Ameena's Story

Fiction account of a young girl's escape from Syria

Ameena thanked god that she could see the coast. Her little brother sniffled in her shoulder. He was so heavy her foot was starting to fall asleep. She tried to push her foot against the rib of the boat, to ease the stiffness of a sleepless, anxious night. She readjusted her scarf and settled herself more firmly against her neighbor, who was slowly pushing her off the bench.

 

“Can you move over a tiny bit?” she asked.

“Move over, move over. You think this is a luxury trip?” snapped her neighbor, who was also covered in children, and worse, vomit. The boat had pitched and rolled all night long. The calm and fresh breeze of the morning brought some relief, and efforts at whatever cleanup could be managed.

 

Ameena overheard the others discussing the chances of landing today, a prospect she contemplated with fear and hope combined. It would be miraculous to be on solid ground, but would they find shelter? Getting reliable information about the landing spot was impossible. Would they be turned around, or worse? Never mind, all she wanted was to get off this boat. Well, no. She wanted to feel safe again.

 

Ameena left her mother 3 days before with her brother. From the crumpled bed in the corner of the room, her mother had instructed her to take what little money she had and a sack of extra clothes. Ameena’s eyes stung.

“I won’t see you again �"“

“Mama, don’t! We will send for you when we have a place to live. You will join us.” But even as she said it, she knew it couldn’t be. Her mother had suffered a massive wound to her leg in a recent shelling, and it was infected.

 

“Meena, you must go. You must take Sharfi. There is nothing for you here, and you can see I am not fit to travel, much less escape on open sea with you. My chances are past, but you, you and Sharfi, you have your whole lives to live. You must go.” Her face was grey, sweat breaking out near her hairline.

 

Ameena got up to get her a glass of water. She crossed the dirt floor, dragging her feet. Each movement, she felt, only brought her closer to departure. Though she didn’t want to leave, she knew that her mother was right, and that staying only increased the chances that she and her brother would also be hurt or killed. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her mother to die, alone and frightened, even if it was their home.

 

She heard a soft knock at the door, and looked up to see her friend Galash in the doorway. Eyes rimmed in red, mouth set in a stubborn line, Galash put down her sack and turned to Ameena. ‘I’m coming with you.” she said.

“What? Galash, you have siblings, and what about Garneed? You can’t just leave everyone!”

“Garneed is gone.”

“What?”

“Gone. One of the soldiers did him at dawn.”

“What? Why?”

“He had a chicken. They took the chicken. They cut his throat. I can’t stay. I can’t stay in this godforsaken place any longer. Not while I can move, run, swim. I can’t stay here. “

Ameena stared at her. Galash’s chest rose and fell, her eyes looking imploringly at her friend. Ameena knew Galash wouldn’t leave her family unless she were truly distraught, and her face told Ameena all she needed to know. Ameena nodded, gravely considering what this meant for her, for her brother.

 

“The boat will be full. We have only 2 seats. You may not make it on. And some boats haven’t made it across. Do you have a life preserver?”

 

“I can get one. I can bring supplies. What else do we need?”

 

Ameena went to check on her mother. Reassured that she was sleeping, she returned to the kitchen. She and Galash put their heads together, and with an earnestness that recalled all the planning they had done to make mischief in their earlier lives, they came up with a plan to get out of town together. They talked through supplies, and ideas for where they might land, and what they might do once they reached dry land.

 

An hour later, Ameena stood up. They had covered what they could. It was time to sleep, and she had to make sure her mother was comfortable. Galash got up, to, and gathered her bag.

 

“3 days time, then?” she said.

 

“Yes. I will be here. I will have the bread and life preservers. I will see what money is left. Thank you, my dear friend.” Galash squeezed her friends’ hand, hope somewhat restored in her eyes, and made for the door.

“Garneed’s funeral is tomorrow. His mother is preparing now.”

“I will try to be there,” said Ameena. Attending a funeral was dangerous. The crowds of mourners were often the backdrop for shootings. It was said that the fighters figured that if they missed their targets, at least their bullets would damage some of the dirty rats that lived in this town. Sometimes they shot into crowds just for the careless fun of it. Their bosses wouldn’t care, if they told them that they had killed some civilians.

 

Ameena returned to her mother, and soon heard her brother returning home. Sharfi was small for his age, his clothes flapped around him as if he were a short flag pole. His blue cotton cap was the only thing that fit correctly. This he removed and hung on the hook next to the door. He had a small sack as well, which he brought to Ameena.

