As unaccompanied minors, Pagani awaited them, but the boys refused to go back to the cage. Jamal, Hassan, and Abdullah had decided to live together in an apartment they shared with nine others. They had dreamed of going to Germany where they’d heard refugees were granted asylum, given housing, and fed. But in Greece, police officers stopped them and asked for “papers.”
“The papers do not mean anything,” Jamal explained. “They gave us ‘papers’ in Pagani and told us to keep them on us at all times. Be careful with the police here. Even with those papers, we are targets for them, like dogs in the street. Even at some of the churches that give out food, the police may be there. There is no asylum here.”
Saleem spent the day listening, disheartened. Outwardly charming and beautiful, Greece was a hostile place, and many of the young Afghans Saleem met regretted the money they’d spent to reach her shores.
IN THE FOLLOWING DAYS, SALEEM RETURNED TO ATTIKI. THE boys told him the places to avoid and brought him along to the churches where food and water were distributed.
Once he learned about Pagani, Saleem became very reluctant to let Madar-jan wander off on her own with his sister and brother. Though they had passports, they were false ones and would likely be detected. He could not risk the family being deported to Turkey or, even worse, Afghanistan.
Saleem continued to steal food and staples like soap, but he loathed doing it and was growing more and more paranoid every day. It was a calculated risk he had to take if they were to have enough money to get them to England.
Periodically, a local Greek humanitarian organization came by Attiki Square. Volunteers would talk to the refugees, attempt to assist with document issues, and hand out food and water. A nurse came along with them and placed a Band-Aid here or there or offered a course of antibiotics. The group’s resources were limited too. They were young idealists, mostly, indignant that their government could subject refugees to such degrading conditions. They wanted to set things right and they were, oftentimes, the only reliable source of information and food.
Some of the young men in the square were reluctant to trust even the aid workers. Saleem was one of those people. He avoided making eye contact with the young people who walked through the park with their purple T-shirts, their organization’s name and logo printed in large type to identify them from afar. They asked many questions and even wanted to take pictures.
Saleem felt safer questioning their motives. He felt his chest puff to think he had outsmarted the aid workers, as if he had more street sense than those boys who let their stories be scribbled into tiny notepads or voice recorders. He did his best to steer clear of every one of them.
Until he saw Roksana.
CHAPTER 28
Saleem
“WE CANNOT GO ON THIS WAY, SALEEM-JAN,” MADAR-JAN WHISPERED to him. Samira and Aziz had fallen asleep.
“What do you mean?”
“In a matter of days, we will have no more money and we still have a long road ahead. We cannot wait for a miracle.”
“I know.”
“Thank goodness you have at least found a way to work for food.”
Saleem bit his lip, thankful for the darkness. He’d told his mother that he’d been hired by a café in town to sweep floors and unload boxes in exchange for food. It was a plausible explanation, especially to willing ears. In reality, no one would hire him. Saleem had returned several times to the market and snuck through other shops, taking what he needed to feed his family. It was a sin imposed upon him, he felt. To make himself feel better about it, he ate just enough food to keep his hunger at bay. It was not easy.
“This job may not last. We need to get to England before the money runs out,” Saleem agreed.
“Yes, we do. We’ll also soon need more medicine for your brother. I cannot take him to any doctors or get him medicines here. It will cost more than we have and someone might turn us in to the police.”
“You’re right, Madar-jan,” Saleem admitted.