When Mohammad heard of the shipwreck, and that almost everyone on board had died, his heart sank. He knew that his brother, his sister-in-law, and their little girls were on that boat and that they were most likely dead. Then he read about the nineteen-year-old Syrian woman who had survived and saved a two-year-old girl. He saw a picture of the rescued child and compared it to the photo he had. Masa was alive!
The day after Doaa texted Mohammad confirming that Masa was safe, he flew to Crete, arriving at the hospital and demanding to see his niece. It would take almost a year for UNHCR and the Swedish embassy in Athens to confirm that Mohammad was related to Masa and to recognize him as her legal guardian so as to finalize reunification. During that time, Masa was cared for in an orphanage in Athens that specialized in treating traumatized children. She played with the other children and quickly learned to speak Greek. After DNA tests and court hearings, Masa was finally able to join her uncle, aunt, older sister, and a cousin, who had since joined him, to start a new life in Sweden.
*
Finding Masa’s family was a turning point for Doaa. The experience made her feel as if her heart might begin to heal. At fleeting moments she even believed she could be reunited with her own family and begin her life anew. But the news from home was grim. In the weeks after her rescue, media outlets from around the world had requested interviews with Doaa, questioning her about the circumstances of the shipwreck. A number of stories quoted her accusing the smugglers of ramming her boat, and of being responsible for the deaths of five hundred people. She didn’t understand the reach—or consequences—that these interviews would have until she received a distressed call from her mother.
“Someone threatened me, Doaa!” Hanaa told her in the same frightened tone that Doaa had last heard from her mother when the Egyptian men had threatened to rape Doaa and her sisters. “He said, ‘Tell Doaa to shut her mouth and to stop naming names. We know where you live.’”
It had been the first of many calls from unknown numbers, each one threatening to harm Doaa’s family.
Hanaa told Doaa she’d reported the calls to the police and contacted UNHCR, which took the threats seriously. They sent someone to talk to the family and advised them to change apartments. “I don’t want to move again,” Hanaa admitted to Doaa. Doaa assured her mother she wouldn’t give any more interviews, and they hoped that the men would leave them alone.
But a few days later, Doaa received another anguished call from her mother. She’d been home with the family when she’d heard a knock at the door. An elegantly dressed Egyptian man stood outside, politely asking for their passports, saying he was a police officer. Without thinking, Hanaa had retrieved the documents and handed them over. He flipped through them, reading the names aloud. “That’s when I became suspicious,” she told Doaa. Hanaa snatched the passports out of the man’s hands, asking him, “Why did you want our passports?”
“I was just checking if there are any Syrians here,” he said, then left abruptly. After he departed, Hanaa went to the local police station asking whether they had sent an officer to her place to check IDs. When they told her they hadn’t, Hanaa was worried. What if she had put the family in harm’s way? she wondered. Then she received a text message full of obscenities that said, “I know the names of your daughters.”