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Her music died out, and we stood, gazing into the abyss of everything that exists. I felt small, and at the same time just right. A warm hand slipped into mine.

Elijah Hill, Syria Girl

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God. Danny. You say some stupid things.’ She muttered as she pulled away, ‘But they make me want to dream.

Syria Girl, Elijah Hill

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A kiss?

‘Come on, just a little peek?’

‘No.’

‘I promise I won’t say anything.’

‘Danny…’

A week had passed. We lay on the top of the water tank on a blanket Ayamin had brought from her tent. I lay facing north, and her head was resting on my shoulder so our faces were close and we could see the stars.

‘I want to see your tent,’ I said again.

‘But why?’ she was shaking her head.

‘Because… I don’t know… I guess I just want to know you as more than the girl on top of the water tank.’

‘You’d rather know me as the girl who lives in an undersized kids’ tent?’

I touched the side of her face, ‘I’d rather know you as you.’

She screwed up her face like she was deciding whether to push me off the tower or not, before sighing and staring down at her feet.

‘Danny, what are we doing?’

‘What do you mean?

‘I mean what are we doing here?’

‘Well I’m lying on my back looking at the stars, and your head is on my shoulder, and I’m trying not to give it away, but my arm’s dead.’

She laughed and moved her head back slightly. Her hand touched the side of my face, gently turned my head so her eyes were looking into mine.

‘I mean Danny, you’re going to go back to England. Someday soon you’ll go back to your life and I’ll go back to mine.’ Her fingers traced along the line of my jaw then slipped down to my chest, ‘Why are we here, now, Danny? I know it’s only been a week, but if we carry on like this it’s only going to be painful when one of us leaves.’

I stared into her eyes. Took a breath, then another, and then another.

She moved her face closer to mine, the tips of our noses touched, and she smiled.

‘Hello? Danny? Is your brain home?’

I laughed, moved closer, and touched my lips to hers.

‘Yeah, my brain’s home. He’s just a little slower than most,’ I wiggled so I was facing the sky again, ‘Personally, I’m more of a go with the flow kind of guy. I think if you’re always waiting for the future to happen you never really get to enjoy yourself.’

I felt her shrug beside me, ‘Refugees only have the future. Hope that things are going to get better is about the only thing most of us own.’

‘Shit, you’re right. Forget everything I just said.’

She laughed into my shoulder, and then kept her head there. Pressed into me, facing away from the world.

I brushed a hand through her hair.

‘Still, you were talking about hope, right? How about the hope that we’ll see each other again? Maybe you’ll end up in England? Maybe I can get a job when I get back. I’ll pay for your visa. I’ll pay for your flights. Hell, I’ll even fund your ice-cream addiction.’

Ayamin’s laugh flooded through my chest. And when she looked up, there were two little streaks of tears on my t-shirt.

‘Danny!’ Her mouth pushed against mine and her hands pulled against my shirt and her hair was falling all over my face and I could hardly breathe for all her passion.

‘God. Danny. You say some stupid things.’ She muttered as she pulled away, ‘But they make me want to dream.’

She sat up, ‘Okay, I’ll take you to my tent… But if you want to see inside, first you have to meet my grandma.’

Next

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Her smile

We spent the day shifting timber and pipes for the new shower block.

A couple of refugee guys wandered over and picked up spades. They were quiet. Almost depressed as they moved. Their skin shone in the sun. I looked into their eyes and they nodded to me.

Sometimes they sang. Sometimes they laughed. But always those moments were tinged with sadness.

We managed to dig a couple of holes in the sandy earth and put in round bits of wood and concrete. The work was hard, and as night rose my mind wandered from work to home to the girl on the watchtower.

During dinner I drank six cups of water, then packed myself off to bed. A couple of hours later I woke, took a slash, then slipped out the window.

My bare feet touched the sandy ground with a light thud.

In the distance, I could see the watchtower. Right in the centre was a small silhouette of shoulders, a head, and a thatching of long hair.

I ran, took the ladder two rungs at a time and sat down beside her with my legs dangling over the edge.

I looked at her, it was the same girl from the night before, although I could only see her smile and her eyes catching the stars as she gazed off into the horizon.

I cleared my throat, ‘You live in the camp?’

The girl rolled her eyes, ‘Why else would I be here?’

I shrugged, ‘I’m helping to build the new shower block.’

