Reaching for the stars
I watch Khalid as he slots his feet into the cracks in the wall and scrambles up like Spiderman. He hangs on the top and peers over, scanning the area for guards. Then he disappears over the top.
I start to climb, but the peeling soles of my shoes won’t grip.
“Khalid,” I whisper. “Khalid!”
He peers over and offers me a hand.
“You need practice,” he says, helping me up.
We skirt along the wall, out of the way of the flood lights that pour on to the loading area. From up here, I’ve got a good view of the lights glistening across the Strait. They seem so close I think I can almost make out the buildings.
A little further on, we drop down on to the dock and wait with our backs pressed to the wall. Harbour workers are busy loading a forklift truck with goods while the rest smoke and chat.
This is our moment.
We run, keeping to the shadows of crates until we reach a convoy of empty lorries awaiting their new drivers. A group of men are jostling around the trailers, trying to force the locks.
We pass them, and keep low, checking for spaces under the wheels. Eyes stare back at us from the darkness, telling us to move on.
Finally, we stop. “This one’s ours,” whispers Khalid and we wriggle under it, positioning ourselves behind the wheels.
A few minutes later, however, voices start to rise as a police officer approaches the group of men and asks for their papers.
Then torchlight sweeps under the trailers and commanding voices tell us to move. We crawl out and a slap stings my ear, followed by another. I bring my arms up to protect my head and I’m kicked in the leg.
They warn us not to try it again or we could be arrested. We walk away and I glance at Khalid. He’s bleeding from the nose. He sees me looking and wipes it.
“What? That’s nothing.”
Back on the beach, we scrounge a cigarette and then head back to our shelter, but it’s been taken. A man pulls back the polythene cover and looks at us with beady eyes.
“Hey. You want to earn some money? Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.” I stop, but Khalid grips my arm and we keep going.
“You don’t want any of his money.”
We walk far along the beach, but there is nothing now except the rocks and we flop down in the sand.
I lie back and look at the sky. It’s dark. A friend of my parents told me that smugglers wait for a moonless night to take people across in their rafts. I wonder how long it would take to save up for a trip like that.
There is a shout from back along the beach. Some people are talking excitedly and scrawling something on the wall.
“Someone got away,” says Khalid, looking wistfully. “Now he is famous.”
I turn on my side and watch the lights, still twinkling like stars.
“Cross or die,” I mumble.
“Cross or die,” says Khalid. Then I fall asleep.
