Insight

Danny gave up on his watch and checked his cell phone for the time. At least the phone knew what time-zone he was in. He’d correct the watch’s setting if it ever started working again and they sat still long enough. He had lost track of airports and languages. London. Cairo. Tripoli. It was all a blur. His stomach had informed him that it was time for a meal. According to the phone this meal was lunch.

A Powerbar and a bottle of water were his only choice and he struggled to consume both while they bounced in the back of the ancient bus over the potted road. Danny expected the bus’s engine to fail at any moment but the beast soldiered them up the mountain road without slowing. Occasionally goats and small children scrambled out of their path and Danny would turn and watch them disappear into the dust. Everywhere he looked was desert. Highland desert like he had once seen on a trip to Arizona. Mostly rock with bits of grass here and there. The farms they passed were small and shoehorned in wherever there was a bit of level ground. They appeared and disappeared quickly as the bus wound its way through the mountains. Danny’s sense of direction was soon confused but the sun streaming in the dirty glass told him that they were more or less traveling east. Eventually the pitch changed to a downward angle and the squeal of the bus’s brakes added to Danny’s list of fears.

A sea of plastic tarps stretched out across the valley, a patchwork of blues and faded whites against the brown earth beneath them. Most were of the same shape and size with something stamped on them that Danny couldn’t make out. The rest were a hodgepodge of tarps stretched over wooden frames. An effort had been made to keep them organized into rows, but most of the spaces were crooked and winding across the rolling terrain. The flatter areas of the valley beyond the camp were covered in rows of vines or some other crop. The lake reflected the sunlight into their eyes, its far bank hidden in the haze. On the other side was Syria.

“About forty thousand, give or take. At least it was the last time I was here.”

“The government won’t let them. They learned their lesson when they let the Palestinians in. That cost them fifteen years of war and destroyed Beirut. These people will either get sponsored by another country, stay here, or go back to Syria. That’s their only choice. I’m not a big fan of the new Prime Minister, but Mikati knows what he’s talking about. Lebanon can’t absorb any more refugees without some serious foreign aid. None of the camps in Lebanon are official, they don’t even register the refugees, so any count we hear is an estimate.”

Sean glanced behind them before speaking. Some of their fellow travelers were members of the press as well.

Sean ignored him and pointed to the road ahead. “Security gate. Just show them your press credentials, if they even ask, and stay close to me.”

The smell arrived first. The bus was still over a half mile from the gate when the smell hit them. The closer they got, the more rutted and broken the road became. The guard at the gate barely glanced at the driver before waving him through—he was clearly more concerned with traffic trying to head the other way. A crowd of children emerged from nowhere and surrounded them, dancing around their bus and the truck following them. Most were decently clothed for the summer weather although Danny noticed more bare feet than not. The clothes were loose, most of them fitted for larger frames. All the children were quite dirty and skinnier than they should be, but their smiles were genuine. For some reason they were very happy to see the bus.

Sean brought out his camera and took several shots of the kids and the camp as they passed. Danny leaned back to give him a wider view and watched their progress out the dirty windshield. A flag with the Red Crescent flew over a large white tent. The bus slowed to a stop and the truck pulled around them, the children and several adults still giving chase.

“Keep a hand on your backpack. These people are usually very honest, but they’re also desperate. It changes them.”

Danny stepped off the truck and was assaulted by the smell at full strength. Landfill, his mind categorized it. He spun in a circle trying to take it all in before Sean tugged on his arm. They quickly left the crowd at the truck behind and disappeared into the rows of tents. The tents were a dirty white color, many of them ripped and patched. All of them bore the stamp of UNHCO on the side. In passing, Danny got a look into a few of them and saw floors made of wooden pallets piled with a variety of bedding on filthy, thin mattresses. Several of the tents had stovepipes sticking out the top, but they were in the minority. They passed a number of Syrian men, most of whom nodded politely without meeting their gaze. Danny began to feel as if he were intruding into someone’s home.

After a few turns Sean found what he was looking for. A small tent with Arabic writing on the side. A few women sat outside with small children on their laps.