‘So, you volunteered?’

‘Well…’ I thought about juvie, and the way the glass had fractured into a million pieces as I’d thrown a brick through the bottle store window, and I almost told the truth.

But then there was a flash of light in the distance and it illuminated the girl’s face and I saw she had the perfect lips, and eyes that seemed to be smiling at me.

‘Yeah, I volunteered.’

She nodded, ‘If you stare far enough into the horizon you can almost see it.’

‘See what?’

‘See England – your home.’

I gazed out at the black and darkness out beyond the camp. I couldn’t really see anything. But then I felt her hand reach into mine. I closed my eyes and focused on the warmth of her fingers as she traced her thumb along the back of my hand.

She coughed, ‘My name’s Ayamin. And one day I’m going to England.’

I turned to her and just stared at her face as she gazed out trying to see London in the darkness. I lifted her hand to my lips and watched the almost-laughing smile that appeared when I kissed the back of it.

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A beauty in the night

When we’d finished setting up Donna called us from the kitchens. We all filed out to where she sat waiting.

In fact, it was only the second time I’d seen Donna sitting. The whole way to Turkey she’d been rushed off her feet organising us. Now it seemed she could lighten the load a little.

‘So, we made it. You managed to fly more than 4200 kilometres and sit through the drive here without killing each other. We may have hope for the coming months.’

I stared around, killing was probably the wrong phrase to bring up in front of a group of juvenile delinquents.

Still, Donna’s energy and motherliness seemed to sweep most of the group over. Rows of silver teeth and scarred cheeks smiled at her.

‘Once we’ve eaten, we’ll head into the camp so you can see what it’s like. Then we’ll have a chat about the shower block we’re going to be installing.’

After eating tender, spice-infused, Turkish kebabs we shuffled from the shade of the containers into the heat of the camp. Up close the tents weren’t quite so vivid, most of the colour had been bleached from them by the sun.

Men, women, and children sat outside. Young mothers nursed babies.

Just like in England a group of young boys played football, only their stained leather ball was hardly recognisable from the synthetic fabrics we’d use at home, and not one of the little boys with their shirts off had any fat on their bones.

Our group cheered when one kid with a shaved head and only one arm volleyed the ball into their goal – two Red Cross flags about a meter and a half apart.

We stopped in an area just past where the boys were playing, it was inside the perimeter fence but had no tents on it.

‘We’re looking at installing a new temporary shower block.’ Donna said. ‘Everything in this camp is meant to be temporary, but some of these people have been here for years.’ she wiped a patch of sweat from her cheek, ‘No one’s really got a clue what to do with them.’

‘So, when I say a temporary shower block it means it needs to last a long time, but appear to be removable.’

She turned to us, ‘This is where you come in my English ambassadors, particularly those of you with a bit of muscle. You’ll be installing these temporary shower blocks.’

Malia – the girl with the dreads bumped me with her shoulder, ‘What do you think?’

I shrugged, ‘At least we’re not cleaning toilets.’

She laughed, a large unfiltered sort of cackle. I found myself grinning, ‘You?’

Malia rolled up her shirt sleeve, revealing yet more tattoos and a solid bicep. ‘See these guns here… They were built for two things… fighting and construction.’

She snorted, then spat on the dusty ground.

We made our way to the toilet block, hell on earth, despite modern materials, and the Red Cross’ best efforts, flies buzzed around the buildings like vultures.

Other departments we toured were the ration hall, gear centre, camp operations and finally the field hospital. A set of tall white tents housed metal bunks and an orchestra of coughs, groans, and screams.

The place was hot and stank of disinfectant. The nurses went around with bags of ice, placing them on patients’ heads, and adjusting the lines of morphine into their veins.

Donna started strong as she talked about the horrors some of these people had faced, and the countries providing aid and taking the wounded in. But the further we walked that white tunnel of despair the less she had to say until it seemed the only reason we were moving forwards was because it would’ve taken longer to go back the way we came.

Finally, we emerged from the hospital and gulped in breaths of disinfectant-free air.

‘Whatever you do guys,’ said one of the juvies, ‘Don’t get sick, because I ain’t coming to visit you.’

****

Night fell but the temperature almost seemed to rise. My heart felt like it was thumping out of my chest. I kept thinking about snow – the cool English snow. Someone in our cabin was snoring. I tossed the blanket off my bed and rolled onto my stomach with a groan. Through the window rows of tents reflected the starlight.

