Chapter 11: In the Belly of the Beast - My Name Is Samim

After school, as usual, I have my interview with Mr Higgins and Miss Nadia.

When I walk into the study, Mr Higgins takes his glasses off and eyes me up and down. “What happened to you, Samim?”

“I fell.”

“Do you need time to change?”

I shake my head and pull my school jumper off, as I have a T-shirt underneath.

“All okay, Samim?” Miss Nadia whispers as I slump into my chair.

I nod.

Mr Higgins’ eyebrows jump with suspicion as he puts his glasses back on. “So, your uncle paid $15,000 for the three of you to be smuggled to the UK. What happened next, Samim?”

I pick up a glass of water and empty it in one go. As I wipe my mouth, my memories take me back to the day my uncle, Zayn and I left Uncle Karim and the stone-cutting factory behind and set off on our journey to the UK.

Iran, spring 2021

The morning we hit the road, my uncle placed two fat backpacks at our feet. Bright colourful trainers and warm new clothes were neatly packed inside them. Zayn and I were jumping with joy as we traced the sleek lines and vibrant colours with our fingers, a rare treat after years of old, worn-out clothes. But these were more than new jackets and shoes to us; these were tiny pieces of the new life we dreamt about. We hugged our treasures tightly, excited about the journey ahead. If only we’d known what awaited us…

We boarded a bus full of people, mostly Afghans like us. They had all paid Mustafa to get smuggled out of Iran.

To stay unnoticed, we took the back roads. We shook through muddy ground, pits and mounds, and soon our flimsy old bus stopped. The driver shouted for everyone to get off, and we rushed out like a herd of obedient sheep. It was so dark outside that I could hardly see Zayn, who was standing beside me.

“Look!” one man shouted.

Someone waved a torch in the black distance, and we bolted towards the light.

The guy with a torch counted our heads and told us to follow him. He wore a tracksuit and a golden chain around his neck that gleamed under the moonlight. We tailed him to a small concrete building in the middle of nowhere. It looked like a garage or a storage place.

When the tracksuit guy unlocked the door, fumes of filth walloped our nostrils. I gagged into my hand.

“Ew!” Zayn grimaced, pinching his nose. “This stench could knock out a charging bull!”

The place was full of people: some lying, looking like they were dead; some curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth; and others just sitting timidly, their white eyes blinking in the darkness, staring at us.

“I bet they’d love to feast on our brains,” Zayn whispered as we stared back at their zombie-like faces. “He is the smart one; his brain is bigger,” he said, poking me with his elbow.

And although he was joking, I shuddered.

We stood, frozen, until the guy in the tracksuit started shoving us all in. Then we tripped over people, stirring grumbles: “Watch out!”

My uncle turned back to the guy. “All of us won’t fit in here!”

The guy laughed and shouted in my uncle’s face, “Oh, no? Well, why don’t you get out and find yourself a five-star hotel then?”

Zayn and I looked at each other, furious. We’d never heard anyone talk like that to someone older. In our culture, we always treat elders with respect.

“This place is hell,” I muttered through my teeth.

Zayn waved his hand, acting his usual calm self. “Eh, we’ve seen worse.”

I tilted my head at him. “When? When have we ever seen a place worse than this?”

Zayn shrugged. “Well, nothing comes to mind now, but…”

I shook my head at him. Of course it didn’t.

First, we sat by a wall. We thought we could lean on it and get some rest, but we quickly realised that this was where people did their toilet stuff. Seeing his neighbour doing it right in front of him made my uncle jump in shock.

We moved away from the wall and sat beside a frail old man with a long white beard.

“How long have you all been here?” my uncle asked him.

The old man shrugged his pointy shoulders. “Some of us have been here for weeks, others for days. They let us out once a day to go to the toilet, but then we are locked in here the rest of the time. They throw bread and water bottles at us, and we wait and wait and wait.”

The man looked at the gate, and his tired eyes filled with despair.

“At this point, I’d be happy for Death itself to open that gate and walk me out of here,” he said, dropping his head.

My heart sank. I dreaded another minute in this hell. How were we going to survive weeks locked in here?

* * *

Three days later, my skin was covered with an itchy rash, because the sticky air made us sweat. My head and eyes ached from the constant darkness, and my flat tummy growled from hunger. But it was my nose that suffered the most. The stench was unbearable! It was as if some vile beast had gobbled us up and we were now trapped inside its dark, foul-smelling belly.

Most of the time I sat staring at Uncle Karim’s star map, scratching at the angry red spots on my back. Sweat dribbled off my forehead. I imagined myself far from that horrible place, back in Iran, on top of our hill, breathing in the cool night air, staring at the stars and listening to Uncle Karim’s stories about life beyond the war-wrecked earth.

“We’re all made of stardust,” I mumbled under my breath, “and just like stars, we shine the brightest in the darkness.”

“The only things that shine in this hellhole are golden teeth clenched in fury,” Zayn grumbled, tossing and turning next to me, trying to sleep.

Then, out of nowhere, a man landed on his back right in front of us, making us jump. Another man leapt on him, accusing him of stealing his bread. They brawled, bodies tangled, tripping over other men and groaning like wild animals.

Suddenly, it was as if a fist clenched inside my chest, squeezing my lungs and leaving me gasping for air. I was like a fish out of water, opening and closing my mouth, panting. I thought I was dying, and all I could think was, Not here! Please, God, not here!

Uncle Roshan and Zayn noticed me struggling. They grabbed me under my arms and dragged me to the small window at the back, fighting through the angry bodies.

The window had metal bars, and I grabbed them, gulping the precious air greedily. That’s when, for the first time, out of nowhere, Zayn started counting pi for me.

“Come on, Samim! Help me out here,” he kept shouting, staring me in the face. “3.14159265358979323846… what comes after that?”

And, by some miracle, it worked. Focusing on the numbers distracted me from the fist in my chest, and soon its grip weakened.

“26433832795028841971…” I counted, as the air slowly seeped into my lungs.

Finally, I could inhale and exhale again. I was so grateful.

Relieved, Zayn patted me on the back. “Always looking for attention, you! Why don’t you just count pi for everyone next time you fancy the spotlight?” he said, and I smiled for the first time in weeks.

I smiled, but I was terrified. The worry demons had always been there, but this crushing panic… this was new.

* * *

The next day, the tracksuit guy returned with a list. A wave of relief washed over us as he read our names: we were finally getting out! The early morning air sent shivers down my sweaty back as we stepped outside. My eyes ached from the light, and my weak legs wobbled as though I’d forgotten how to walk.

The tracksuit guy pointed at the truck by the road, and we charged at it like a herd of bulls, sand sputtering from under our feet. After we climbed on the back of it, the driver put a black plastic cover over us and, once again, we lost sight of the light. Weak and dizzy after days of hunger, Zayn and I plunged into a deep sleep.

We woke with a jolt as the truck screeched to a halt, making us slam into each other. People gasped and cursed, but my uncle told everyone to be quiet. He was right to be cautious. We lay still, trying to listen.

We heard a car pulling up beside us. Some men came out of it and walked to our driver’s cabin. They started talking, but we couldn’t hear what they were saying.

A sudden shout made us flinch. “Stay in your seat!”

My heart pounded in my throat as I listened to footsteps walking to the back of the truck. The plastic cover above our heads flipped, and we covered our faces, hiding from the blinding torchlight.

When the man holding the torch saw us, he pulled out his gun and took aim.

“There are people here!” he shouted to his partner.

I grabbed Zayn’s hand and squeezed my eyes shut.