 

“There is almost nothing in the shops,” he said. “And there isn’t enough money to buy the things that are there, anyway. I found this in Rosemund street.”

 

“Oh, no, Sharfi, not the pickers. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

 

“Why not? It’s perfectly good food. It’s simply going to waste. All those rich pigs with their gigantic garbage piles. Why shouldn’t we enjoy what they have thrown out?”

 

Ameena had to admit that the loaf was in perfect condition once taken out of its humble wrappings. And her mother would need food. Sharfi pulled another package out of his pocket �" small.

 

“Fishhooks,” he said. “Maybe we can fish.” He had heard that other crossers had had to sustain themselves on whatever they could find or catch, and he was determined to do what he could to help. Ameena doubted his efforts could amount to anything �" where would he get a fishing rod? Or line? But she held her tongue. There were enough awful things to consider without casting doubts on his efforts.

 

She turned to light the fire. Moments later, an explosion rocked the building. They flung their arms wide, looking for anything to hold onto. Dust rained from the ceiling, and a picture fell from the wall, but otherwise the room held.

 

“Oh god, who now?” she worried, thinking automatically of Galash, who had left not long ago. She surely must have been under cover by now, shouldn’t she? With great difficulty, she put the thought out of her mind. There would be nothing she could do right now. The area would be crawling with men attempting to pull people out of the wreckage. She returned to the stove and began boiling water. The pan carefully set to heat, she moved into the next room to her mother, who was stirring, moaning. Alarmed, Ameena quickly sat beside her.

 

“My leg hurts.”

“Yes, it’s injured, Mama.” Ameena wondered if this were delirium caused by pain.

“No, it’s worse. It’s much�"ugh. I can’t move it at all. Sharp.” Ameena pulled back the cloth and found the sight she dreaded: great red fingers of infection reaching up the leg toward her mother’s groin. She set her mouth grimly.

“I’m getting the doctor. Or I’ll send Sharfi. You need antibiotics, or you’re not going to make it,” Ameena said. “We have to do this, Mama.”

They had discussed anti-biotics the night before while Ameena was dressing the wound, and her mother had refused, saying that the money was needed for their trip. Ameena had acquiesced at the time, but now fear spurred her to new resolve.

 

Her brother was in the kitchen, attaching fishhooks to twine, and rolling them into individual balls.

“I have to go get antibiotic for Mama. Her infection is spreading. You watch the soup. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

 

He nodded seriously, and got up to take an initial look at the pot with its steaming contents. Ameena wrapped herself carefully, taking extra care with her scarves. Normally, she disliked the headwraps, but at this moment, she appreciated the concealment. She ducked quickly out the door and slid along the path outside, looking around carefully as she went. People were still hustling toward the area that she presumed was the site of the explosion. There was a lot of yelling, confusion, calls for aid. Dust was thick in the air, chokingly thick.

 

She left in the opposite direction, knowing that her chances of finding the doctor were greater in other areas, and her chances of getting to another area were greater if she wasn’t fighting upstream in the crowd of people around the explosion. She made good headway until she came to the first square, and then saw a familiar figure. Karleef. D****t.

“AmEEna!” he called out, his big belly sticking out ahead of him, sweat popping out on his forehead and leaking around his underarms. She was supposed to marry this pig. He had a lot of money, and “lucky” for her, she attracted him. He was a bully, though, and he killed his first wife by beating her one too many times. She pretended to ignore him as long as she could, but then knew as he continued shouting at her that she would have to acknowledge him.

 

“Hello, your honor,” she said, “gracefully bowing to him. If it please you, sir, I am in a grave hurry. My mother is in danger: her life hangs in the balance, and I need to get medication for her.” Karleef stood in front of her, legs spread wide, stomach protruding into her space, considering her words.

Uncharacteristically, he bowed. “Of course, you must help your mother,” he said. “How else will she help you to come to my bed on our wedding day?” he leered at her. He reached a meaty hand behind her neck, and forced her head up, so she could do nothing but look at him. He held her there for a moment, and she felt her neck muscles straining against the unnatural pull of his hand, as his eyes roved down to her chest. She could feel the heat and sweat from his stomach as it pushed into her. “Yes, go help your mother,” he said, and abruptly let her go, giving her a little shove.

