Chapter I: Echoes of Exodus

It was in the small hours of the morning. As the clock struck two, a small truck pulled up to the curb of a double-storied, modest house. The street was dark, with no lamps to light the way, yet the thick, smoke and dust-filled air provided a hazy glow. As one looked around, the destruction was palpable, a surreal painting of rubble and ruin. The scene was one of chaos and devastation, with buildings collapsed and debris littering the streets. Yet, amidst the destruction, this one house stood unscathed, a beacon of hope amidst the desolation, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

The taller houses lay in heaps, stacked like books without bookends, resembling fallen dominoes at the far end of the street. Broken streetlamps, robbed of their bulbs and illumination, stood like sentries, keeping watch over the all-encompassing doom. The smaller houses, still standing, were stripped of all valuables and left like discarded, empty matchboxes. It was as if a great force had swept through the neighborhood, leaving nothing untouched, nothing undamaged. The destruction was complete and total.

It was in moments such as these, when the world seemed to be at its darkest and most desolate, that one could easily come to believe in the existence of a higher power. The truck driver, as he gazed upon the two-storied house standing unharmed amidst the rubble and destruction, may have felt this way. He looked up at the house and then to the open window on the second floor. The house, dark inside and out, stood there like a one-eyed ghoul, with a huge broken window, without its frame and glasses.

Upstairs, in the second story of the same house, the living room was illuminated by a single candle, flickering in the furthest corner from the window. Mustapha Alhamdan, who was inside, felt a sense of wonder and awe at this small miracle amidst the destruction. Perhaps, like the truck driver, he too felt a sense of the existence of God and godliness, alive and present even in the midst of such chaos.

It seemed that trying and difficult times brought people to think alike, at least when it came to the existence of a higher power. As Mustapha heard the soft noise of the truck arriving, cutting its engine and waiting outside, he knew that this was a moment that would forever change the way he thought about God and the world. He knew that he, along with his family, would be forever grateful for this small miracle that had spared their lives amidst the destruction.

Rabah, looked at Mustapha, she couldn’t see his eyes though in the dark, but then when you were married to a man for 30 years or more, you would know his eyes now wanted you to take the kids onto their final journey. She urged the kids, Yara, Aliya and the youngest Karim, to move towards the main door without making noise. What they were leaving behind would soon cease to be their home. Yara, the eldest daughter, was the first to take the dark staircases. Rabah knew what Mustapha would do once they had gone, but today she decided she wouldn’t stop him. Some tears off a man, even if it’s only once in his life, can’t break him that bad, instead it will bring in him the courage he needed. The courage to keep a promise, he had no choice but to make, to him, to his family, of leaving the suburb of Al-Qadam, leaving the city of Damascus, leaving the civil war torn country of Syria, leaving his past, his boyhood and everything else that had followed; a lifetime, forever.
Mustapha couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of sadness in his heart. He couldn’t shake off the memories of his beloved hometown, Al-Qadam, and all that he was leaving behind. The thought of never be able to return to the place where he had grown up, where he had built a life and a family, was a heavy burden to bear.

Damascus is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities since Biblical times, a place steeped in history and culture. He remembered the days, he thought about the carefree days of his childhood, and the sense of community and belonging that he had felt. But now, all of that was gone, replaced by the violence and destruction of the civil war. The pro-democracy hopes that had been sparked by the Arab Spring had been brutally crushed, and now Mustapha, who had never considered leaving his country, was forced to flee with his family.

As the old truck rambled on its way, from Al-Qadam to Beirut and in the entire 116 kilometres of the journey, everyone was silent, as if everyone was finally feeling the weight of what they were leaving behind. The escape. The truck was rundown and journey overpriced, a reflection of the desperation of their situation. Mustapha couldn’t help but think about all that they had lost, and all that they would never regain. As they approached Beirut, and the possibility of a new life in England, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of sadness and loss. The thought of leaving his home, perhaps forever, was a heavy weight to bear.

Once in Beirut, the next morning, Mustapha paid a large sum to purchase five air tickets to Istanbul. He had a connection there and would lead the journey himself. But upon arriving in Istanbul, Mustapha struggled to get in touch with his human-trafficker, Abdul-Aziz but failed. Desperate, he begged a middleman to pass on the message of his arrival with his family and had to pay him a substantial bribe to do so. He then returned to the hotel and waited anxiously, still in despair.

The first night in Istanbul was a sleepless one for Mustapha. As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, memories of his home in Damascus flooded his mind, making it impossible for him to find rest. He rose from his bed and made his way to the window, where he stood gazing out at the peaceful, slumbering city of Istanbul. Rabah, sensing her husband’s turmoil, woke and joined him at the window. She could feel the weight of his thoughts heavy upon him. She took his hand, rough and calloused from years of work in the abattoir, she rubbed them gently, tried to infuse it with some life. “Please try to catch up on some sleep,” she urged him softly. “I can’t,” Mustapha replied, still staring out the window. “It’s too quiet in here, perhaps too peaceful too. I never realized before this moment that the sounds of mortar shelling and gunfire have gotten into my blood, Rabah. I need them to sleep.” Rabah understood that good ways or bad, Damascus would always hold a piece of Mustapha’s heart, until the very end. She knew that the memories of the violence and destruction they had fled would forever be a part of him, haunting him even in the peacefulness of their new home and life.

