“No one move!” a woman shrieked. “Stop moving, for God’s sake!”
The boat tumbled from side to side, bringing in gallons of water. At any moment it could capsize. The fragility of the lives on board depended on one strong sneeze or one scared child jumping onto their father’s lap.
The rhythmic beat of the sea pounding on the slippery rubber tubing serenaded the devil as he waited for the right moment. The salty water in the air fell like daggers on the sunken faces aboard. Right then, it was a familiar horror that kept them warm.
“Don’t everyone sit in the middle,” shouted another passenger. “Sit on the sides! Sit on the sides!”
Their lungs may not have been taking in water yet, but they were all drowning in fear.
We’re going to die. The shared thought zipped through the minds of the men and women on board. But no one dared to verbalize it.
“Is the water coming from a hole or from the waves?” asked a middle-aged woman who had her arms wrapped around her crying toddler. Her other daughter sat in front of them, staring blankly ahead.
“The waves,” a young man responded while trying to smile at the girl, an attempt to comfort the terrified child—and her mother. “Don’t worry, this boat is like a balloon, it won’t sink.” He looked directly at the little girl, raising his eyebrows in assurance. “Balloons don’t sink.”
“Slow down!” a man yelled to the young driver, who carried the burden of knowing that one misstep on his part could kill them all. He imagined forty-four bodies floating toward the shores as he gripped the red plastic gas tank with the soles of his feet. He didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of more Syrians; he had enough ghosts terrorizing his dreams.
Tareq was mustering up as much courage as he could as he stared at his little sister, who was sitting in front of him with three other children.
There was a woman nursing a three-month-old baby next to him. She concentrated on the infant’s round cheeks and attentive eyes, attempting to avoid the chaos around her. She began tucking the pink knitted blanket under the baby’s soft neck before kissing her forehead. Thoughts of Ameer and Sameer seeped into Tareq’s mind.
Not now. Tareq shook his head. He knew he needed to focus.
Jamila had not let go of his hand. Her eyes scanned the horizon, as her thoughts were lost, thinking of her sister, afraid of losing the only family she had left.
“I do not see them,” she said to Tareq. “Where did they go?”
“Do not worry,” he tried to reassure her. “They are probably near to Greece.” His insides felt an uncontrollable urge to protect her, similar to Susan but also completely different.
A shrill voice cut through the conversations on the boat. “Does anyone have a map?”
“We don’t need a map, we just need to get there.” A man pointed to the land that seemed so much closer when they were on the beach than it did now from the undulating waters.
“We have to get to the island of Lesvos.” She looked at him, annoyed. “My cousins are there!”
“Who cares where in Greece we land, as long as it’s Europe. You can meet your cousin in Athens.” He then turned his attention to his young son, who was stretching his neck and legs to see what was going on. “Sit down!”
“I want to see, Baba.” The kid looked slightly older than Susan.
“He’s veering too much. Tell him,” the map woman told her husband.
“You tell him,” he mumbled back, hugging his blue backpack, paralyzed with fear and unable to look his wife in the eyes.
“Fine!” she replied, agitated, before turning her attention to the skipper. “You’re veering! Keep it steady!”
The driver’s quivering arms began to wobble.
“Relax, habibi.” An older man with gray stubble tried to console the man at the helm. “You’re doing fine. Just take control of your nerves. We trust you.”
The words tempered his anxiety a bit.
“Let’s sink the boat so the Greek Coast Guard will have to save us,” a young man with gelled black curls suggested.
“No!” a chorus of voices yelled back. “Do not sink the boat!”
“I can’t do this trip again,” the young man said in defense of his proposal. “This is my third time. Something always goes wrong, and we always have to go back. Not again!”
“We are barely a kilometer from the Turkish shore.” The old man pointed to the beach they just departed. “If any coast guard will come, it will be the Turks. And they will take us back only to give us deportation papers!”
“And what if no one comes?” The woman holding on to her daughter glared at the young man. “If the boat sinks, we will all die.” She scanned around, now directing her words to everyone. “No one sinks the boat! We can’t all swim!” She kissed her toddler while cursing the young man under her breath. “Ahmaq.”
The young man rolled his eyes, giving up on his deadly suggestion. “I’ve been told that it works.”
“Who told you that? The ghosts below us?” She shifted her eyes.
“No,” he said. “I read it on Facebook.”
“There are many rumors and lies that have been spread,” Tareq heard the man from last night say as he cradled his wife and daughters. “They have cost lives. We won’t risk that today.”
“Well then, let’s just hope the bandits don’t stop us,” the young man continued. “And that’s not a rumor or lie. They’re out there.”
“Bandits?” Tareq asked.
