A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(23)
The ferry was delayed four hours by bad weather. Doaa sat waiting for the weather to change and dreading the next five-hour leg of her journey, which would take them across the Gulf of Aqaba. She had never overcome her fear of water and had never been on a boat. The waves were high, and they slapped against the sides of the vessel, making it rock back and forth at the dock. Though the ferry’s large size and stable appearance gave her some reassurance that they would have a safe journey, she was still frightened. Every time a wave pushed the ferry against the wooden dock, Doaa jumped a little at the harsh scraping sound it made. She had to call on all of her stubbornness and courage to force herself to step aboard the ship once the time came.
As her mother and Hamudi settled with all their bags on the lower level, Doaa and her sisters rushed to the top deck for the fresh air. But while Saja and Nawara moved to the side of the boat to look at the sea, Doaa stayed as far from the edge as possible. For the first hour of the trip, her sisters leaned excitedly over the railing taking in the view, while Doaa sat unmoving at the center of the deck, gripping the sides of the bench she sat on for balance as the shores of Jordan faded from sight. When her fingers cramped, she shifted her weight, but didn’t dare let go.
Saja turned back to look for Doaa. When she saw her face, she grew concerned. “Doaa, your face is sheer white!”
“It’s just that I can’t see the land anymore,” she explained, looking toward the shore she could no longer see, trying to be brave. Even though she couldn’t swim, the sight of land calmed her as she thought that she could make her way back to shore somehow if need be. As they drifted farther out to sea, Doaa finally admitted to her sisters, “I’m scared.” She asked them to help her down to join their mother and Hamudi on the lower deck. Saja and Nawara obliged and the family clustered together down below, sharing a small picnic.
Finally, they reached the port of Nuweiba on the Sinai Peninsula. When the Al Zamels stepped off the ferry into Egypt, Doaa was so exhausted that she felt as if she could sleep for a week. Smiling officials greeted them as they checked their passports without much scrutiny, stamped the documents, and explained that they had an automatic six-month residency, which could be renewed. Mohamed Morsi was president at the time, and his government had an open-door policy for all refugees arriving from Syria.
The family waited in the immigration line, watching as other passengers had their luggage weighed, and noticed that many of them were getting charged for excess baggage. Shokri looked uneasily at his own family’s luggage, worried that they would have to pay a fee, too, considering all they had brought with them. Doaa noticed the concern on his face and wished she had some way to comfort him. She knew they didn’t have enough money to pay any fees. The family hesitantly approached the customs agents.
“We are Syrians seeking safety in Egypt,” Shokri told them. “This is all we have left.” Hanaa stepped up beside him, as Doaa and her siblings watched from behind for the customs officials’ reaction. Doaa held her breath, waiting for another insult from an apathetic official.
To her surprise, the official manning the customs scale smiled at them and told them they wouldn’t have to pay anything, even though their bags exceeded the allowed weight. “You are coming from war and suffering,” he told them. “Syria and Egypt are bound together like family.” Another customs worker came and helped them carry their luggage to the bus bound for Cairo and wished them luck, while a family who were standing at the shore watching people file onto the bus called out in their direction, “Welcome, beautiful Syrian people!”
Saja whispered that she felt like a queen. For the first time in months, Doaa felt both safe and welcome. They had heard that Egypt would happily take them in as refugees, and here, finally, was the proof. Yet despite the warm greetings, Doaa was still anxious about having to start over again, this time in a strange new country. Her instincts told her that tough times were ahead. She looked around the bus, taking in her new surroundings, and stopped when she noticed the look on her brother’s face. For the first time in a long time, little Hamudi was smiling.
*
It took ten hours by bus on a bumpy desert road to reach Cairo. From there, they had to travel another five hours to the northern city of Damietta on the Mediterranean coast, where Doaa’s brother-in-law Islam had found a home for them in the district of Gamasa. Islam’s friend Abou Amad had arrived as a refugee a year before them, and they took a taxi from Cairo to his home. After offering them a simple meal, Abou led them to an apartment nearby that he had arranged for them to stay in. The flat, on the ground floor of a multistory building, had two bedrooms and a living room with shabby furniture, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Islam had paid the rent for them for one month up front. With only 300 LE (Egyptian pounds), the equivalent of $40, left in his pocket after paying for the family’s passage to Cairo, Shokri was already worrying about how they would come up with the next month’s rent.
The apartment was filthy, but Doaa and her family slept that night without bothering to clean or unpack; they were exhausted from their journey and not yet ready to face their new environment.
Doaa tossed and turned that first night. She was particular about cleanliness and kept imagining the dust on the floor rolling toward her in her sleep. The next morning, the family went out shopping at a local market looking for breakfast and some cleaning products. When they returned home, they all pitched in to sweep and scrub the apartment. It felt good to keep busy and have something to take their minds off their unease in their new surroundings. Doaa threw herself into cleaning, doing what she could to take control of her new situation.