Chapter 18: Darya - My Name Is Samim

Istanbul, Turkey, spring 2021

Once Adel got the money from the French chef, he told us he’d saved enough to give us a tour of Istanbul. Zayn and I bounced with excitement. We couldn’t wait to explore the city.

We ran through parks full of stray cats and pigeons, feeling as free as the birds we chased. We hopped aboard the red tram, our heads and arms sticking out from the open windows as we bellowed, “Hello, Istanbul!” until a grumpy conductor gave us trouble for being too loud. We strolled through the maze of the Grand Bazaar, gawking at gleaming gold mirrors and diamond watches, mesmerised by dancing cobras and chattering parrots. People around us spoke every language you can imagine! But most of our money went on the Bosporus boat tour. Neither Zayn nor I had ever seen the sea before that day.

“It’s the Black Sea,” Adel said as we gazed, our mouths hanging open, at the bird-speckled infinite blue spread in front of us. Our chests rose and fell with every wave crashing on the shore.

Adel suggested I buy the boat tickets and lemonade for us, to practise my English.

I shook like a sapling on a windy day when I said, “Three please tickets, sir, please, thank you, please.”

Adel and Zayn cackled behind me. Apparently, I wasn’t much better at speaking English than Zayn.

The ticket man looked unimpressed, but he sold me the tickets. I froze, staring at them in my hands, before Adel and Zayn grabbed my arms and the three of us raced to the ferry.

We boarded the shiny white ship, drank sweet fizzy drinks and watched the turquoise waters around us turn orange with the sunset. A warm breeze stroked our hair while the last slice of persimmon sun melted on the horizon.

We talked about how one day we would be on the other side of that horizon, in Greece, one country closer to our new homes. We knew that getting there wouldn’t be easy; things were never easy for us. But that day was perfect because that day, Adel, Zayn and I got to be kids again. Not orphans, homeless, scared, hungry or cold. We were just kids who had seen the sea for the first time, sat among trouble-free tourists and belonged to a happy world.

By the time we returned to Uncle Amir’s house, the sun was gone, which meant we’d missed dinner. Thankfully, Uncle Amir wasn’t too upset with us. He just gave us an icy glare and told us to go to our room.

Once the men in the room fell asleep, we climbed onto Adel’s bed and chatted away. By midnight, our stomachs growled. Adel took some snacks out of his bag: a few apples, nuts and an open pack of stale biscuits. Zayn and I bounced up and down when we saw the food.

“Tell us about your family,” Zayn said, biting his apple.

Adel looked down, and his eyes dulled with sadness. “You already know my father was a translator,” he said. “He worked for the British Embassy. But one day, he left the house and never came back.”

My eyes bulged. “What happened to him?”

Adel sighed. “I still don’t know for sure. But I know it’s the Taliban who took him. They punished him for working with the British. He tried to keep his job a secret, but they still found out.”

Zayn and I swapped glances.

So this is the fate Uncle Roshan was trying to protect us from.

“What about your mother?” Zayn asked.

“My mother passed away long ago, so when my father disappeared, we were left all alone. No one was allowed to help us, because my sisters and I were the traitor’s children. Our relatives, neighbours, friends: everyone abandoned us.”

“That’s crazy!” I couldn’t believe it. “How could they do that to you?”

Adel shrugged. “People were worried about their own families. No one wanted to end up like my father, so they looked the other way.”

I dropped my head.

This is why Uncle Roshan’s house was burned. He took me in. He took the traitor’s child in, and so, in the Taliban’s eyes, he was a traitor, too. Uncle Roshan gave up everything to help me, and I left him behind in Iran, injured.

My chest tightened with that thought.

“How did you survive on your own?” Zayn asked.

“I’d go out begging. I was only ten, what else could I do? First, I knocked on our neighbours’ doors, but those doors stayed shut for me. So, I went begging to strangers on the streets who didn’t know me. I’d stay out all day, but the money I’d get would only buy us some bread. We were hungry all the time. That’s when I knew I had to do something else. I needed to work. And to be able to work, I had to become someone else.”

Zayn raised his hand. “Wait! What do you mean you had to become someone else?”

Adel looked at Zayn with his big yellowy-greeny-blue eyes and said, “Look at me and imagine that I have long hair.”

“What?” Zayn shook his head in confusion.

Adel continued, “Now imagine I’m wearing a scarf and a dress. What do you see?”

First, Zayn just stared at Adel in shock. Then his mouth slowly opened, and he dropped his head awkwardly.

My back straightened in disbelief. “Are you a girl?”

“I am a girl. And my name is Darya,” she said, with her head held high.

Her voice now sounded different, too. Softer.

“I pretended to be a boy so I could work to buy food. And now I pretend to be a boy to stay safe on the road. The streets are more dangerous for girls than boys.”

Zayn and I shuffled back in shock. We were embarrassed about sitting on the same bed with her. We started thinking about our adventures together and how strong and brave she was, and it felt so strange. We had never seen girls that way before.

Darya pushed our food closer to us as we moved away from her. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said. “There is no shame in any of this. I am a girl, but also the same person you knew this morning.”

Zayn and I sat in silence, our heads down, trying to take everything in. Then we exchanged glances, climbed off her bed and went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Darya asked if we wanted to walk the dogs with her again, and we said we didn’t. For the next four days, Darya left every morning and we stayed in. Zayn and I never said it aloud, but we both really missed hanging out with her.

Then one day, after Darya left, we asked Uncle Amir’s permission to go out too. We needed to buy a new SIM card to message Uncle Jalal. But we weren’t used to the city and were worried we’d get lost, so we decided to secretly follow Darya.

When Darya walked inside the French café, Zayn hid outside to keep an eye on her and I ran to a shop to buy the SIM card. When Darya came out with the dogs, I had the SIM and we continued to sneak after her. But the city had too many distractions. Our mouths dropped when we saw a juggler breathe fire in the middle of the street. The next time we looked around, Darya was gone.

Zayn and I looked for her everywhere. The streets twisted into a maze: one corner, then another, and another, but still no sign of her. We shouted for her left and right, but our yelps were lost in the city clamour. One wrong turn after another, we ended up on a narrow, shady street between two buildings. The place smelled foul. Garbage and glass bottles were scattered everywhere, and strange writing was sprayed on the black walls. A group of men huddled in the distance, but once they saw us, they went silent and their eyes lit up. They looked like a pack of jackals that had spotted easy prey. Zayn and I knew we were in trouble.