by Ellen Wiles
The crow took off. Yonas watched it flap over to the opposite side of the fence, perch and survey the construction site, as if deriding all the people who had to work in it, who couldn’t just fly around at will without having to worry about pesky things like visas. You’re not allowed to work for money. Under any circumstances. ‘They don’t want people like me to get a chance to prove their worth, do they?’ he had asked Veata, and she hadn’t contradicted him. Anyway, he’d given up his asylum support now, so he had no choice.
Yonas walked into the yard to join the other workers, who were still milling around, waiting. Half a shell of a building was standing, and the rest of the site was a scramble of rubble and concrete stumps.
‘Hey, man. Selam!’ Another man had tapped him on the shoulder, and was smiling. He looked Eritrean. Like Yonas he was tall and lean, but his skin was slightly darker and he had a match-thin moustache. ‘Remember me? I was in that English class. At the Refugee Council.’
‘Oh, yes!’ It was true that Yonas recognized the man now, but he couldn’t remember his name. They had barely spoken.
‘Tesfay,’ the guy said, extending his hand. He had a slight squint, and his smile seemed to stretch his moustache so it looked ready to ping off. Yonas felt a familiar glow in his belly at hearing Tigrinya spoken again. When Tesfay heard that Yonas wasn’t really connected with any other Eritreans in London, he literally threw up his hands in mock horror and said they would have to hang out some time.
But then the boss turned up, cutting off the chit-chat. He introduced himself as Kev and began barking instructions. He was one of those butch, white, stubbly British types Yonas had come to be familiar with, doing this kind of work. Their task, he said, was to demolish the remainder of the building, clear the area and set it up for new foundations. ‘And what do I expect?’ he asked, rhetorically. ‘I expect each and every one of you to work your effing arses off until you’ve done a full seven hours of hard graft, that’s what I expect. And that means when I decide you’ve done seven hours, no one else.’ At this, Kev beat his chest like Tarzan.
Yonas started shifting rubble into skips. It felt good to be working again, for money. Even if it was doing this. No, he didn’t regret walking out of his free flat and ditching those useless vouchers and that Postman Pat linen. He smiled as he remembered getting his stuff together, then standing at the kitchen door, where his flatmates were still all assembled, listening to Arabic radio, in exactly the same configuration. ‘I’m leaving!’ he’d said with a cheery smile. ‘Good luck!’ Ali had lifted his hand in a surprised wave, as Yonas closed the squeaky front door for the last time.
Veata was perplexed when he told her. She warned him, again, that if he chose to work for money while his claim was pending and was found out, he’d put his future on the ropes – but he told her he had good friends who would put him up for free, and that he’d be fine. Which was true, in a way: the squat was cheap, and if he had anyone left whom he could call a friend now, it was Emil, who’d welcomed him back by calling out ‘Professor Jojo!’, bounding down the stairs and giving him a smacking kiss on each cheek.
He was walking back for his sixth load of rubble when his phone shrilled from his pocket. He pulled it out, and Nina’s name flashed up. He couldn’t suppress a surge of pleasure, but then remembered what she’d done. Couldn’t she just get the message and stop contacting him? He pressed cancel, and switched the phone onto silent. But he couldn’t resist checking again a few minutes later. Sure enough, there was a message.
Hi Joe. Hope you’re okay. I just wanted to let you know that the police did come to question Mum, but she said it was all a mistake, that you were just a student of hers from the Refugee Council, and they apologized for wasting her time! So there’s nothing to worry about there. I still understand that you were angry about the article. But I promise I was just as angry. I would really like be friends again. Let me buy you a coffee? Nina x
‘Oi, you,’ Kev’s voice barked. ‘Get off your phone.’
Yonas shoved the phone back in his pocket and walked over to the next load. He could make this work by himself – he didn’t need Nina. Maybe he should start charging for teaching English to other, richer, immigrants. That would be more enjoyable than working for guys like Kev. He would use his brand-new library card and do some research on the computer…
A loud crunching sound came from behind him, where a couple of guys had started demolishing the remains of the standing wall. ‘Wooaaah!’ someone shouted. Yonas looked up, and glimpsed a lump of concrete hurtling towards him from his upper left like an asteroid rushing towards earth… his mind told him to move, but his body wasn’t fast enough… Then, a sickening crack.
