding Hussein a specialist now. I looked out of the windows at the people on the streets as we drove past them. Hussein was quiet.
‘What’s up, bro?’ I asked.
‘Just thinking,’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘About how they’re going to make me better,’ he said. ‘I don’t want things to get bad. I always want it to be like this.’
‘What, like this?’ I giggled, pointing at the van. But Hussein was being serious.
‘No, just … I don’t know. All of us together. The circle. Happy.’
‘It will, bro,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I’ll make sure it will,’ he said, ‘I’m going to get better you know.’ He pulled a funny face. Then he changed the subject, and we started to talk about what our new ‘home’ would look like. Hessam said he hoped the toilet wouldn’t be in a box.
Before we knew it the van started to slow down and we seemed to be arriving. Wherever we were, I wondered how we’d talk to people, as Ali had gone and we didn’t have a translator. It felt lonely, not understanding the people around us.
We pulled up to some metal gates, and through them I could see a huge building with tall glass windows. There was a sort of living room inside, and we could see the lights on. It looked warm and cosy compared to the grey skies outside.
Mum said it wasn’t a living room – it
was called a lobby. We got out of the van and a friendly-looking man met us with a smile. He showed us into the building and we realised that there were lots of other families there too. It was a sort of compound, and it felt friendly and lively. There were lots of other kids, and I wondered what their story was and how they’d got here. Mum and Dad had to fill in some paperwork then, and we waited to be shown to our accommodation. The staff were volunteers, Dad said, and some of them even spoke Farsi.
When all the forms were filled in they gave Dad a key, and he waved it in front of us. The key to our room! Mum laughed like she couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t either, and Hussein and Hessam and I danced round in excitement. We had to find the room, which had a number like in a hotel, and we went up the stairs and through corridors until we found some big oak doors with a golden door handle. As Dad opened the door the first thing I noticed was the smell of clean carpets and pillows. The sun had come out now and was coming in through the cream-coloured curtains. There were two double beds and some bunk beds, and we raced to them and squabbled over who got the top.
Mum found a kettle and some different teas. ‘I can’t remember the last time I made tea for my family,’ she laughed.
Dad grinned. ‘Go ahead then, I’d love one.’ Mum rolled her eyes. Dad said he was only joking and told her to go and sit down while he made her tea. She didn’t have to be asked twice, and went and sat down with us while Dad filled the kettle.
We’d found a little TV and were playing around with it, trying to get a channel. Outside the window we could see the sea, stretching out back towards France. Mum said she couldn’t believe we’d come all that way in a metal container.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in the room and eventually fell asleep in the comfy beds to the sound of Mum and Dad murmuring and the TV on quietly in the background. It felt like home.