Chapter 2: My New Home? - My Name Is Samim

When I open my eyes, people surround me. Everyone keeps saying my name, offering me water and asking if I’m okay. I black out all the time, and usually no one cares. Why fuss now?

Zayn’s upside-down face gazes at me from above, and he winks. “Smart way to get attention. As my sweet grandmother, who had more hair on her chin than her head, used to say, ‘The barking dog gets the bone!’ Or was it the singing bird gets the seed? Or the mooing cow gets the hay?” Zayn frowns, scratching his messy black curls.

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

The guard with the angel tattoo helps me up and takes me to the room I sleep in to get my things. It’s cramped with bunkbeds and desperate men, some of whom bullied me day and night. The room falls silent as we enter. I shove old T-shirts and a folder filled with papers inside a plastic bag. My head is down, but I can feel stares burning into me.

Am I really leaving this place for good? There is a flicker of hope in my chest. It’s like a struck match about to burst into flame. But the flicker fades every time a wave of worry washes over it – what will the new place be like?

Miss Angela and I exit the detention centre, and I take a deep breath. Fresh, frosty air fills my lungs. It’s winter, and the naked trees line the street like upside-down crow’s feet, their branches dusted with white, as if sprinkled with salt.

We drive for hours. Busy streets with traffic lights are replaced by a broad multilane motorway, then narrow, twisty roads. There are big houses with big gardens and neatly cut shrubs everywhere. I wonder who lives in those houses and what they eat for dinner.

The car stops outside one house. It’s not like any place I’ve been taken to before in England; it’s someone’s home. A tall woman who smells like flowers greets us once we step inside. She has short silver hair and wears a turquoise necklace.

“Welcome to your new home, Samim. Come in, we’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She beams at me as I step inside, but my heart is throbbing with worry and I can’t smile back.

“My name is Miss Brown.” She wipes her hands on her apron. “You must be hungry after a long journey, let’s get you a snack.”

Miss Angela and I follow Miss Brown past the winding stairs and through a long corridor with framed pictures of children on the walls. The children have wide smiles. I wonder what made them so happy. There are two rooms to the left of the corridor and two to the right, and a huge kitchen at the end. Miss Brown leads me to the big round table in the middle of the kitchen. She asks me whether I’m okay, or thirsty or hungry, and I nod to all three. A few minutes later, she brings me a tray of food with a piece of cake in the middle.

“It’s a banana cake. The kids and I made it for you.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze the words out.

“Enjoy. Miss Angela and I will be in the next room for a quick chat.” She smiles at me before leaving.

I look at the food and my mouth waters. It’s a chicken sandwich, a glass of milk and the cake. I take a huge bite of the cake, swallow it down and take another one.

Zayn laughs at me. “Have you tried chewing? Some people swear by it!”

I chuckle and my cake tries to escape, so I cover my mouth with my hand.

“I like this place,” Zayn says, looking around. “I think you’ll do fine here.”

“Me too.” I grin, and the flicker of hope ignites inside me again.

After I finish my food, Miss Angela and Miss Brown walk in and sit across from me.

“This is your foster home for now, Samim,” Miss Angela says. “Miss Brown is in charge here, so if you need anything, you can talk to her. Four other children live in this house. They are around your age or younger, and everyone has their own room.”

Millions of questions buzz in my head, but I sit frozen and can’t say a word.

“There is a TV in the living room, Samim, if you want to watch it before bedtime. It’s the first door on the left from here,” Miss Brown says.

Her voice is loud but not bossy. I think I like her. I want to like her because I want to stay here, and I want everything to be alright.

“Tomorrow, you will meet your solicitor and a caseworker from a government organisation called the Home Office,” Miss Angela explains. “A solicitor is a person who makes sure you are treated fairly and protects your rights. The Home Office caseworker will be there to learn all about you and your journey here, so they can decide whether to grant you asylum and let you stay in the country.”

“But I already told the Home Office everything before,” I say, and my chest hardens. “I told them everything and they sent me to the detention centre. What if they send me back there again?” My voice breaks, and I hug myself, trying to stay calm.

I hate looking weak and scared. I’ve been through bombings, blizzards and prisons! I’ve been to places that would send shivers down a grown man’s spine. And I’m still alive. But ever since I came here – the country that I thought would be my safe place – my worries have grown wilder. I’m scared all the time. When will it stop?

“You are not going back to the detention centre, Samim,” Miss Angela says.

Her voice is firm this time. My father used to speak like that, and he never lied.

“I know it will be hard talking about your journey here, but you must be honest about everything that happened to you. The caseworker needs to know your full story before deciding on your future in this country. Your solicitor will be there to help you with any questions.”

I sit still, staring to the side.

“Do you understand, Samim?” Miss Angela asks.

3.14159265358… I count the numbers in my head, and my chest softens.

I’m scared, and I don’t trust anyone. But the thing is, I don’t have a choice. I take a deep breath and bob my head. “I understand.”