A searing pain.
Blackness.
He came to slumped in the front seat of a moving van. His left elbow was on fire. He looked down. It was wrapped in a filthy dustsheet and soaked in blood. His jaw throbbed. He turned to see who was driving.
‘Thank fuck you’re awake,’ Kev grunted. ‘What the fuck were you doing standing right under the fucking demolition ball not keeping a lookout? Fucking eejit! You’ve got to learn to listen to basic instructions if you want work in this country! Sometimes it doesn’t collapse the way it’s meant to.’
Yonas said nothing. The world was still hazy. The right side of his face felt odd. He put his right hand up to touch it lightly, and it felt like one giant blister.
‘Anyway,’ Kev said, ‘I don’t know where you live but I’m just gonna drop you off here. Homerton Hospital’s just round the corner. Go on, off you go.’ He might as well have been shooing off a stray dog.
Yonas gave him a long, hard look, then opened the van door with his good arm and got out, hoping he’d be able to walk. He was about to slam it shut again, but a wave of blood rushed to his head, and he couldn’t stop himself leaning in, looking Kev right in the eye, and saying, ‘Fuck you, you heartless piece of shit.’
After a beat, the van tyres squealed and Kev drove away, with the door hanging open.
Yonas stood still, watching the vehicle disappear. His little outburst was probably the only retribution Kev would get. At least it was something. His legs felt hollow and wobbly. It occurred to him that he hadn’t even been paid for the job yet, and there was no chance of that now. And could he actually go into this hospital, and expect to be treated, with no papers? Veata had told him he was eligible to get emergency treatment on the NHS now that he’d claimed asylum, but he didn’t have any documents – they were back at the squat, under his pillow. Plus, he would have to come up with a lie to explain to the doctors how the accident had happened, in case they were connected to other authorities who could use this to prove he was working illegally. Yonas felt dizzy, and bent over. His elbow was excruciating now. He straightened up, and tried to move it. He couldn’t. No, he definitely couldn’t. He really needed a drink of water and ideally something sugary. He had better risk going into the hospital, if he could make it all the way.
A woman behind the Accident and Emergency reception asked for his name and gave him a form to fill in. Fortunately it was his right hand that still worked, but his injured left hand could barely hold the paper still enough to write legibly. The form asked for his address, phone number and details of his GP. ‘And do you have any documentation to prove your eligibility for NHS services?’ the receptionist asked. ‘A passport or driver’s licence?’
‘My documents are at home.’
‘Hmm. All right. I’ll see if the doctors will see to you. Take a seat.’
Some newspapers lay on the table. Yonas picked one up and turned the page with his good hand. Election fever: polling day was just a week away. He thought about Nina’s husband Quentin, who was probably giving a speech right now about how illegal immigrants should be kicked out, maybe denying in an aside that any foreign person had ever stepped over the threshold of any home belonging to any member of his family for the entirety of British history. The latest polls said Labour looked likely to win, b
ut it was a close call. It occurred to Yonas that he hadn’t eaten anything since a piece of toast at 7 a.m. His head felt woozy, and his elbow throbbed like a drum.
He asked the reception lady if they had anything he could eat or drink. ‘Sure, there’s a machine in the corridor,’ she said. He went to look, and had to lean against it for strength. Rainbow rows of sweets, chocolate bars, crisps. A tube of fruit pastilles cost him his last cash. Back at his seat, the wrapping was hard to get into with one hand, but once he’d peeled off the paper, Yonas chewed through them – orange, lemon, blackcurrant, lime, raspberry – every last juicy, life-giving one.
Finally he was called into a small room. A black woman doctor introduced herself warmly, pulled a curtain across the cubicle and put on plastic gloves. ‘Now then, Mr Kelati, do you mind if I take a look?’ she asked. She had a gentle, singsong voice, and her accent wasn’t African – he guessed Caribbean. She unwrapped the dustsheet tenderly, but it felt like she was ripping a plaster off his raw flesh, and he breathed in sharply. The dried blood had turned brown at the top, and was thickly speckled with dirt. Thick red oozed underneath.
