The delicious food melted in my mouth as I ate my ice cream. My foster mother had handpicked the flavour from the local super market. But this story is not about my love of ice cream. It is about why I am lucky enough to eat it, and why I have a caring foster mother. Why other children weren’t as lucky as my 13 year old self, and why I have P.T.S.D. My name is Amira, and this is my refugee story, the story of how I came from Syria to New Zealand.
It was 2011, when the Syrian war started. Everyone was fully aware of it, but nobody had any worries. I was living a happy life with my friends and family, with a passion for sports. I had trophies for my many netball wins, with my team, of course. 3rd of May, was a very exciting day at school. We researched all about refugees and the camps. We studied the journeys they went on across mountains and rivers and sneaking past borders. One of my friends, Iman, raised her hand.
“Why are the borders apparently so low guarded?” She said curiously. “Ah, well, Iman, the borders are very well guarded, it is just the refugees that are he smartest.” Our teacher Mr.Abadi replied.
“Oh, ok.”
The next day, the 4th, was even more exciting. It was my 9th birthday! I ran into my mothers room to roll her around, and finally she took me into the living room to open presents. By far, my favourite present was the sci-fi comic book. I love sci-fi. Especially the comic ones! I hugged my mother tightly and wished I couldn’t let go, but eventually, I did. I opened the rest and arrived at school. There I found a special banner hung up just for me, and couldn’t wish for more in my life.
On the 9th of May, 5 days later, I had had a long day at school, with a netball tournament to top it off. My mother was carefully tucking me into bed, reading me my story.
“Lily then lived a happily ever after in her world of make believe, where there were no threats, no bad people, and no hatred.” Lilys world of make believe was my favourite story. Lily went through her troubles, mountains, rivers, and oceans to get to her dream world, where everything was perfect. My mother had walked out the door, turned my light and and had given me a kiss on the head, when there was a bang.
I jolted out of my near sleep phase with a small scream. There it was again, BANG. It sounded like someone was desperate to break down our door. I rushed out of my small pink room so see my mum talking to a man dressed in Red, green, and white camouflage.
“You need to evacuate, France is planning a bomb drop on our town. You have a ten minute packing time, then you must run for your life.”
I dashed back into my room and grabbed my tiny suitcase. I hurriedly stuffed in my favourite teddy, Foobles, and a few piecies of clothing. I poured all of my fish food into my fishs tank and wished him the best. I snatched up my hairbrush and some hair ties and put them in the side along with my tooth brush and tooth paste. I took my piggy bank and dumped all the coins into my bag, thinking they would come to use. I scurried around my room to find my new book, but it was lost in my thrown around mess.
“Amira! Hurry!” My mother called in a stressed voice. “Nearly ready!” I replied, choked up by tears. I stuffed in my favourite diamond necklace and rushed out the wide open door with my mother. A kind soldier directed us to go north to Turkey, sneak past the borders and to boats. He would give us a map for a single coin and mother passed it over.
The map took us to some rough valleys with sharp stones jutting out of the stony ground. After hours and hours of walking, we found a dark spot to rest. When me and my mother woke up, we found a small stampede of refugees passing by. As soon as we got out of the cave one of them stopped.
“Guys this is pointless!” One called out. “We need a map!”. That is when my mother interfered. “I have a map!” She yelled. She didn’t know how bad of an idea this was. “We will let you have it for- ah!” The man had attacked her. My mother was a very fragile woman, so she dropped the man and let him have it. My mother came out of the tussle injured, but not destroyed. We carried on with or journey, clueless on where to go. We went through days of walking, and trying to keep up with others. Sometimes, when we got up to close to the middle, we were shoved behind by rude refugees. After days of shoving and walking we reached a river.
It appeared to be very deep, and I was scared of crossing it. “Amira, come here.” My mother called over the the deafening crashing of the river. I stumbled over to my mother, slipping on the wet rocks. She picked me up in her weak arms, and stepped in the brown waters. I screamed, but my mother was braver than me. At that moment, she was the bravest person I had ever known. But the second she took a step in the deep middle, she recoiled.
“You can do it mum!” I told her. She looked at me fondly, and just before she stepped into the thrashing waters, she was stopped. A fellow Syrian refugee offered to take me across this area. He was very tall, and had a kind face. My mother resisted.
“You don’t have to..” She said. “Don’t worry, she’s small, I’ll take her across.”
When we had ventured past the river, the refugee whos name we learned was Farid, stayed beside us and protected us. I had never known my father, he had died driving to the hospital to see me. My mother had always said he was a kind man, and respectful. Even though I had never met him, I missed him. Farid gave me a fatherly feeling like I had never known, but soon we would never see him again.
10 full days of walking later, we heard more crashing. This time, more violent, like a stormy sea. Turns out, it was a stormy sea. Across from the sea shore there was a crooked wooden dock. Lined up next to it was a small boat that looked like it was older than my mum. An old hut was maybe a five minutes walk away. From inside, a man looked out the window. He stepped outside with a small sack. I shied behin my mother, who stood her ground. “Care for a ride in my boat? It’ll take you places. It is only 70 gold coins.” The man giggled like a maniac. Me and my mother saw all of the refugees pay the price, and soon it wass our turn. My mother scurried around in her suitcase, and withdrew 64 coins.
