A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(47)

At dawn on Sunday, after a sleepless night for everyone on board, the boat cut its engine as another fishing trawler approached. The smugglers ordered the refugees to switch boats. Doaa couldn’t understand the logic of moving to another boat, but had heard that this was a recurring procedure for such clandestine journeys. Different fishing boats had licenses to operate in different areas of the sea, somehow making the smuggling of human cargo even less conspicuous to patrols. The two trawlers pulled alongside each other and, although they were tied together, kept drifting apart then smacking up against each other again. Doaa struggled to her feet and tried to keep her balance as she jumped from one dilapidated boat to the other, reluctantly taking the hand that a smuggler offered her to pull her onto deck of the second boat as another one pushed her toward him.

This time, passengers were allowed to choose where they wanted to sit. Bassem and Doaa reunited on the new ship, and he led her to a space on the deck where they could lean their backs against the side of the boat. They sat on their life jackets and huddled together. With no space to lie down, Doaa leaned her head on Bassem’s shoulder, and his head rested on hers.

Once they set off, the crew, in a pathetic attempt to show benevolence, walked the deck handing out tins of expired and rotten processed meat. Bassem settled for some of the dates that they had brought with them, but Doaa couldn’t eat at all. When the ship moved, everything in the toilets shifted as well, stirring up a terrible stench that caught in Doaa’s nostrils, making it difficult even to breathe. Just three more days of this, then we will be rescued by the Italians and this nightmare will be over, she told herself again and again. When the sea was calm, the seasickness temporarily abated, and passengers pulled out the snacks they had packed—cookies, dried fruit, and small boxes of juice, sharing with each other. For a few brief moments, spirits would rise and people would trade tales of their dreams for the future.

Doaa observed the people around her, wondering what had brought them there. She had always been interested in the situation of the Palestinians and had had a few friends who’d lived in the Palestinian neighborhood in Daraa. She was outraged at the injustice of their lives in Gaza when she watched the news. Now she learned that many refugee families on the boat had fled from the latest Israeli offensive. Others were coming from Syria, once a haven for Palestinians and now a place where the government no longer protected them, and where they were being targeted either for their association with the Assad government or their unwillingness to take up arms on either side. Doaa spotted one family of four seated close by. She and the mother in the family started to chat. They were from the Yarmouk Camp for Palestinians in Damascus, and she and her husband, Imad, were trying their best to comfort their two little girls, Sandra, six, and Masa, eighteen months, who were restless and crying. Doaa asked where they were headed. The mother said their destination was Sweden, where her brother-in-law had traveled a year before with their eldest daughter, Sidra, who was eight. They had thought that if they sent their daughter ahead, chances were better that at least some of the family would survive. The mother asked Doaa to hold little Masa, then got to her feet and asked Doaa to pass Masa up to her so she could take her to the toilet. Doaa squeezed the warm little body close to her chest for just a moment, then handed her up to her mother.

Everyone on this boat must have a sad story to tell, Doaa thought, as she watched Masa and her mother make their way across the deck, but she noticed that few people would mention their past. Their talk was instead focused on the future, getting through the ordeal of these miserable days at sea and starting new lives. As the days stretched forward, a kind of solidarity formed among the passengers. People especially reached out to help the children—entertaining them with stories, offering them sips of water, or peeling open rolls of cookies to offer small treats. There was no sectarian, religious, or ethnic division here, just people trying to help each other get through the day.

Doaa longed for the Quran that she had brought to Egypt with her from Syria, her most precious possession. Since her early teens, she had read from it every evening before bed, and at random times during the day when she needed some comforting words to give her peace of mind. After reading from it, Doaa would slip it back into its hard case, which was embossed with a pink-and-white geometric pattern. Her Quran would have soothed her now, she thought, but her thoughts soon turned to anger as she remembered that it was in the black duffel bag that had been confiscated during her first arrest. She was suddenly overcome with hatred for the smugglers and anger at the police and everyone who tried to profit from the desperation of refugees such as herself.

A few moments later, a smuggler approached their section of the boat with a book in his hand. “Someone has dropped this Quran. Does anybody want it?” He was the first of the smugglers who had spoken to them with any kindness. Bassem was chatting with a Palestinian man next to him named Walid who accepted the book, but then, not wanting to appear selfish, Walid turned to Bassem and Doaa and offered it to them. Doaa whispered to Bassem, “I do really want that Quran.” Walid smiled kindly and handed it to her. Taking hold of the small holy book, she felt energy and relief return to her body. Just the feel of the soft leather in her hands comforted her. She kissed the cover and opened the book anxiously, reading the words of God inside, and feeling as if she held an object of protection. As she flipped through the pages, she found small slips of paper with handwritten prayers. When she finished reading them, she closed the book carefully, making sure not to lose the notes, and slipped it under her T-shirt close to her heart.