‘This looks nasty,’ the doctor said. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I fell,’ he said.
‘You fell? Well, that must have been a serious fall. There’s a deep scrape down your upper arm too. We’ll have to put some stitches in, and clean up this grit, to start with. How’s the pain?’
‘Painful.’
‘On a scale of one to ten, ten being unbearable?’
Yonas thought about the helicopter position, the bleeding, sizzling back, his face pressed into the stony dust. ‘Six?’ he offered.
‘Okay!’ She almost laughed in surprise. ‘Well, I expect you’ve had a lot of painkillers – what have you taken so far?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing! You’re a brave one, then. Are you allergic to any medication?’
‘I don’t think so.’
She brought him some tablets and a glass of water. ‘Have you had a tetanus vaccine before?’
Yonas shook his head, and she stuck a needle in his arm.
‘Now, can you move your elbow for me?’
He tried and grimaced. She felt gently around it, and asked him to wiggle his fingers. He managed to lift one.
‘Right, we’d better do an X-ray. So what was it you fell on?’
‘Just… a hole. In the pavement.’
‘I see.’ She gave him a brief look, and Yonas could tell she didn’t believe him. She dabbed his raw flesh with disinfectant, and the pain burned. The sweets had stopped him shivering for a while, but he started again now, in convulsive jerks.
‘Are you cold, Mr Kelati? Do you think you might have a temperature?’
He shook his head.
‘Have you been feeling unwell?’
‘No.’
‘Have you eaten today?’
‘A piece of toast. Some sweets.’
‘Right. Hang on.’ She pulled some sachets out of a drawer, and ripped the top off one. ‘Here, pop this in your mouth. It’s glucose gel.’
‘But I have no money…’
‘Oh it’s okay, my love – just suck it up!’ My love? She fed him three sachets in a row and, mercifully, the shivering ceased. He wanted to hug her, this wonderful doctor, with her tightly combed hair and her warm brown eyes who called him my love, but she was making notes, and then had to go off to see another patient.
After some agonizing stitches, an X-ray and several hours of waiting and snoozing, Yonas was told he had fractured his elbow. He was fitted up with a splint and a sling, and instructed not to lift anything with his left arm for two weeks before coming back for a check-up.
‘Next time,’ the nurse told him, ‘make sure you remember your documents, okay?’
As he walked out, his relief and gratitude for the NHS disintegrated into worry. How was he going to earn any money at all with a busted arm? How was he even going to do up his shoelaces?
Back at the squat, the guys were sympathetic. He offered to clean and cook for them all again while he couldn’t earn money, but this time Emil said he shouldn’t be an idiot, and told him to relax and get his arm better first. Though later on that evening, he heard Anders ask, when he thought Yonas couldn’t hear from the bathroom, how long they were all expected to cover his bills while he stayed in all day, used up their hot water and watched their TV.
Or perhaps, it struck him, Anders had wanted him to hear.
Chapter 19: Tesfay
FAILED ASYLUM SEEKER WHO HAS DODGED DEPORTATION FOR A DECADE TOLD HE CAN STAY… BECAUSE HE GOES TO THE GYM
I will take a double espresso with one extra shot. Yes, okay, triple. And sugar. A lot of sugar.
When I first saw Yonas I was so happy to see another Eritrean guy who looked like he was the same age as me, coming to our class! But as soon as he started to speak, we could all hear that his English was much better than ours. I remember looking across the room at him and thinking: how are you speaking so well? You better not get ILR before me! But maybe we can be friends and you can help me practise my English. After the class finished, I planned to speak to him, but he was talking to our teacher, so I went away to get some coffee – and when I came back, he had disappeared. He never returned to the class, so I forgot about him. But then, months later, he turned up for the same job!
