Blue waters stretched to every inch of the area that my vision could scan. It had been days since the boats, that could barely hold on to the weight of so many people, kept drifting on the water’s surface that rippled with the urgency of getting rid of us as soon as it could. Or maybe it was just anxious to engulf us whole, seeing as the boats were creaking under our weight.
There was no doubt that the boats were sturdily built, just as the human smuggler had claimed. But, he never pointed out that the wood had almost worn-out with the consistent battle that it put up with the tides in the sea. One look at the number of people on board, also made it easier to understand that the old boats had to also deal with the stress of holding more people that they were destined to.
Every day, when the orange sun with its peach-golden fingertips dipped into the sea, my worries grew alight. Fear would clutch me tight and run like a wild animal down my spine. When it wasn’t racing through my veins and my heart, somehow, managed to maintain a steady rhythm instead of the frantic dance of dread it did, fear lodged in my body like cold ice that froze my blood.
In those moments, I always ended up worrying if the risk was worth what we were going through. Nights after nights, my worry intensified instead of ebbing away. I missed Hasan and I knew that my mother did too. I could see it in the way her eyes were vacant when they looked beyond something that was not me. It was only when she looked at me and held me close to her that I could see some light in her eyes.
Other than that, she felt like a bag of bones that was roasting in death, tasting it while it was still alive instead of its natural form of dead. Protecting me was the sole reason she let her body take a breath. Sometimes, I could feel that she was lingering between life and death, as her heart chose between me and Hasan. Eventually, her motherhood won such a war, and she kept looking after me, consoling that there was always a silver lining to every cloud.
The events of our journey were often laced with horrific incidents as well in addition to the worry and the sharp sting of the past that were Hasan’s memories. One dreadful night conspired with the deadly waters and took away a little boy, hardly a year or two from the other boat that drifted in our vicinity.
He cried a lot that night, perhaps aware of the tragedy that was coming steadily toward him. But I heard women whisper that the child might have been seasick and needed some space, which is why he struggled away from his mother. A sudden shift in the breeze further tipped the boat toward the waters that hungrily pounced on him. For the coming days, we only heard the woman’s cries until finally, the boats docked, only to pave way for another round of a different suffering.