‘That’s it,’ I whispered, ‘I can’t sleep.’

I stood and nearly tripped on my blanket. I whispered a couple of swear words to myself and tugged my boots on.

The door of our container slid open without a squeak. I spotted the soldier guarding us half asleep behind a cigarette. His feet dangled near my head as I crouched past him and the sand masked my footsteps as I moved into a run.

The tents flashed past. Some of them glowed with faint colour. The fresh air seemed to cool around me.

At the edge of the camp, I spotted the outline of the water tower, and even before I consciously thought about climbing it, my legs and hands were pulling me up the ladder. I blinked and I was three stories high, sitting on top of a concrete tank with my legs dangling over the edge.

I laughed into the night sky. Tents glowed below me while a cluster of city lights twinkled off on the horizon. The energy of the night and the cool made my arms shake. I wanted to fight, to steal something, or ride a motorcycle as fast as possible.

I looked over the edge of the water tank, it was high enough to be dangerous.

I slid over the side until I was just hanging onto the edge with my hands, my feet dangled far from the uneven ground below.

I considered letting go and felt the thrill of adrenaline.

Then I heard a shuffling sound above me. There was barely time to say ‘huh?’ before two feet appeared an arm’s length to my right, then legs, shoulders, and a silhouette of a face.

‘Hello there,’ the face said, its voice was warm with an Arabic accent.

My mouth opened, but I didn’t know what to say.

‘I don’t usually get visitors up here,’ the girl flicked the long silk hair that ringed her face, she waited a moment before continuing, ‘Are you usually this silent, or have I picked the wrong language?’

She switched into Arabic.

‘I’m Danny,’ I said, my forearms were beginning to ache, ‘Aren’t you scared of falling?’

Her white teeth flashed in the dark. She carefully took one hand from the edge and held it out to me.

‘Are you?’

She was holding on with a single hand, I looked down, the ground was too far to drop without breaking a leg. But then there was this girl. I didn’t know what to think. So instead I just did.

I reached out my right hand and touched hers. Her fingers curled between mine. They were warm and steady. My left hand shook and sweated as it clung to the tank. I felt myself begin to slip.

‘Maybe we should just let go?’ she laughed.

Vertigo hit my stomach and I let go of her hand, then tried to scramble up the side of the water tower. My knee banged the side, and I felt my shin tear. My arms shook as I edged my elbows, then my stomach back onto the flat, safe, top.

I was panting as the girl calmly pushed herself up beside me.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I get caught up in the fun sometimes. You were very brave to hang off the edge like that.’

I stared at her, trying to find words.

She reached out a hand and touched my shoulder, ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again and in the same breath she was on her feet and walking towards the ladder. There was this slight tapping as she descended. I stood up and walked to the edge of the ladder and searched for her, but all I could see was the ground. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear an Arabic lullaby echoing through the tents.

I hung around and tried to imagine what I should’ve said to her. Slowly the night grew colder and when the words wouldn’t come, I snuck back to the containers and lay back in my bed just staring at the bunk above me.  

Next

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Malia and me

The tarmac was hot, blurry, and cracked despite it still being midway through spring.

Our plane had just touched down at Izmir Adnan Menderes Airport, Turkey, and we were transferring our luggage from the terminal to an old Land Rover with safari covers.

We were a group of eight, all British, all carrying pale complexions and sweating like crazy even though we’d only been outside for about two minutes.

Donna, the large Red Cross minder I’d seen in court, sat in the passenger’s seat. While a tall but lanky middle eastern man hopped into the driver’s side. Both wore the red cross on the chest of their t-shirts.

I piled into the back with the other juvies and sat staring out the window. I don’t think any of us really knew what to do with each other. In prison we would’ve established some sort of pecking order, but this was different.

Sitting in the row across from me was a girl with long dreads and a tattoo rolling across her shoulders. She raised her eyebrows, ‘What are you here for?’

It was a typical juvie question, ‘I robbed a bottle store.’

‘Seems harsh you’d get this.’

‘It was my third strike.’

She nodded, exposing the silver on her teeth, ‘I shot my drug dealer in the kneecap.’

‘Now that seems harsh.’