 

With a sigh of relief she melted into the shadow of the nearest building, and stayed melted until she rounded the corner where the doctor lived. She had no money, she realized, but the doctor had let them have medicines before without paying, perhaps she would again. As it turned out the point was moot.

 

“I haven’t had antibiotics in several weeks” doctor Agarwash said. She was packing her bags to leave the office. “With the last raid, all of the deliveries ceased. Perhaps I can come and take a look at the wound. Maybe there is something to be done, anyway.”

“Would you?” said Ameena, hope dawning for the first time that day.

“I will. I was just leaving. I’ll come with you now, and head home from there,” she said.

 

The women walked quietly in the shadows together. They stopped for passing patrols, barely breathing for fear of discovery.  Turning into Ameena’s alley, they made it to the door, and Sharfi met them.

“I kept the soup going!” he said proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Sharfi,” said Ameena. “Is Mom OK?”

“She’s sleeping” he said, and looked toward the doorway of her room. “She seemed cold, so I pulled her covers up.”

Ameena and doctor Agarwash exchanged worried glances, and hurried into the other room. They found Ameena’s mother, gray-faced and sweaty, moaning slightly. The doctor went to the bed.

 

“Mrs. {Name}, I am here to help with your wound. My name is doctor Agarwash,” said the doctor gently. “Can you hear me?”

 

Ameena’s mother nodded shakily. Another moan. The doctor pulled the blanket back from the leg. The red fingers had moved even further up the leg. Ameena’s heart sank.

 

“We need garlic, Ameena. Do you have some?”

“No, but I know [neighbor] has some, shall I go ask for some?”

“Yes,” said the doctor, “get as much as they can spare. Or onions. Also whatever clean dressings you have.”

“No, Ameena, don’t leave me again,” said her mother. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t have much time.”

“I will be as quick as a fox, Mama,” Ameena reassured her, already swinging her shawl over her shoulders in preparation to leave. She came to the bed to give her mother a pat.

“I’ll be OK Mama, it’s dusk now, and easier to sneak around.” The doctor was rummaging around in the kitchen area, and instructing Sharfi to go to the well to fill the kettle with water.

“Sharfi, when you’re back give Mama and the Doctor some stew. I’ll be back shortly.” She pulled the door closed behind her and started off again into the night, this time toward the explosion area, toward her friend’s house. She climbed over a great pile of rubble, and knocked on the door quietly.

 

“Who is it?” she heard a muffled question.

 

“Just me, Ameena, looking to borrow some garlic.”

The door opened a tiny bit, and Sarlat opened the door. She was a little older than Ameena, with a husband and family of her own. They didn’t like each other, but they had certainly helped each other enough times now to develop a certain trust. Still, Sarlat went to get garlic without inviting Ameena further into the house.

“Are you all OK?” Ameena asked. “That explosion �" were you all OK?”

“Oh, yes, we’re fine this time,” said Sarlat. “How many more will we put in the ground before this nonsense is over?” she wondered aloud. “Anyway, the Grenshad girl got it this time.” She looked sidelong at Ameena as she said this.

“What, Galash? What happened?” asked Ameena, all thoughts of garlic fled in her worry about her friend.

“The explosion didn’t kill anyone, mercifully,” said the woman, “but the store front blew out and the first floor fell in. Galash was in there.  She’s dead.”

 

Ameena couldn’t believe it. She had been talking with Galash not an hour before. What had happened? How could this happen? She grabbed the garlic and with a hasty thank you, rushed out the door back into the street. She knew that she would have to dig Galash out if she could. If only she could. She passed by the street where the explosion had been. It was still crawling with men, the howling loud, the wailing continuous. She pushed the garlic into the small pocket under her cloak and pressed on toward the crowd, grim and determined.

 

When she arrived, she saw a building, but it was unrecognizable as the place where Galash had lived. Great pieces of rebar reached in every direction, like ant legs, Ameena thought, incongruously. The front of the building was gone, and in the rooms upstairs, furniture sat like some kind of doll house arranged for people to live there, except the people were, horribly, definitely not living there. She moved forward, trying to make sense of the crowd. Slowly she became aware there was triage happening here. The men had piled bodies  to one side as they dug them out. Corpses were at one corner of the building, and a makeshift hospital was at the other. A few people tended to the bodies there. Several women were wailing over the corpses. She looked over the bodies but she didn’t recognize anyone. As she approached the hospital, her heart in her throat, she say Galash. Bloody, but alive. She ran to her.

