I’m cold. I’m hungry. I haven’t slept in days, and I’m scared.
I hold my 5-year-old sister Hana against my chest. I can feel her whimpering quietly and I try to soothe her by patting her back reassuringly.
I held my sister tighter, noting the blue tinge her lips are starting to take.
Standing in the packed boat packed with 300 passengers, another wave of salty sea water splashes across my face. I look around as the people around me frantically continue removing the water from the floor and throwing it out just as another wave crashes onto the boat. I hold my sister tighter, noting the blue tinge her lips are starting to take.
The waves continue fighting for dominance, hitting our crammed boat from all sides, pushing and tilting it in all directions. Through the haziness, I catch a wave bigger than the rest, and sure enough, when it falls on the boat, it rattles it, almost tipping us over.
I look hard, trying to see something, anything, a flickering light indicating that we’re close to the land, or a jotting rock, but all I see Is darkness.
By this point everyone is screaming and crying. My mother holds her hands to the sky, praying god to save us. I try to keep my calm for my sister, and for the pilot of the ship, Mustafa, who took the liberty of driving the boat after the original crew abandoned us to the sea. “do you see that?” he asks, pointing at the pitch black darkness ahead. I look hard, trying to see something, anything, a flickering light indicating that we’re close to the land, or a jotting rock, but all I see Is darkness.
Suddenly it pops into view.
I squint again, sure I imagined it, but sure enough, flashing red lights shine in the distance. Soon, what appeared to be small red lights start to intensify, and after 5 minute a police ship with loud sirens near our ship. Sudden silence engulfs the boat –excluding the sound of the crashing waves and the creaking of the ship- before the crowd diverts their cries towards the approaching boat.
Already, I can hear strangled cries as people fall into the water, I haul my mother up to my father, and I hand them Hana.
The police shout through their microphones, but no one in the boat can understand what they’re saying. Suddenly their boat comes towards us fast and collides with ours. I watch with disbelief as the boat tilts over, and starts sinking. why would they do this? I stand for one more second, baffled, before trying to think of my next move. “quickly!” I shout, inspired “climb up the ship!” my mother and father are the first to understand, and together, they start climbing the sinking boat. Already, I can hear strangled cries as people fall into the water, I haul my mother up to my father, and I hand them Hana. I start to climb up, but look to my left at Mustafa who is still trying to get the ship back afloat “Mustafa!” I shout over the noise “there is no use!”
The ship lurches again and suddenly the floor is replaced by empty air. I glimpse my parents’ horrified faces, before I get swallowed by the freezing cold water.
I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I try to grasp for the surface but my hand catches nothing. Something slams into me, knocking the air out of my lungs, and I’m sent deeper into the sea.
I open my eyes- despite the stinging sea water- and I look up.
All around me bodies are falling into the water; some flail their arms around, while others open their mouths in silent screams.
I look at the silent chaos with a strange detachment, not really seeing it, not fully comprehending the situation. Something shocks me out of my numbness. No, this can’t be happening.
But it’s him, Mustafa, my only friend aboard this boat. His limp body floats on the surface. I desperately shove through the bodies blocking my way- with newfound strength- reaching the surface. But I’m too late.
A month later, after the German police rescue us from their own error, my previously black hair turns white. The doctor tells me that it’s a side effect from all the stress I endured, but I know otherwise. My own body is mourning the loss of my friend. Every time I see my hair, I’m reminded of this journey, of the promise I made to myself, to my land. Because one day, I will return there, when all of this is over, I will come back, to Syria.
“Nice hair!” someone shouts from across the street. “Thanks!” I reply. It was a real pain getting it this exact colour. I smile at my own secret joke, while making my way to a new beginning.
by Leen Albejawi