‘Well,’ she said, a vicious smile playing across her lips, ‘It was his third strike.’

The rest of the juvies were the same as dreadlocks girl, slightly psychopathic teens with bad upbringings and broken homes. The Land Rover was filled with swearing, a couple of gang references, and bragging as it made its way to the place we were supposed to be helping out.

A large fence wormed its way around the camp, but the fence had no gates. Donna explained to us that people were free to come and go as they pleased.

‘Most stay though,’ Donna said, ‘Good jobs are scarce and it’s hard to get back on your feet when your life has been swept from under you.’

Around us, there were hundreds and hundreds of tents made up of more colours than I’d ever imagined. I laughed as I spotted a Homer Simpson tent. The girl next to me turned her dreadlocked head, ‘What’s funny?’

I pointed out the tent and she cracked up, ‘Of all places for that fat American to show up….’

The Land Rover rolled to a stop outside the barracks we’d be staying in. The setup was nothing more than a group of shipping containers with a canvas roof stretched over top of them. There were four bunks to a container plus area to store our stuff.

It’d barely make one-star accommodation in the U.K, but in the camp it was a mansion when compared to the Homer Simpson tent.

We were told to choose any bunk we wanted, I was a little slow and ended up with one of the bottom bunks near the window. It suited me just fine: heat rises, and we’d be there through the summer, top bunk wouldn’t be quite so enjoyable at that point.

As I was setting up my bed, the girl with the dreads watched. She had the bottom bunk at the other side of the container.

‘Where abouts in the U.K are you from?’ she asked.

‘London, you?’

‘Edinburgh.’

I nodded and went back to my bed, I didn’t see the point in small talk, we’d have enough time to get to know each other over the next five months.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Huh?’

‘I said what the hell’s your name?’

‘Danny.’

I didn’t need to ask her name, she’d tell me.

‘I’m Malia.’

I sat down, the bed creaked, ‘It’s a crazy place we’ve found ourselves in.’

She shrugged, then spat in the corner of the room, ‘Beats juvie.’

I nodded, and looked outside at the rows of tents that flapped in a slight wind, ‘Yeah… for us anyway.’

Next

[elithehill]

Syria Girl

It was Friday, a school day, and once again I was stuck in court.

I wore ripped jeans, a baggy hoodie and a slightly muddy pair of converse sneakers. It was meant to be a joke – they were the same clothes I’d worn breaking into the bottle store.

The stiff-looking lawyer they’d assigned me didn’t seem to get the punchline though.

‘This is your third time meeting Streisand,’ he whispered to me as he ruffled through his case notes, ‘You know what she’s like.’

I ignored the twat and looked around the small courtroom. Two eyes glared back at me. The bottle store owner was trying to be a tough guy. I snorted and glared back until his stare shifted away. I glanced at the police prosecutor, some old dude with a big moustache, and then up front where the court-aide was getting to her feet.

‘All rise for Judge Streisand.’

I heard heels clicking on the oak floorboards. We stood. The lawyer was sighing. My feet started to heat up. I moved my weight from one foot, and back to the other.

I’m done for.

The clicking heels grew louder and more prominent, and then bursting through the double doors was Judge Margaret Streisand. She had a hawk nose, hawk eyes, and a hawk’s brain.

‘Scared?’ my lawyer whispered.

I shrugged. ‘She just acts like she’s disappointed in me you know? No one else does that.’

Judge Streisand didn’t look at me as she strolled past. Instead, she said hello to the police prosecutor, checked in with her court staff, then pulled out a stack of paperwork from behind her desk. I wanted to run away. I could feel my muscles tensing up.

I won’t make it through the door, I thought, But so what? I shouldn’t have come in the first place.

The judge finished consulting with whoever needed consulting, gave her paperwork a slight rustle, then declared court open. I shut my eyes.

‘Mr Danny Frey.’ She boomed from the front of the room, ‘I thought we’d made a deal.’

I opened my eyes. Everyone was staring at me, ‘Sorry miss.’

‘Sorry? Sorry works the first two times you come to court. As they say in the U.S – third strike and you’re out.’

I stared at the picture of the Queen, and the Union Jack that sat behind her desk; trying to avoid those eyes.

‘Anyway….’ She shook her head, ‘Let’s hear what the police have to say.’