The flap of the tent parted and a tall man of around fifty emerged. He wore a clean shirt and a worn pair of khaki pants. A stethoscope hung around his neck. At the sight of the photographer his face split into a smile.

For the first time since they had left Danny saw his partner grin. The two men shared a warm embrace that caused the waiting woman to smile and turn away. Kamel held his friend at arm’s length and examined him top to bottom.

“No holes in you, all your appendages intact. Your luck stays with you, I see.”

“Danny Drake, Kamel Mohanna. Danny’s with The Washington Post. He got a promotion to be my shadow on this trip.”

Still shocked by the fact that Sean knew his full name Danny was caught off guard. He recovered quickly.

He spoke to the next mother in line and she rose carrying a small child. Kamel held the tent open for them. Danny looked around but there were only two chairs. Sean found a place on the floor and Danny joined him. They watched Kamel patiently listen to the mother as he popped a thermometer in the boy’s mouth. Gentle hands probed the boy’s neck and he listened to his lungs for a moment. His face clouded for only a second before he spoke again. The mother listened closely and nodded, her expression changing from one of worry to relief. From under the table Kamel pulled a worn leather bag with a padlock securing it. He spun the dial. A pile of medicine bottles half filled the interior and he pawed through them until he found what he wanted. Dosage instructions and times were discussed before the young mother was sent away. A smile adorned her face and she wiped away tears before departing the tent. The doctor made a notation on a yellow legal pad before addressing his guests.

“Just a chest cold, I believe. The boy is lucky, the camp is full of disease.”

“The situation is getting more serious. The number of refugees is increasing every day and we lack the funds to handle it. We estimate fifty thousand at this camp alone now. When you pack that many people into such a tight area, then add inadequate sanitary conditions and malnutrition, it becomes a breeding ground for disease. We’re already seeing a rise in hepatitis, diarrhea, lice, and scabies. I haven’t seen any tuberculosis yet, but it can’t be far off.”

“Forgive me, Daniel, I mean no disrespect. No, the Lebanese government does help a little, but politics and a lack of funds are a large barrier to overcome. The Prime Minister is a good man if you go by the standards of those who have gone before him, but he lacks the power to get much done on this issue. The official government position on Syria is neutral. Publicly they refuse to choose sides. The truth is that one side of the political spectrum supports the Assad regime while the other greatly opposes it. As long as this balance is somewhat equal nothing will change. The politicians’ biggest fear is an imbalance happening. The refugee population has increased the country’s numbers by twenty percent. This is the Middle East, you do not need a majority of votes to rule, you simply need a majority of rifles.”

“This is true. The situation has come full circle. You see, during the Israel-Hezbollah war in 2006, over 200,000 Lebanese refugees crossed into Syria, there they stayed with family members or just started new lives. Now these families are all back here in Lebanon, scattered among the camps. Today the border is guarded by Assad forces in an attempt to keep arms and able men from the rebels. It is not easy to cross.”

Sean nodded at hearing the news and said nothing for a moment while Danny scribbled in his notebook. Kamel wiped the sweat from his bald head with a sleeve and watched the thoughts play out on his friend’s face.

“A fool’s errand, Sean. From what I’m hearing, it has gotten much worse. Assad is using chemicals and barrel bombs now. They take out an entire building at a time with them. Even the hospitals. They think if they can keep the foreign press out they can do as they like with no one to hold them accountable.”

“Not that easy anymore. They’ll occasionally allow a truck from a non-government organization to pass, but it’s interrogated well before it’s allowed in. If the NGO works with you and gets caught they’ll be kicked out of the country. The people there need them.”

“If the word doesn’t get out Assad will annihilate them at his leisure! Without the world knowing, what chance do they have?”

