A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(61)
As soon as the news broke that the miracle baby had survived the shipwreck as well as four days in the water, the hospital switchboard was abuzz with calls from Greek families wanting to adopt her. Director Haritakis estimates there were as many as five hundred offers. No one could resist the tiny child who had survived against such incredible odds.
Meanwhile, after four days of treatment, Doaa was slowly recovering, physically at least. She was transferred to a home for the elderly to recuperate further. The media was calling Doaa a heroine for saving baby Nadia and for surviving so long in the Mediterranean. The Egyptian man who had translated for her when she first awoke in Greece came to see her often, bringing his wife with him. They brought her clothes and offered to take her into their home. They had four daughters, one of whom was also Doaa’s age. She would be welcome and no trouble, the couple assured her, and besides, she was alone in a new country and would need protection. As an alternative, the Greek authorities offered to provide her with a small apartment, a stipend, and the chance to seek asylum.
Doaa knew she was in no condition to live alone in a foreign country, so she decided to take up the Egyptian family’s offer, and after two days at the elder-care home, she moved into their apartment in Chania. They had set up a bed for her in their girls’ room. The modest, cozy home, the familiar rituals, and Egyptian home cooking soon soothed Doaa.
However, she knew that her parents must be worried sick. They hadn’t heard from her in more than a week, and Doaa had been too sick and disoriented when she was in the hospital to try to reach them. Every time she picked up the phone, she struggled to remember their phone numbers, and when she thought of what she would say, the idea of articulating what had happened to her and Bassem exhausted her and all she wanted to do was sleep. But she knew she had to call them eventually. Doaa racked her brain for their number or any of her sisters’ or friends’ numbers, but she couldn’t recall a single one. Then she had the idea to remove the SIM card from her dead phone and insert it in one that her hosts had given her. She remembered that when she had sent photos to friends via the messenger service WhatsApp, the phone number of the recipient would appear above the photos. On her new phone, she opened the messenger service and scrolled to the contacts list. The first number she saw of someone who could be helpful was of one of her friends in Egypt. She dialed the number, but it was the middle of the night and no one answered. Feeling slow and tired, Doaa continued scrolling through her phone. At last, she found a photo that her sister Ayat, who was now living in Lebanon, had sent to her. Above the photo was Ayat’s number, which Doaa immediately dialed.
After several rings, she heard her sister’s sleepy “Hello?”
“Ayat, this is Doaa!” It was still a strain to speak and Doaa’s voice sounded strange to her from all the screaming for help.
“Doaa! Where have you been?” Ayat sounded relieved, and Doaa almost starting crying at the sound of her voice. She told Doaa their mother had phoned two days ago, desperate to know if she had heard anything from her sister. That was the first time Ayat had learned that Doaa and Bassem had been on a boat to Italy that should have arrived long ago. Ayat had been worrying ever since.
“Where is Bassem?”
“Bassem is sleeping at the mosque because we are all girls here and he can’t stay with us,” Doaa lied. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell her older sister that Bassem had died. Speaking the words would make it real. She abruptly told Ayat that she had to hang up as she was using a borrowed phone.
“You need to call Mom and tell her you’re okay!”
“I’ll call her, but I can’t remember her number. Please give it to me and I will,” Doaa promised before quickly getting off the phone.
Doaa couldn’t think straight and didn’t sleep the rest of the night, worrying what she would tell her family about Bassem. She couldn’t even remember anymore what was real and what she had imagined. For days, all she had thought about was surviving and keeping the little girls alive. But now she didn’t know what she should do next. Masa and Malak had given her a sense of purpose; now she had none. Before, all of her plans had been about building a life with Bassem. Now she was alone. If she talked to her parents, she would have to admit he was gone, and that meant she would have to figure out how to live without him and also confront her feeling that she was responsible for his death. When Bassem had wanted to turn back during their bus ride to the boat, she had insisted that they forge ahead, despite her own premonitions.
When she knew she couldn’t wait any longer, she picked up the phone to call her mother.
*
From the moment Hanaa and Shokri said good-bye to Doaa and Bassem, they were filled with worry. Hanaa had a foreboding that she would never see them again. After Doaa’s last call letting her parents know that she and Bassem were about to reach the beach from which the boat would leave, Hanaa and Shokri had stayed inside at home as much as they could, avoiding anyone who might ask whether they had any news. After five days passed with no word, Hanaa was beside herself with worry. The trip should have taken four days at most. She phoned Doaa’s friends and asked them to check “Fleeing from Death to Death,” a Facebook page that tracked refugee boat journeys to Europe and published announcements when a boat arrived safely. Many boats were listed on the page, but not the one that had left Gamasa on September 6.
Hanna tried telling herself that they had made it and just hadn’t found a way to contact her yet. Or perhaps the boat had had engine trouble at sea and they were waiting for rescue. Shokri wondered aloud whether, as before, they hadn’t made it to the boat and were unable to call from prison. The one thing neither would say to the other was that Doaa and Bassem may have died at sea.