Compassion - Short Stories
THE SQUAD
By Yaya Sawaneh
I grew up in Girona in Spain and both my parents worked all the time so I was left to live my life in the streets with my squad. This was made up of a group of boys around my age, 11-12 years old at the time. Our area was Plaza Catalonia and you could say that our squad was called the same. There was an older guy Marcello, around 35 yrs old who we would call the godfather of the streets. In retrospect I can tell he was most likely a drug addict but at the time I suspected he was a heavy drinker because he had a smell unfamiliar to me and the way he behaved. He was kind to us though and he sometimes used to give us money or even invite us into his home. He might have been lonely but we would reap the benefits of this but he was also our friend. One time he asked if me and my best friend since birth, Ibra, wanted to go in his car to get a McDonald’s. For us, with absent parents who never have the chance to take us anywhere, this was the most thrilling proposition we had ever heard. We shouted with excitement that we wanted to go and got in his car with him. The drive was terrifying, we thought we were going to die, he was speeding and swerving - Ibra was begging him to slow down - but we knew we were happy to risk our lives to get to McDonalds. When we got there he bought us each our own Happy Meal, back when they used to have the toys that you had to fix together, although I can’t remember exactly what it was. He also had something to eat and that must have sobered him up a bit as the drive back home was no way near as scary.
Football was our life, we were the good guys, we got into trouble too but minor trouble because we were more interested in our team and playing football wherever and whenever we could. After games we would often buy a big piece of bread with whatever change we had and would share it amongst us equally, of course even with the guys who couldn’t afford to chip in - we made sure everyone got an equal share. Most of the guys from back then now play professionally and I even played in a 2nd division team when I later moved to Denmark. I would say that football saved our lives, I have seen that most of the kids from that area who didn’t take the route we did or have the same chances we did to escape that area and that life, they are now dead or living seriously tough lives.
I have always relied on my friends, my parents are quite closed minded, I love them but I felt like my squad were my real family. McDonalds was the Big Prize for us! We never had the money to go and if one of us ever did get the money we would walk for 40 minutes together and share one burger between 6 or 7 guys. There was only one white guy in our squad, most of us were Moroccan, African or from Latin America. It just so happened that it was usually the white guy who would have the money but no matter who it was, we would always share it between us. I would sometimes save up three days worth of school lunch money and sacrifice it to share a McDonalds with my friends.
I must have been around 11 years old when I was on my bike in the streets with Ibra and we saw a fat wallet lying on the floor. I stopped, I looked inside and it was full of cash, notes and notes of 20’s 10’s 30’s! I knew I should have handed it in, but the cash and a full McDonalds was too tempting. First thing we did was find our squad to share the news. Then we went shopping to Decalon and I bought two wrist bands, a football and a Nike t-shirt and some wrist bands for Ibra. With the rest of the money we did the 40minutes walk to McDonald’s and I bought everyone each their own meal. We then all went to the cinema to watch The Fast and The Furious. We got home so late, running home, worried our parents would be angry but nothing happened to us. We handed in the wallet to the police but we left out the part about there having been any cash. Even though we knew it was wrong, it was worth it. This was one of the best days of my life and we still talk about it to each other now, even last week Ibra and I spoke about this special day.
Even though our childhoods were maybe from the outside, not the easiest, absent parents, some drug addicted, very little money. However, every day with my squad was a new adventure and we always supported each other and made sure that nobody was wanting for anything. We found our own way, without much adult input, and this positivity remains in me. I like to build people up and bring a positive and sharing attitude to everyone I work with and meet still now. This family that I was part of has instilled that value in me and I aim to inspire others with the same values.
Words submitted anonymously by a member of the refugee community:
Do not skimp on the happiness of those you love, all situations quickly fade from memory, and happiness that you gave to your loved ones remains...
ARRIVAL
By Roelof Bakker
September-grey sky. An evening swim catching the light before it goes. A brief walk downhill and I’m in the sea. I call it my convenience sea or my corner-sea. It’s as convenient for a spontaneous dip as the corner shop is for an emergency pint of milk.