“Yes, the bandits.” The young man leaned toward him from the back of the boat. He positioned his head between two bodies, making sure the scared teen could see him. “On one of my trips, a small boat came toward us and we were so excited, thinking a fishing boat would help us. Instead, these bastards took all our bags, phones and money. They knew that we could carry only our most important possessions with us. They even took the fuel! May God punish them all. So we had to turn back to the shore and paddle with our hands. Those who could swim pushed the boat ashore.” He leaned back again.
Tareq gulped down a newly added fear. His terror was not lost on the old man.
“You are not allowed to talk anymore,” the man with gray stubble said.
“What? I can’t tell the truth?”
“You need to stop this now.” He scolded him with his index finger, like a father to a naughty child. “There are children here who are frightened enough.”
• • •
An hour passed. But Greece still seemed farther away than Turkey.
“Look!” A woman yelled. “A ship!”
A white vessel with an orange stripe sped toward them.
“God is great!” she screamed in delight.
The group burst with excitement.
“Akalna khara!” the young man cursed. “It’s the Turks! Speed up the engine! We have to get past the Turkish waters!”
“How do you know?” the skipper asked. “If I go faster, we will take in more of the sea.”
“He’s right,” said the old man. “Those are the Turkish Coast Guard colors.”
The enthusiasm on the boat transformed to unrest. Tareq could feel his heart pounding through his head as the crammed bodies shifted and turned.
“Stop moving, everyone!” The old man tried to take charge as he directed his attention to the skipper. “Speed up the motor.”
He increased the acceleration, but that only caused the dinghy to take in more water.
“Slow it down! We don’t want to die!” yelled a young woman in a purple hijab.
“What is going on?” Jamila asked Tareq, unable to understand the Arabic that was being spoken around her.
“Everything is fine.” He tried to put her at ease. “But it look like that ship is Turkish Coast Guard.”
“Oh no.” Her eyes began to fill up as fast as the boat. “I have to get to Greece. I have to go to my sister!”
“Do not worry, they will let us pass,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Inshallah.” He then kissed the top of his sister’s head, who was now sitting between his legs. “Are you okay, ayuni?”
“It’s cold,” she responded, hugging her backpack tighter.
Tareq clamped her stiffening body between his legs. “Does this help?” Her wet curls flapped as she nodded. She could no longer feel her bottom as it sat in the icy pool filling the raft.
As the Turkish vessel neared, it caused their inflatable to wobble even more. The wrathful sea flew up and crashed down, saturating the passengers further. The approaching cutter’s sirens blared as its lights flashed. A voice bellowed out of the megaphone.
“Dur! Dur! Stop! Stop!” it commanded first in Turkish, then in English.
“Don’t stop!” the young man shouted at the driver.
“Stop!” the megaphone roared again. “Turn around. You must turn around now!”
“We can’t outrun them with our tiny boat,” the old man yelled.
“We can’t go back,” the young man retorted.
Prayers could be heard throughout the pack.
“Recite after me,” the old man screamed out. “God is great. God is great. God is great.” The throng repeated. “The one who has placed this vessel at our service. Oh God, facilitate our journey . . .”
Bang. Bang.
The unmistakable bursts came from the Turkish boat. The prayers were now replaced by shrieks of horror. The commander on board the Turkish ship gripped a pistol pointed to the sky.
“Stop! And turn your boat around!” The orders were repeated.
“Don’t do it!” The young man looked at the skipper and then turned his attention to the old man. “We have to keep pushing through.”
The old man looked around at the terrified faces and wanted to give in. “We can’t risk it,” he said.
“We’ve made it this far, we have to keep going!” he begged. “We have no lives there. What’s the risk in dying if we are already dead?”
The old man scanned the hollow eyes around him and finally nodded in agreement. “Keep going, habibi,” he said to the wobbly-armed driver, who was waiting for his command.
“Yallah!” the other passengers joined in, encouraging the young skipper. Their lives had been in peril for years now. They truly believed Europe would change that, as long as they made it.
“To go faster, we have to drop anything we don’t need,” the young man added as he threw his backpack into the water. “They will have clothes and blankets in Greece. That’s what I’ve been told. And if not, all we need is the clothes on our backs!” He looked at the grim faces. “Our lives are far more precious than what we have in these bags.”
They all started opening their sacks, quickly pulling out their small valuables and money.
Map woman yanked away her husband’s grip of their pack and drew out a resealable freezer bag that held old family photos along with their money. She knew it was not much, but they would need it. “Get a grip.” She poked his shoulder before chucking the rest of the bag’s contents.