As per usual, the police prosecutor mumbled his way through what had happened. There was security footage of a group throwing bricks through the bottle store windows before helping themselves to what was inside.

One of the youths was wearing the same jersey I’d been found in. Three bottles of scotch had also been found on me (there’d been a fourth but I disposed of the evidence at a party the night before). The total cost of the theft ran to around £2000 – not a big deal, but the fact that I’m not rich and this was my third time sort of made it a big deal.

When the prosecutor had finished, the bottle store owner spoke. Then my lawyer spoke. Then the police prosecutor said something which my lawyer refuted and they all descended into a technical-term festival.

I was struggling to stand still. I needed to run or have a fight or jump off a pier or something. My eyes flicked about; I noticed a rather large woman walking through the court doors. She wore a white hat with a red cross on it and when she caught Streisand’s eye the judge smiled which was something I’d never seen before.

The red cross lady squeezed into one of the aisles and stared at me. She looked like she wanted to smile at me or something so I turned away and pretended to watch my future being decided. When I looked back she was still watching me.

Back in the realm of court decisions, things were happening too fast for me to keep up. The judge finished with the police, my lawyer, and the liquor store owner, and concentrated her full attention on me. I gulped again, wondering if it was still too late to run.

‘Mr Frey,’ she said, ‘The police and your lawyer have mentioned that there were other youths on the scene with you.’

I stared ahead, not looking at her.

‘Mr Frey,’ she repeated, ‘You could cut the time of your sentence if you were to add a few names to our list.’

I stood silent, she had to ask me again, ‘Well?’

‘I don’t rat.’

‘Even for a reduced sentence?’

‘Even for a reduced sentence your honour.’

She gave a sharp nod.

‘How old are you Danny?’

‘I’m seventeen your honour.’

‘Well right now you’re not making many smart moves. This is your third offence and what’s stopping you from committing another?’

She paused, waiting for me to speak, I just crossed my arms and stared towards the ceiling. When I didn’t answer she looked across at my lawyer, ‘At the moment your jail sentence is looking like six months in juvenile detention.’

I tried to keep a straight face, but inside I was kicking myself for not bursting into tears or something. A few of my mates had been to juvie and they all came out colder.

Streisand stared around the courtroom, ‘Six months of juvenile detention, there’s no telling what a young man will learn there… It could scare them off a life in crime, give them a deterrent. Or it can harden them. Push them over the edge.’

She paused like the narrator of a play… letting her sentence roll out to fill the courtroom.

‘But Mr Frey, I also have a second option on display today.’

Judge Streisand turned to the large woman in front, the one who’d been watching me.

‘Donna Appleby from the Red Cross has alerted me to a new youth program they’re running.’

The judge pulled out a sheet of paper and read from it, ‘The scheme takes young juvenile delinquents to places where they can do some good. In two weeks, Donna will be heading to Turkey to work in a refugee camp housing people affected by the Syrian civil war.’

I stared at this Donna woman; she was nodding along. Then her eyes flicked to me and she smiled. I pretended I hadn’t made eye contact by turning back to the judge.

‘In five months, you’d be finished Mr Frey, so this is shorter than your juvenile detention sentence, but still long enough to have an impact on your life.’

She peered over her glasses at me, ‘What do you think?’

My lawyer put his hand up like he wanted to say something, but I beat him to it – anything was better than juvie.

‘I’ll do it.’

What could have been a smile twitched on her lips, ‘Is our police prosecutor happy with that?’

The policeman consulted with a deputy before nodding.

‘Very well then,’ said Judge Streisand, ‘I hereby hand Mr Frey over to the Red Cross.’ She hardened her tone, ‘If you ever turn up here again Mr Frey, you’ll be serving everything in full. We want you to be able to contribute to society Mr Frey, but this is your last chance to come clean.’

I nodded, ‘Thanks, your honour.’

Then my lawyer and I were walking out of there, halfway down the aisle the Red Cross woman stepped out in front of me.

‘Nice to meet you Danny,’ the woman gave a big wide motherly sort of grin, ‘Our plane leaves from Heathrow the Monday after next, I’ll be in touch.’

‘Thanks,’ I grunted, and as my lawyer and I walked off I was thinking about the bullet I’d dodged. There were worse prison wardens than the Red Cross lady.

But one thing made me pause for a moment as my lawyer hailed a cab.

Where the hell is Turkey?

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