“I had a store in Homs. I ran it with my eldest son. We sold cell phones and stereos, televisions, some jewelry and watches. My wife taught school. It was the middle of the day when the fighting broke out. My son left to get his mother. I yelled at him to wait, that we should stick together, but he ran off. I went home and got my son and daughter. We waited all night. The shelling never stopped. The next day I left my younger children with a neighbor and went to look for my wife and son. The streets were clogged with abandoned cars, some of them were burning. People were carrying the wounded with their bare hands through the streets trying to get to the hospital. I saw a man I knew carrying his son. I helped him and when we got to the hospital there were so many. People were dying outside on the sidewalk. The doctors had been working all night. I lost my friend in the crowd when they took his son inside. I . . . I didn’t know where to go. I asked everyone if they had seen them, but no one had. Finally, I left and went to the school. It was burning from the artillery fire. A man said the wounded had been taken to a different hospital. So I went there. It took me several hours. The planes kept coming and then helicopters. They fired rockets and much of the city was burning. Eventually I made it but they did not remember seeing her. I asked another man, the one who drives the ambulance. He . . . he . . .”

“He told me to . . . to check the building across the street. I didn’t understand, but he’d already gotten back into the ambulance and was driving away. So, I went into the building, it was a store, clothing and shoes. Someone came up from the basement so I followed. Downstairs there was a morgue. The hospital had run out of room and it was too dangerous to take the bodies to the cemetery. I described what my wife was wearing to a young man there.”

“She was killed outside the school. The shelling had killed her and eight children she was leading away. They were all lying next to her.”

The man’s emotional grip failed and he broke down crying. He hugged his daughter close and she wrapped her arms around him. Unable to follow the English, she endured the embrace with a confused expression. She cast an accusing look at Danny. Who are you to make my father cry?

The man shook his head at the question. “I don’t know where he is. I went home and gathered everything we had together. Some jewelry and cash. Some gold. We waited for four days. I looked for him every day. Then Assad’s airplanes returned. More shelling, day and night. It was too dangerous to stay any longer. We fled. And now we are here. I have a tent, some cash for food and fuel, but it is not much. When the money runs out I will have no place to go, and even if I did, I cannot leave without my son. I . . . I am lost.”

“A teacher, he takes a few of them every day and teaches them what he can. They have not been to school for over a year now. Here in this camp, we only have each other.”

Danny heard a noise and turned to find Sean squatting in the doorway, taking his picture. Sean nodded for him to continue.

“To look for my son? I cannot. If I were to not come back my children would be orphans. They are all I have now. I will stay and hope my son, Allah willing, finds his way to me.”

Danny scribbled in his notebook while the man quietly watched, but before he could ask his next question the man had one for him.

Danny was caught off guard. His usual answer to this question was a flippant, “To win a Pulitzer!” but that would not work here. He thought about his answer before giving it, he owed the man that much.

“I tell stories . . . I tell stories for people who can’t tell them for themselves. Stories that I think are important for others to know. I try to give them a voice, a . . . a chance to be heard.”

“You have no worries from me. You are going to Homs and you should.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a tattered photo, cupping it in his hands for a long look before offering it to Danny with his left hand. Danny remembered to take the photo with his left as well before holding it as the father had done.

“This is the only recent photo I have of my son. He is twenty-two. If you go to Homs and see him, tell him his father awaits his arrival.”

Danny dug in his backpack for a plastic bag and carefully placed the photo inside. His hand brushed the bag of Lifesavers and he smiled at the girl before pulling out two rolls. He offered them to the young girl.

The girl cautiously left the protective circle of her father’s arms and reached across the tent. Taking the offered candy she quickly retreated. A torrent of a question escaped her as she examined the unfamiliar treat.

Danny produced a roll of his own from inside his shirt and slowly demonstrated how to extract a candy. He waited until she had one in her hand before sticking his on his tongue. She copied his movements and they both broke out in simultaneous grins that produced loud laughter from her father and a smile from Sean.

Danny fell in behind Sean as he led him down the hill toward the lake. Darkness was falling in the east and a faint rumble traveled across the water.

Danny looked east again. He saw flashes on the horizon that he’d taken to be lightning. Looking closer he saw that they were not. The flashes of light were orange and seemed to travel up instead of down. The rumble reached them several seconds later and it dawned on him what he was seeing.

Shelling. Homs was on the other side of the lake and the sound traveled across the water without hindrance. Danny stopped in his tracks and watched the lights flash across the darkening sky. The sound of the impacts increased in frequency and held him rooted in place. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be there. Images of Slaughterhouse 5 entered his head.