Aegean Sea between Turkey and Greece
“We’re going to sink!”
Amira held onto her daughters as tightly as she could with one arm, the other arm hooked around the railing encircling the waterlogged boat, the driving rain and wind making it impossible to see ahead, the screams of terror surrounding her nearly drowned out by the howl of the storm. Both Maya and Rima had their arms wrapped around her legs, their whimpers going unheard, their heaving chests torturing her with each sudden inhalation.
But they were alive.
For now.
Crossing Turkey and getting a boat had been relatively easy, though only because of Sami’s money. The man had been true to his word, using his precious stash of foreign currency, mostly Euros, British Pounds and American Dollars, to get them all out of the refugee camp—a modest bribe to a guard—then transport to the coast—a not so modest bribe—then passage on a boat.
Where the only one available was the rickety affair they were now on due to his funds having to cover seven people instead of just four.
She had felt overridden by guilt when they had heard the price for safe passage on a boat they all felt they could trust to get them there. He had enough for his family, and Sami had looked at her and she had stared at him, dread filling her eyes as she silently pleaded for him to find another way, not to abandon her and her children after having come so far.
“There’s seven of us. We need something cheaper.”
Another man had been called over, the café they had met their prospective boat captain at seemingly teeming with profit mongers, and a deal struck.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she realized that if they should all die here today, it would be her fault.
Sami was just ahead of her, he holding one child and the railing, his wife the other. They weren’t going to fall overboard, though the waves kept sweeping over them. The concern now shouted by the captain at the helm was that they were overloaded and going to sink.
“She’s Christian!” shouted someone to her right. Her head spun toward the man who was now pointing at a woman, huddled at her husband’s feet, praying, a crucifix in her hand, a look of horror on her face at having been discovered.
“Throw her overboard!” yelled someone else. “Why should we die so infidels can be saved!”
“Throw the dirty Christian off!”
Amira stared up at the Captain, hoping he’d do something to stop this, but instead he simply turned his back on the entire proceeding. She watched in horror as several young men approached, slipping and sliding on the deck, risking their own lives as they seemed determined to take others’.
The woman’s husband swung his free hand at the first man, making contact, his would be attacker falling onto the slick deck, sliding back as the prow rose steeply, dumping everyone off their feet who didn’t have a good hold of something.
Yet it didn’t stop them. More converged on the man and he was quickly overpowered, his screams, his pleas, barely heard above the angry, desperate shouts of the others.
And then they stopped, his flailing body tossed overboard, his wife’s scream tearing across the deck, then silenced, as she too joined her husband in the roiling sea. Amira looked back to try and spot them, and for a moment thought she saw a hand, though couldn’t be certain.
To her horror the young men weren’t done, joined by more as they made their way around the boat, there only about thirty souls aboard, challenging each to recite passages from the Koran, any who hesitated attacked and tossed overboard. She again stared up at the Captain who seemed careful to avoid looking at what was going on, and she felt sick to her stomach as the men who had taken charge approached Sami and his family.
She had to admit she felt bad for those dying, though a small part of her was relieved that someone had taken action. Was it right that they should all die, or did it make sense to sacrifice some so that the others could live? And how should it be decided who should live and who should die? Should it be men? Women? The elderly? How was that any less discriminatory than choosing by religion?
Her mouth suddenly filled with bile and she pushed her head over the side of the railing, heaving several times, her children crying out, gripping her legs tighter. She thanked Allah that she was Muslim, that she was one of the followers of the Prophet’s teachings, and she would be spared the culling.
And prayed for those misguided souls sacrificed to save her and her children.
Already she could sense the boat was faring better, the Captain seeming less agitated, but still not stopping the murders happening around him. She stared up at him, pleading silently for him to look her way, and he did.
And they made eye contact.
“That’s enough!” he shouted, the young men who had taken control stopping just as they approached her, Sami having passed the test. “We should be fine now.”
They continued for several more hours, land finally spotted, bypassing the safer Greek islands and heading for the mainland. The Captain pulled into shallow waters, smaller boats rushing out to meet them and take them ashore, their own deathtrap roaring away the moment the last foot left its deck.
As her feet hit land for the first time in hours, she dropped to her knees and began to pray, thanking Allah for sparing their lives and for the sacrifices the kafirs had made, praying their souls would be allowed entry into paradise even if they weren’t worthy in some people’s eyes.
Jodee patted her shoulder. “Come, we need to get moving.”
She nodded and rose, taking her children by the hands when several vehicles with flashing blue lights arrived on a road just ahead, soldiers or police pouring out. Several people screamed, others shouted, the young men sprinting away, she and her travelling companions instead simply standing there, exhausted, soaked, and hungry, resigned to whatever fate had in store for them.
It turned out it was a ride to a refugee-processing center.
Processing took hours, their photos taken, their names and other relevant information recorded before they were finally pointed toward a tent-filled camp.
“What now?” she asked the woman who had processed them, a woman who spoke passable Arabic.
“Now you wait.”
“For how long?”
The woman shrugged. “However long it takes.” She pointed toward a road leading away from the camp, a long line of people slowly walking down it, away from the area. “If I were you, I’d follow them and get to Germany. Those fools are taking everyone.”
“But how? That would take months.”
The woman shook her head. “There’s trains and buses. You might be waiting a while though, since it seems almost everyone arriving are young men and they’re not exactly letting the women and children on first.”
Amira glanced around and noticed the same thing she had noticed in Turkey.
A sea of young, well-built men.
She shivered.
Though whether it was from her still soaked clothes or a sense of foreboding, she couldn’t say.
“If we stay here?”
The woman shrugged again. “Can’t say. But we don’t want you.” She pointed toward the camp. “Move along.”
Amira nodded, spotting Sami and his family waiting for her.
“What do you think?” she asked, nodding toward the camp.
“I was told we should try to get to Germany.” Sami pointed toward the long column of people heading away from the camp. “That’s where they’re going.”
Amira looked back at the lines of people being processed, knowing that if they delayed too long, those people could very well be ahead of them, waiting for the same trains to Germany. She turned back to the others. “I was told the same thing.”
Jodee eyed the guards who were doing nothing to force anyone into the camps. “Do you get the sense that they want us to leave? To go to Germany?”
Amira nodded. “Mine told me as much.”
Sami picked up one of his children. “I don’t want to stay where I’m not welcome. Let’s get moving.”
Amira took her children by the hand and followed, merging into the crowd heading inland, not sure if they were making the right decision. Food, water, shelter and clean clothes all were available on the other side of the fence.
She feared they might all regret the path they had just chosen.