The old man gently looked at his wife, who kept a raggedy old baby blanket before handing the bag to her husband to drop into the unforgiving waters. His eyebrows curled and he stared at her with pained eyes. The blanket once belonged to their grown daughter, who had died three months prior. She was having lunch at a park near her university when a bomb fell from the sky, blowing up all their lives. This torn blanket was all they had left of her. He took the blanket from his wife and tucked it under his shirt to keep it as safe as possible.
The mother of the two girls was pulling out diapers and a bottle before her husband stopped her. “We need this!” she yelled at him.
“They will have bottles in Europe,” he said calmly as he touched her shoulder. “We just need to make sure we get there alive.”
“I’m keeping one.” She grabbed a diaper and stuck it in a plastic grocery bag, which she tied tightly.
“Okay.” Her husband smiled gently while grabbing the other items and throwing them over.
Jamila picked up on what was going on. She pulled out a handkerchief her mother had embroidered with doves for her when she was a young child. She had used scarlet, emerald and black string—the colors of the Afghan flag. The cloth was wrapped into a square, holding her only valuables inside.
She quickly stuck it in her shirt, tucking it into her bra before tossing her bag behind her.
Tareq pulled out Susan’s doll and a waterproof pouch holding his phone and the little leftover cash his father had given them.
He handed Susan the doll. “Hold on to Farrah, habibti,” he said before flinging both their bags over. He noticed a message had come through on his phone but quickly wrapped the string of the bag over his head and around his neck. This was not the time to check it.
And just like that, one by one, the passengers threw the remnants of their past lives into the Aegean Sea, like a payment to Poseidon as they tumbled through his world. A new chapter in their lives began the moment they set foot on that rubber boat. This was why I was there too.
Under those deep dark waters are so many priceless mementos of those I traveled with. A life etched now only in memories. But those on the raft knew that the sacrifices they were making to the sea were not as priceless as the lives lost to the same waters.
Tareq thought of the thousands of lives lost that now haunted these waters. Please help us, he asked their ghosts. Breathing in the mist of both life and death that lingered in the air. I know it’s not fair that you didn’t make it. But please help.
The dinghy grew lighter and started moving at a quicker pace. Smiles of relief spread throughout the boat. The deafening pounding in Tareq’s ears steadied. The delighted passengers looked at each other with glistening eyes.
It was a moment of bliss that quickly crashed into a surge of panic.
Charging at them came another dinghy. It whizzed forward, shooting off water on both its sides. This rubber inflatable was smaller than theirs but also stronger and faster. It carried three men—all members of the Turkish Coast Guard. The man up front was holding on to a large metal stick in the shape of an arrow. He aimed for the motor.
Boof! Clank!
He hit the side of the rubber dinghy, causing the boat to vigorously sway back and forth, taking in more of the sea.
“He is going to pop the boat!” the woman holding her infant cried out.
“Stop it! You’re going to kill us!” yelled her husband. But the coast guards ignored his pleas. The man pried his baby out of its mother’s arms despite her protests and tears. He held the screaming child to the coast guard as his wife continued to slap at the back of his head.
The baby’s wails were only drowned out by her mother’s. “Give her back to me!”
“My baby! We have babies!” the man shrieked to deaf ears.
The coast guards continued to try and puncture the boat and its motor.
“They are trying to kill us!” Jamila snapped. “Why does everyone want to kill us?” she shouted before continuing in Dari. Tareq didn’t understand what she was saying, but he recognized the anger. So did everyone on the boat. Their pleas turned to rage. Screaming at the coast guard to get lost.
But the chaos and fear only fueled the men on the other boat. They rammed the rod again but this time missed the boat and hit the skipper’s right arm.
The old man caught him before he could fall into the sea.
Suddenly the father holding his baby got up and held his daughter over the edge of the boat. “I will drop her!” he shouted loud enough for the Turkish men on the other dinghy to hear. “I swear I will drop her if you don’t let us pass!” The boat went silent, except for the screaming mother. She pounded her fists on her husband’s vest, but she was too weak and her body gave in, collapsing to the floor of the dinghy, her face splashing on the water that had sloshed in. She whimpered like a hurt puppy as she lay next to the children.
The man pushed his arms forward as if he was going to drop the infant.
The young man, now angrier than before, pulled out his phone and started filming. He directed his words to the Turkish dinghy, speaking in English: “If you don’t let us through, I will send this film to my friends now! They will take it to the media, and you will be the reason why the baby died.” He then panned his phone toward them. “I just zoomed on your faces.”
There was an exchange of words among the Turks before they pulled out their radio and signaled to the cutter. Without looking back, the Turkish dinghy sped away.
They had given up on this group but knew they would have plenty more throughout the day, another chance to prove to the international community that they were doing enough to prevent refugees from making it to European soil.