I was even gladder to see him that time. There were no other Eritreans on that construction site, or even any other Africans, and I was not happy about having to do that kind of work again. Before, I was doing security in a big office near Canary Wharf, in one of the tall skyscrapers, and I thought I was moving up in the world. Security is good work, you know – it can be boring, but you are not at risk of breaking your neck every day, and you have spare time for talking on the phone and relaxing. But one day I got sacked. Just like that: boom. My boss, he just told me they were doing some ID checks and I had to make myself disappear. Actually, I think he just knew that I was more popular than him because those guys working in that office, they loved me! They were always working very late in the night, and usually, when they would come out of the building to go home, I would say to them, like ‘Hello, my friend!!’ and make a joke, and they would laugh and say hi and call me ‘my friend’ back and we would chat together. I had big hopes for promotion, after I got my papers. But then that job was pulled from under my feet. And the only work I could find was construction. So I went to the site that day thinking, I do not want to be here. But I needed the money – my wife Jamila was pregnant with our second baby. I had to provide. If I did not, she would have kicked me out and taken our daughter Freweini to live with her sister.
So, I was waiting there, just looking at all that rubble and thinking, I am no good for this work any more… and that is when I saw Yonas arrive. I went up to him and said ‘Selam!’ and we started talking. He told me that he missed speaking in Tigrinya. And I said to him, ‘But why are you not speaking your language?’ He said that he did not know any Eritreans in London. I laughed at him. But he was serious! I said, ‘What?! Not any Eritreans? That is crazy. I mean, there are thousands of us here.’ I told him that there is a lot going on in our community, and I could introduce him to some people, and spend time together. He seemed happy about that. But then we had to start our work.
It was just before lunchtime, and I was getting hungry, looking forward to the rice Jamila had packed for me, when I heard this shouting, and a big crash like an avalanche. I ran over and saw Yonas, lying on the ground. This huge concrete lump fell down during the demolition and hit him, they were saying. My first thought was thank God it was not me, but then I felt so bad for him, and I thought, probably he has not even got his papers yet! He had just passed out on the floor, and I even got scared that he was dead. I tried to feel his pulse, and I said to the boss, ‘What can I do, do you have a phone so that we can call an ambulance?’ But he told me to get away from him – actually, he swore at me – and told me to get on with my work.
I looked at him, and I thought, Really? We Eritreans are worth that little to you? He made a couple of other workers lift Yonas into his van, and drove off by himself.
I did not have a phone number for Yonas, and I did not know where he lived, or where the boss had taken him, and I did not know of any friends or family – nothing. And, when the boss came back alone, looking angry, I did not dare to ask. So, that was how Yonas disappeared, the second time.
But not so long after that, I received my own good news. . . I got ILR! I tell you, that was the biggest moment of relief in my entire life. The celebrations we had then – my brother and sister and all our friends around at our flat, eating and drinking and dancing!
It was a month or two after that when Yonas called me. I did not even know whose voice it was at first.
‘Hey, good to hear from you!’ I said. ‘I did not know if you even survived that injury. What happened? It looked bad.’
‘I just fractured my elbow,’ he said. ‘It is nearly better now.’
‘I am glad,’ I said. ‘The NHS is the best thing about this country, right? They were so good when my Freweini was born – you know, her heartbeat actually stopped, but they got her out, and she is totally healthy now. And I want to tell you, I have some good news!’
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I got ILR! Can you believe? I got ILR!!!!’ I could not get enough of telling people, even then. I still could not believe it myself.
‘Leave to remain?’ he asked me, almost whispering the words, like it was a folk tale.
‘I know! I mean, it took TIME. Six years,’ I said. ‘But I got it. I am sure you will too. So, are you coming to Martyrs’ Day?’ He said no, like he did not even know what was happening. I said, ‘Are you serious?’ I mean, Martyrs’ Day is one of the most important events in the year, a time when we Eritreans respect all the people who gave their lives in the struggle for our country. ‘There is going to be a big event in the park with hundreds of people and speeches and music.’ Yonas said he would come along. ‘And before you go, tell me, brother,’ I said. ‘Are you married?’ He laughed and said no, and I clapped my hands. ‘Then you are in luck, my friend. There are some sexy Eritrean women just waiting for you to meet. Like my wife’s cousin, Nigisti. She is available, and she is sweeeeet to look at, and she can dance – not that I am watching closely because obviously I am married, but you know what I mean.’