A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(42)
“They’ll catch up. Keep moving, or the police will find and arrest you,” another said.
“Keep close to me,” Bassem told Doaa. She was the only girl among the group, and he was afraid the men would kidnap or rape her, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop them. Doaa moved in closer to Bassem, feeling as if they’d made a terrible mistake in following these men. Allowing themselves to fall behind the pack, Doaa and Bassem whispered together, coming up with a plan. They stopped walking and Bassem announced, “We want to wait for the others.”
The thugs then circled around them, confirming Doaa and Bassem’s fears. They demanded that Doaa and Bassem hand over their money and their jackets.
“We have nothing, we gave it all to the smugglers for the journey,” Bassem replied. He clutched Doaa’s hand and they took off back up to the main road as the thugs gave chase and shouted insults behind them. Doaa and Bassem reached the main road, gasping for breath and hoping that the thugs wouldn’t try anything in front of all the cars that were now roaring by. Doaa was crying from exhaustion and fear, and Bassem tried to wave down cars and comfort her at the same time. Doaa stood with him, hoping that a driver would be more sympathetic toward a couple than to a lone man. Her mouth was dry and she felt as if she would faint from a combination of thirst, fear, and despair. “Doaa, watch out!” she suddenly heard Bassem shout. The next thing she knew, he had lunged to her side and pushed her down. Doaa looked up from the ground and saw a truck had veered toward her and would have crushed her had Bassem not yanked her out of harm’s way.
Several cars buzzed by, but none stopped to help. Doaa and Bassem were worried that the gang were watching and waiting for them to turn back. Finally, Doaa spotted a police car approaching and was strangely relieved. “Let’s give ourselves up, Bassem,” she said. “It’s better than being attacked by those thugs.” Bassem agreed and together they ran out to the street. The police car screeched to a halt beside them. The officers stepped out, guns drawn. First they slammed Bassem against the car to search him as Doaa began to cry again. Then the police asked about the rest of the refugees. “We don’t know where they are. We decided to give ourselves up,” Doaa lied. They pleaded for water when they got into the backseat of the police car and the officers handed them a bottle to share.
The police drove up and down the area until daybreak looking for others from the group who were attempting to leave the country illegally. At about 6:00 a.m., the police stopped at the place on the beach where the sleeping coastguardsmen had originally spotted the refugees. In the light of dawn, Doaa noticed a small military post that had been hidden in the dark and recognized many of their fellow travelers, including about forty women and several children, sitting on the ground in front of it. The men had their hands tied behind their backs. Doaa and Bassem were taken to join the group. They sat down on the sand with their bag between them. Doaa felt sick and dizzy. She had run for hours without food, water, or rest. She recognized the pregnant woman from the truck when she said, “You look so sick, dear.” She handed Doaa a small carton of orange juice with a straw. Doaa sipped the sweet, warm liquid and instantly felt better.
Soon, without explanation, the police began taking everyone’s bags. Doaa didn’t trust the officer when he said that everything would be returned, and she felt as if a piece of her identity was being taken from her. Around midmorning, when the sun was getting hotter, Doaa grew impatient and went to look for her duffel bag. An officer instructed her to go back to where she was sitting and said he would find it for her. A few minutes later he returned, claiming that he couldn’t find it.
Doaa didn’t believe him. “Please, it’s important to me that I have my things. I don’t mind looking myself,” she said, rising to confront him. She was tiny against the big-shouldered man. The officer softened and sent three of his men with Doaa to look for her bag. She led them to the place where she had seen the luggage taken and saw only scattered pieces of clothing on the ground. When she spotted her cargo pants crumpled up and trampled on, Doaa returned to the officer and stood before him. “You took my luggage!”
Looking down at her, he said, “How dare you accuse us of stealing!”
But Doaa didn’t back down. That bag had held everything that she had. “It was stolen. The things in there are important to me.” But it was no use. Everyone’s luggage was gone. She thought of her treasured tiny jewelry chest from Syria and her Quran. Of what value were those things to these officers? She was grateful that she and Bassem had at least kept their passports and their money concealed under their clothes, but some of the others who had their passports and cash stashed in their bags had lost everything.
After an excruciating wait under the desert sun, the group was asked to stand together for a photograph. Then the women and children were directed to climb into the back of an open-top army truck, which took them up to the main road. Doaa was seated in the back next to a woman who said her name was Hoda, who was about four months pregnant. Doaa couldn’t imagine making the difficult journey pregnant and said as much to Hoda. “We have no future,” Hoda said, her hand resting on her belly. “I’m leaving for the future of the child.”
Although there was room in the back of the truck, the men, about fifty of them, including Bassem, were forced as punishment to walk, handcuffed, in the midday heat, for miles up to the main road. When they were finally allowed to board the truck, Bassem came and sat next to Doaa. “Are you okay?” he asked, taking her hand. His lips were dry and cracked. “I didn’t realize it was going to be this hard.”