 

“Galash! You’re alive!”

 

“Yes.” Galash’s face was white, and her garment, normally a beautiful deep blue, was rapidly turning purple. Her shoulder was at an odd angle, Ameena could see. Her moment of happiness died as she realized Galash had only a few more moments.

 

“Please, Ameena. Please go, save yourself. Save Sharfi. Leave tonight. Get out of this horrid place,” Galash looked at her with the meanest scowl, Ameena almost laughed. And then she could barely contain her tears, but took a deep breath to stave them off.

“I will. I will leave. But dear Galash. You are coming with me. Remember? Now, let’s get this arm fixed up.” Ameena turned to hail someone to help with the dislocated arm, but Galash, wincing with pain, stopped her with a word.

 

“No, Ameena. I have almost no time left. Here is what I need to tell you. When you get to [wherever they land], try to find my aunt. She lives in [place there]. Tell her about me. Tell her that I wanted to come, but I couldn’t. Ask her for help. She will help you. Aunt Telloniki. Telloniki Barbello. Tell her that her Galash sent you.” She groaned again, her good arm waving a bit as she tried to find a painless place, uselessly. She swallowed. “Under the tree there, you’ll find my box. Look for the box. It’s a [Ravenwood] tree.”

 

Ameena thought Galash must be going mad. What was a Ravenwood tree, she wondered. But she stayed with her friend, as the rest of her garment turned purple, while she shook with the pain in her shoulder and her face sweated and strained, as her friend slowly gave up her life.

 

Finally, Galash lay still. Ameena felt for her pulse, and then gently closed her eyes, and laid her friend down on the ground. She found what cover she could to give her friend some privacy in death. Shock saved her from feeling. She stood, felt for the garlic in her pouch, and turned to head back to the house with it.

 

Only 20 minutes had passed since she left the house, but she could see that each moment was long for her mother as well. She gave the garlic to the doctor, but she noticed that the doctor didn’t move. The doctor sat next to her mother, holding her hand.

“Well? Are you not going to make a poultice?” Ameena said, loudly. That stirred the doctor, and she got up to get a cutting board and knife.

Ameena’s mother stirred a bit, her bloated, dried mouth attempting to make words. She licked her lips. Ameena got the cup of water and gave her a little.

 

“Come on, Mama. We’re making you a poultice. We’re going to get rid of this infection, and then you’ll feel much better,” she said. “Come on, have a little water.” As the shock of her friend’s death wore off, she began to shake a little, and then she began to feel a little bit hysterical.

 

“Ameena,” said her mother.

“Yes?” said Ameena, a little too emphatically.

“Ameena, listen to me, please. I have so little time left.”

“No, no, you’re good! We’re going to fix your leg. The doctor is just making a poultice. It will draw out the infection. You will be fine! And then we’ll all go away from here.”

“Ameena�"“

“No! Mama!”

“Ameena, you must listen.” Her mother was barely breathing her words. The words came out as whispers, though she scarcely meant them to. “Please. Please listen my dear one.”

Ameena sat back and looked at her mother. She shook her head, looking around the room. Wishing she could be the one to escape into death.

 

At that moment Sharfi came in. ‘The doctor has left,” he said in a small voice, looking wonderingly at Ameena. She reached out a hand to him.  

 

Their mother spoke. “Please, my children. These are my last words, I think. Please let me say them. Please, remember me. Remember your father. Say your prayers. Go, find a new place. Take the savings, take what you can use for the trip. You are strong, you can do this. You will find a new place where it is light, where evil stays away. Your father and I will wait for you beyond the world. But go, now, go and live. I love you so much, and I will always be there with you, proud of you, comforting you, so you will never be alone. Now go! Go.”

 

Ameena finally burst into tears. “Mama! I can’t leave you here to die by yourself!”

 

Outside the door they heard the awful sound of footsteps. Crunching gravel announced the sound of several people approaching. A guard.

 

Their mother looked at them. Sweat poured down her face and she licked her lips. She nodded. They hugged her. Tight as tight can be, as long as they could. They hugged her again. Then they grabbed the bag of clothes, the money bag, and slipped through the back room, up onto the roof and away over the top of the neighborhood.

 

Not long after that, they heard the shot.

Author's Note

Please ignore name problems. I need to research names for Syria.