Chapter 41: We Will Tell Samim’s Story - My Name Is Samim

Tuesday, 1 March 2022

The evening I nearly drowned, Ayan and Rita sat in the study, nervously scrolling on their phones.

A text from Rence pinged in their WhatsApp group:

Rita paced to the window. “You know what really bugs me?” she asked Ayan. “Samim does the most incredible thing one human can do for another—”

“And most stupid one!” Ayan cut in, throwing his hands up.

“I know, but still… He saved Max’s life. But no one cares what happens to him. I keep thinking about what he told us the last time we saw him… maybe he was right. We are nobody’s children, and no one cares what happens to us.”

“We care for each other,” Ayan said.

“Yeah. Of course, we do.” Rita sighed and turned back to the table. “But how much can we do for each other? We can’t do anything for Samim.”

“Maybe we can.” Ayan leaned back on his chair and folded his arms.

Rita knew that look – he had a plan.

When Miss Brown returned home, Rita, Ayan, Lily and Skye crowded her at the door.

“How’s Samim?” Skye asked, and Ayan and Rita shared worried looks.

Miss Brown smiled briefly, dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes. “He’s still asleep, darling.”

Skye drooped, and Miss Brown rubbed her little shoulder as she walked past.

“Can we please talk to you?” Rita asked.

Miss Brown gave her a tired nod and followed Rita and Ayan to the study.

“What’s going on?” she sighed, slumping on the chair.

“We want to strike,” Ayan said in his usual iron tone.

Miss Brown folded her arms. “Excuse me?”

“We want to organise a protest at school,” Rita explained.

“A protest?” Miss Brown’s face crumpled in confusion.

Rita sucked in a deep breath. “The last time Samim spoke to us, he told us he didn’t believe anyone could help him. And I don’t know if it will help, it probably won’t, but we must at least try. We must do something!”

“I understand you want to help, Rita, but what do you want to do?”

“We strike!” Ayan said, punching the air.

Rita gave him an annoyed glare. Whenever he said “we strike” it sounded like they were planning to grab swords and horses and gallop into battle.

“We want to tell Samim’s story to the rest of the school,” Rita said, sitting across from Miss Brown. “And then invite them to join our protest against Samim’s asylum refusal.”

“I don’t know…” Miss Brown closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “What will your head teacher say? What will parents say?”

“But it’s not about what parents say. It’s about what kids say,” Ayan said.

Miss Brown peered at him for a few seconds and then nodded. “Let me talk to Miss Nadia first, and I’ll get back to you.”

At eight in the evening, Rita and Ayan were clearing the table after dinner when the doorbell rang. They froze, stacks of dirty plates in their hands. It was a strange time for visitors.

Miss Brown opened the door, and Miss Nadia rushed in. “Phew! It’s Baltic out there! It’s March, but feels like it might snow!”

Rita and Ayan watched her, puzzled.

She dropped her bag, unwrapped a purple scarf from her neck and winked at them. “I heard we’re organising a strike?”

Wednesday, 2 March 2022

The next day, Ayan and Rita shared their plan with Rence.

“I’ll get the chess club involved,” he said.

“Thanks.” Rita sighed. “But we must wait till Miss Brown talks to the head teacher first and gives us the thumbs up. She’s there now. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“And then we strike!” Ayan punched the air, and Rita rolled her eyes at him.

* * *

When Miss Brown got back from the hospital that evening, Rita and Ayan followed her to the kitchen, desperate to hear what the head teacher had said.

Miss Brown collapsed onto a chair with a heavy sigh. Rita and Ayan could tell she was worried.

“Your head teacher is not keen on you disrupting the classes,” she said.

Rita and Ayan exchanged deflated glances.

“However…” Miss Brown continued. Rita’s eyes widened with hope. “She understands your reasons, which is more than I expected. And if you want to protest, she says it is within your rights.”

“Nice!” Rita high-fived Ayan. He shook his fists with excitement.

“There are a few ground rules, though,” Miss Brown said. “The protest must be peaceful. And you cannot disrupt the learning of those who choose not to participate.”

Rita and Ayan nodded, beaming.

“Excellent. Well, if you need help with anything, let me know.” Miss Brown rose from the chair with a soft groan, holding her back. She staggered to the door, then paused, turning round. “I’m proud of you two. Really, really proud.”

Rita grabbed Ayan’s hand as wide smiles lifted their faces.

They spent the rest of the evening video-calling with Rence, trying to come up with the words for a flyer. By midnight, 196 flyers were printed and tucked into their backpacks.

Thursday, 3 March 2022

At school, Rita and Ayan gave half of the flyers to Rence.

“The protest is on Monday, at 9.30,” Rita said, passing the leaflets with trembling hands. “Look at my hands! Even thinking about it makes me shake. What am I going to do on the day?” She facepalmed.

“You’ll be fine!” Rence said. “Give me more flyers. The chess club guys want to help hand them out too.”

“Thank you!” Rita handed more flyers to Rence, then glanced at Ayan with a hopeful smile. He winked at her in return.

Maybe, just maybe, we can pull this off, she thought.

Friday to Sunday, 4 to 6 March 2022

The weekend passed in a flash. Rita, Ayan and Rence spent all their time working on Rita’s speech and making posters. Rence’s mum dropped him off in the morning with a bag of sandwiches and picked him up after dinner. Ayan declared that Rence’s mum made the best sandwiches in the world, and Rita had to take his word for it because she never had a chance to try them. The sandwiches would disappear along with Ayan the minute Rence walked through the door.

At seven every evening, Miss Brown returned from the hospital with the same deflated gaze and a head shake that meant there was no change.

“What if he dies?” Rita said once, out of nowhere, while painting a cardboard sign.

“Don’t think like that. Let’s stay positive,” Rence said.

Rita shook her head, trying to get rid of the dark thoughts.

Let’s stay positive, she thought. He will be fine. He will wake up. He has to.

Monday, 7 March 2022

On the day of the protest, Rita and Ayan walked through the school doors, their chests fluttering with worry. It was only 8 am, and the protest was scheduled for 9.30, but Rita couldn’t stop checking the time every few minutes.

Rence met them in the corridor.

“Are we all set?” he asked.

“I think so. Miss Brown will bring the signs at 9 am and set up everything outside. I spent all night memorising the speech. Now, all we need is for people to show up.”

“They will,” Rence said. “The chess club will be there.”

“Yeah, but that’s like twelve people. We gave out almost two hundred flyers!”

Rence’s voice rang with confidence. “I’m sure people will show up.”

As the time approached 9.30, Rita’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her hands got clammy, and she kept rubbing them against her skirt. At 9.30, everyone who wanted to join the protest was supposed to peacefully walk out of their classrooms and gather in the playground, where Rita would give her speech.

What if I forget something? What if they laugh at me? she kept thinking.

Ayan sat beside her, as mellow as always, and Rita envied his calmness. He never got fazed by anything. It really was his superpower.

9.25.

Rita’s stomach stirred.

9.27.

The deep belly breaths Miss Brown had taught her offered no relief.

9.29.

A new message pinged in the WhatsApp group chat.