“Oh dear, we’ll never escape.” My mother said. She looked like she had given up all hope. “I brought 20 coins if that helps?” I piped up. Mother looked at me with shock and love in her eyes. I took out 6 coins from my barbie suitcase and gave them to my mum. She paid the man and the ocean adventure began.
We climbed into the boat and heard a soft creak, as if the boat couldn’t support everybodys weight. To be fair, it was a tiny wooden boat. There was a small storage space at the back which looked like it also held an engine. Just as we got settled, the old man untied the boat and let us free. Farid entered the boats cabin and tried to turn on the engine.
“We have no fuel!” He called. There was a loud scream from everyone inside of the creaky thing. I cried and cried knowing we were going to get lost and never see the soft look of the shore again. After 4 days on the ocean, the worst happened. At least, I thought it was. Everybody had woken up on the wet deck to the crackle of lightning. There was a storm approaching. Everyone yelled and yelled, but there was no shore nearby, not a single boat either. A tall wave crashed onto the small deck and everybody got soaked with cold water. A few refugees like me and mother dashed into the boats cabin and slammed the door. We could see through a window people were being dragged of the boat and into the churning waters. Then, I saw Farid. Fighting for his life inside of the cold, salty ocean. I struggled to open the door.
“It’s not safe, young one,”A woman said, holding me back. I cried even more than ever before. When the sky had cleared up, I looked out the window to try and find Farid on the deck, but he was gone.
We traveled for a few more days. With food running out of stock, we didn’t know what to do. One day, we saw a boat far in the distance. We yelled and yelled, and eventually, it turned to face us. 10 minutes passed and it was lined up next to us, and an anchor dropped. A ragged looking man lept onto our boats and attacked us. This time, the cabin was to full by the time we got to it, and the door slammed in me and my mothers face. I screamed as if deflecting the pirate, but it didn’t work quite as I planned. The pirate ran over to us and snatched up my suit case and stole my diamond necklace, along with a few coins.
“No! Please!” I screamed. He pulled out a dagger from his pocket and stabbed me in the hand. I yelled in pain, then the world went black.
I opened my eyes, and yet again, there were less people on the boat. The pirate incident had left us with as little as 10 refugees on the boat! I looked around, but I didn’t see my mother.
“Mother? Mother!” I cried. I curled up into a ball on the cold deck, alone. I looked at my hand saw a deep cut, oozing with blood. A kind looking lady strolled over to me. “Where is your mother?” She must’ve been in the cabin. “Pirates, black, gone..” I choked. “Awww, sweetie.” She looked at me pitifully. She wrapped my hand in white cloth and gave me a long hug. Suddenly, a little girl screamed. “Land! Land!” Everybody rushed to where the girl was. Sure enough, there was a patch of land in the distance.
When the boat finally bumped the shore, all 10 refugees streamed out. Little girls and boys ran, and adults said their thanks to the lord. All I did was stare. We were free of that enclosed space. After a days worth of rest, we started to travel again. It felt weird without my mother, and I felt deep sorrow and guilt. The kind lady walked next to me though. I had wondered if she had lost her son or daughter, because she too looked guilty.
“You are from Syria?” She said, breaking the silence. “Yes..” I said slowly. “Where is your father?” She asked. “Died in accident coming to see me as a baby.” The lady looked pitiful again. “I’m sorry. Do you have any more refugee family.?” I shook my head. “Oh. I lost my son in the waves..” She said, with a voice crack near the end. She looked like she was about to cry. I reached over and hugged her, and she hugged me back.
“Excuse me, are you refugees?” A man in black asked us. “That is correct.” The man who stole my mothers map said. I was surprised he was still alive. “You will have to come with me.” The man in black said to us. We followed him a short way to a place surrounded with tents. There were watchtowers at every corner of a stone wall, watching to see if anyone escaped.
“You are in north-west Kenya, in the refugee camp Kakuma.” The guard said. The ten of us looked around. It was huge. There were hundreds of thousands of tents scattered across a wide expanse of land. There were unhappy people all across the land, and as we walked through, they were giving us warnings like: “It’s terrible here!” “You wish you would get resettled.” “it stinks here.”. I was very shy at the time so I was a bit startled by these warnings.
I spent 4 years in the horrid refugee camp. I was put into a tent with the nice woman, who’s name was Yara, and there was often a routine. Wake up, dirty shower, gooey breakfast, gooey lunch, gooey dinner, sleep. But on May 4th, my 13th birthday, a man walked into our tent.
“Amira, Yana, pack your things, you are getting resettled to New Zealand.” We cheered and cheered. We were finally getting a new home! I ran to my bed and packed up my clothes.
A few days later we boarded a small airplane to New Zealand. A day on the airplane passed and we arrived at New Zealand.
“It is beautiful!” I gasped. Yara nodde in disbelief. We were escorted to a nice house in Foxton and now my life is perfect! Yes, I miss my mother, but, I have a new mother, Yara. I have P.T.S.D, as in, I can’t stand the ocean, or ragged clothes. I have constant nightmares about my journey, and when I am alone I am reminded of curling up on the deck. Other than that, I love life and I am very thankful for what it has done for me.
wow ailie a lot of writing, your story is awesome and perfect
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