“Allah akbar! God is great!” the chants began, thanking God and hugging each other.
The only person not celebrating was the mother of the infant, who feebly got back up and grabbed her daughter. She tried to slap her husband but could only muster the energy for small taps.
“What?” He put his hands up to protect his face. “I wasn’t really going to do it! It was just to make them leave! And it worked.”
Tareq grabbed Susan from behind and gave her a big hug. He looked at Jamila.
“You are okay?” he asked.
“I’m just very tired,” she muttered. “They treated us like animals in Iran, and now Turkey. How do we know it will be better in Europe?”
“We don’t. And we should not pretend it will be.” Tareq clasped her hand in his.
Brrmph brmph puuuuff . . .
“What just happened?” the old man turned to the skipper. The thumping of the motor had stopped.
“The engine is dead.”
“Ya Allah!” Exhausted wails circulated. “Oh God!”
“Well, we can’t call the Turkish Coast Guard,” the young man joked, still high on endorphins.
No one laughed. They just glared.
The old man ignored him. “Who can swim?”
Tareq searched around the boat but found downcast eyes. Two men raised their hands and he joined them.
“I’m not very good, but I used to swim in the Euphrates with my cousin,” he said.
“Any help will do, son.” The old man gave him a steadfast nod. “Just keep your vest on.”
“The vest will do him no good. It’s a fake,” the young man said. “It will be as heavy as having cement around your body when it soaks up the water. Take one of the tubes.” He tossed a black inflated ring in his direction.
“We are still taking in water.” Tareq flinched. The level had risen sharply, covering Susan’s stomach. “Omri, are you okay?”
She clung to her doll as her body shivered. Jamila grabbed Susan and held her close.
“All the men, whether you can swim or not, we have to get out of the boat.” The old man stared widely at the pool in front of him. “We will hold on to the sides. The swimmers will lead us.”
No one argued. They grabbed the black inner tubes on the boat and dove into the frigid water, feeling it prick every inch of their body.
“Well, now I know how water feels when it turns to i-i-i-ice,” the young man said through rattling teeth.
Tareq held on to the side of the dinghy with one arm as he kicked his feet and paddled with the other arm. His body felt heavy from the cold, but the tube around his neck kept him afloat. He chose to keep the vest on, mostly for the small bit of protection it provided from the stinging water. He labored through the freezing temperature. They all did. “For Susan. For my father. For Jamila,” he repeated to himself. “For Susan. For my father. For Jamila.”
The women, in an almost futile but spirited effort, used their hands to scoop out the water in the boat while encouraging their husbands, fathers, sons and brothers. “We are getting nearer! We are almost there!”
But as time passed, so did their energy. The women’s arms became sore and Tareq’s leg spasms more painful and intense. Confidence and hope began to drain as their hands and limbs went numb.
Tareq steadied his sight on the landmass ahead. It still felt impossibly far. He shifted over to the man who had been paddling next to him, the infant’s father. His face was pale and lips blue. “Ammo, are you okay?” But there was no response. “Ammo?” He tapped the man’s stiff shoulder, which only made him float back like a buoy.
He pulled the young father closer and immediately knew. He’d seen that look before. The empty gaze from the eyes of a body whose soul had already slipped away.
He turned to the man’s wife, who was now staring down at them. She’d heard Tareq trying to wake him. She shoved her baby into Jamila’s already crowded arms and splashed into the water.
“Hussam!” she grabbed her husband by the top of his life jacket as she swallowed the frigid salt water, trying to stay afloat. “Hussam! Wake up! Wake up!” Tareq tried to grab her, but she was in a hypnotic state and slapped the boy away. “Hayati! Wake up!” She cried.
Grief swept the boat.
Death had followed them from Syria.
Some cried. Others didn’t have the tears left.
A woman on the boat yelled out to her, “Please, sister, come back on the boat, your daughter needs you.”
“Hussam!” she continued, lost in the moment, not hearing or thinking of anything else. Her body bobbed frantically as her lungs took in more of the choppy water, choking on it. She kicked but didn’t know how to swim. The unforgiving sea sucked her in, separating her from her husband’s frozen body. Tareq held on to her vest as tight as he could. He, too, felt the pull of the forceful water as they were jerked under. He gripped on to her desperately, trying to kick up, but instead was dragged deeper down.
They were face-to-face under the deep blue sea. Her headscarf slowly unwrapped, revealing her highlighted chestnut hair. The rose-colored fabric gently fluttered and floated toward the surface.
Their eyes locked through the crystal blue water. The bubbles stopped pouring from her mouth. And like the decamped piece of fabric, her soul drifted from her lifeless green eyes.