In the distance a helicopter circles in the air. Looking for a paddle boarder reported missing? Newbies often get blown out to sea by the wind. They’re told to lie flat on the board, to hang on while help is coming. I try to imagine.
When my body feels cold and heavy I get out. As I turn to swim back to shore a small boat comes into view, the helicopter leading. I towel dry, sip tea from the flask, put my hood up. Closer and clearer now, I’m confronted with a disturbing reality. I witness human beings squeezed tight inside a rubber dinghy. Refugees crossing the Channel. How did their boat end up here?
Not long before the dinghy reaches the beach at Groyne 34. Relief on the faces of the people as they step out onto the safety of land. A woman hurries towards them clutching plastic bottles and chocolate bars. ‘They need water and energy,’ she says. ‘Some of you might not agree, but I have to help.’
The refugees made the journey without crew, inner tubes inflated in case of turmoil. Later, I read the dingy went off route. Sixteen hours at sea in a blow up boat. Thirty human beings hanging on. I try to imagine.
The police have arrived. Warm food and dry clothes are brought down by volunteers.
An old man shouts, ‘There’s no room for you here! Go home! You’re not welcome!’ Two young women challenge his chant and tell him to leave.
The woman who brought chocolate is physically shaken. She says she could see the boat from her window and rushed out, ignoring her husband. ‘How can I not do anything? They’re people, just like you and me.’
Another woman reaches out to her, says, ‘Come here, love. You need a hug.’ The physical contact calms her. After, she decides she should go home. I offer to walk with her.
We leave the beach, go up the slope towards the promenade where onlookers have gathered, camera phones pointing at the new arrivals.
STITCH FOR CHANGE
The following words were submitted by a member of the refugee community:
At the beginning of this, I honestly didn't have any idea about what to do with the pieces of material that I took home with me until one day, it came to my mind. Why not express myself in this piece by comparing my old life with my current life? I put my old life, which signifies the suffering, control and all sorts of abuse whether it was verbal, physical or emotional, as the story that I'm telling in the first section of my piece. Regarding the second section of my piece, it's about my new life living with my children. This shows the change from a life of abuse, sadness and suffering to a life of freedom that gives you the feeling that you are a human being that has value and is respected by others. My children started to feel valued, with stronger personalities and a happy life. Thank God that our current life is the complete opposite of our old life. In the second part, I used colourful threads which represent my happy life, not like my first piece where I used dark thread colours to represent a sad life without soul, without space, a broken life. If you noticed the pictures I have put here, they show the fear and the horror that I lived through, but in the other section I used more colour. I included pictures of my children and my friends, the college head teacher, and my teachers who taught me English. Honestly, the second part of my piece shows the real life that I'm living at the moment and just by looking at it, you will understand what I mean by it. To be honest, in the first session, when you talked to us about compassion and caring, the first thing that crossed my mind was people who live like I used to. People which I would love to have the power to help to change their life into a life similar to mine now. I want them to be happy because we were born in this life to be happy, not to live a sad, abused life. God created us to live happily. Now, my kids can grow up happy and in a good mental state, but if our life was the same as it used to be, my kids would just be destroyed. Their mental states would get destroyed. I strongly feel that our role as parents is to give our kids a better life than the life we had and that's why I fight with all my power, so that my children will not have to experience what I have experienced. My daughter is now fourteen years old. If I was in the area that I lived in (location not disclosed) right now, she would’ve been married with no education, no job and no future.
She would be living the life that I lived. I was denied my education, and not allowed to see my friends or even my family. From the day I got married, my husband denied me everything, he denied me my education, he denied me the ability to see my family, to see my friends, he denied me life, even the simplest things that can make a woman happy. I didn’t even know such a thing as a happy life existed until I came over to the UK. That’s when I started to experience freedom, happiness and being strong like I never have before. That’s why I am here, so may God bless me with more and more strength so that my children can have a better life than I did.