We might be safe now, but the home my heart strains to hold on to no longer is. Shops, charities, a home- what good is it all if in return for my breath I have sacrificed where I belong? Where the sweet smell of cinnamon surrounds me, sharply interrupted by the bitterness of an old man’s words, khat staining the corners of his pouched mouth as he urges another Jaffa orange into my hand from one of his many crates. The finest in the market, he remarks. Ripe apricot paints the world above, with smeared vermilion splattered within the gaps of the clouds, bleeding through the cracks as it sinks into a rich burgundy as the hours roll on, cupping the setting sun. Bodies bump into mine; we all have places to be. Children giggle; their laughter begin to match the slapping of their shoes on their heels, its rhythmic consistency offering me comfort in the bustling cluster of people. A woman takes my hand, pulling me aside as the citrus leaves my fingertips and rolls for cover under a nearby stall.
Wake up.
Wake up.
“Wake up, they want to speak to you. Here, take this water.”
The bulb forces its harsh rays through to my eyes.
Mama says they’re hesitant to let us pass the border, and the truck driver wont let us journey with him further unless we meet his price requirement.”
Despite my lids remaining closed, I can feel her dragging me through what feels like a corridor, the straps of my sandal rubbing at my raw ankles with what feels like an increasing harshness as the walking continues. My sister slackens the grip her hand has on my wrist, and as she transfers her grip to my shoulder, I am forced to bend down to the frame of a cold metal chair. It is only with the sound of a door clicking closed that I find the need to open my eyes.
“Do you know where you are?”
“I am away from my home. Anywhere outside of my country is all the same to me.”
“So you are unaware of your situation. I expected as much considering your age. You and your family are only about thirty kilometers away from where you live; no one in your container has left the country yet. However, we are aware of the state of this country, and the severity of the war. It’s something we’re very passionate about. Has your sister told you of our good man’s price to cross the border?”
No.
“Your father, I’m assuming, hasn’t given your mother enough for the three of you to all buy your ticket to freedom, and so she, along with your sister- very pretty young girl mind you- have decided to have you leave alone. It is all you can afford.”
****
“And are you associated with any terrorist organisations or political extremists?”
No.
“Then you’ll be placed in a home with children like you until further notice. Goodbye.”