After having Mustapha on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Abdul-Aziz finally showed up, the third morning. But now he was demanding double of what Mustapha had agreed to over the phone from Damascus. Rabah, who was listening to the negotiations, could see that Abdul-Aziz was out to make an ugly profit, at their expense. She looked at Mustapha, and he knew what she was thinking. This person was out to make a killing, and Mustapha could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he realized he had been swindled. But he refused to back down, and with each passing day, the situation grew more dire.

A day later Mustapha agreed under pressure but demanded he will pay half of it and only pay the rest after he and his family had safely crossed over to Greece and had all five UK passports in hand. But Abdul-Aziz refused; he would accept none of that crap, insisting on full payment upfront. He explained that the money he took percolated deep down to the smallest cog of this trafficking machinery, like drops of lubricant, to get it in motion. Without it, the machine would not start! Mustapha refused to back down, but with each passing day, the situation grew more ominous. Other smugglers were hesitant to take on his case after hearing about Abdul-Aziz. Abdul-Aziz was the strongest, vilest and the meanest among the human traffickers, with who even his comrades dare not mess. Mustapha knew he couldn’t afford to get stranded in Istanbul. The US dollars he was carrying were depleting faster than he had calculated.

Finally Mustapha relented and Abdul-Aziz arranged for their safe passage from Istanbul to Meric, near the Greece border, in a bus, with ten to twelve odd people, just like them, fleeing from all over Syria to the safe haven of Europe. The journey was gruelling and the most difficult thing Mustapha’s kids had ever endured. They were used to an opulent lifestyle as the children of a successful meat trader. The cramped conditions inside the bus and constant stops for checks by the rude authorities and police were a shock to them. Yara became sick during the journey, and the other passengers grew increasingly irate as they were getting late with several unscheduled stops because of her.

Finally, Mustapha and his family crossed over the river Maritsa on an unbelievably dangerous boat ride, which could have capsized any moment with the overload, but then it did not, with some mercy, Mustapha thought, when everyone looked away from things floating on the water, which had belonged to the people, who had died drowning there, trying to cross over to a new life, just like them, only much less fortunate.

At long last, they set foot on the Greek soil. Their dream of safety in Europe was finally within reach. But Rabah, as always, was resourceful and quick thinking. Even though she didn’t speak the language and was unfamiliar with the country, she managed to navigate them through the unfamiliar terrain, finding a safe place for them to rest and recover. And when Mustapha almost got killed in a confrontation with a group of locals, it was Rabah who stepped in and saved him, using her resourcefulness and quick thinking to diffuse the situation.

Through all the hardship and uncertainty, Rabah’s calm and patience had been the anchor that kept Mustapha and his family together. Her unwavering support and strength had seen them through the darkest of times, and Mustapha knew that he couldn’t have made it through without her. The journey may have been long, treacherous and emotionally draining, but for Mustapha and his family, it was worth it, as they were finally safe in Europe, together and that was all that mattered.

But things did not go as planned. Abdul-Aziz never delivered on his promise of sending someone with the forged passports. As the days passed, Mustapha’s fear and paranoia grew, and he knew that he had to take a chance. With almost no money left, he knew he had to make the dangerous journey across Maritsa to Athens to contact his friends in England.

The journey to Athens was the most harrowing and dangerous time for Mustapha, Rabah, and their children. They were on the run, constantly hiding from the police and security check-ups. They faced humiliation, starvation, and had to pay their way through with whatever little money Mustapha had left. At one point, Mustapha had given up hope of ever coming out of this nightmare alive and keeping his children safe. He cursed and prayed for an eternal hell for Abdul-Aziz!

Finally, they reached Athens, but the kids were almost dying and had to be treated. Mustapha was penniless, sick, and stressed beyond what he could fathom. Only Rabah was holding on, not only for herself but for everyone else, like the rock of Gibraltar. Eventually, his friends in London sent them money to survive and helped them to get transported to London where they were granted refugee status and given asylum. Rabah’s unwavering strength and resilience had seen them through their darkest hours, and Mustapha knew that they couldn’t have made it without her. It was a journey filled with emotional roller coaster, physically dangerous to have taken on the first place, but they were finally safe and that was all that mattered

Chapter II: Destiny’s Bonds

In the past five years, Mustapha has seen great success with his butcheries and meat houses, and today he had an opening of a new outlet in Cardiff City. Life has been kind with his eldest daughter Yara in her final year of medical school, and Aliya still figuring out her path in life. His son Karim, now in middle school, wants to pursue music. Mustapha’s wife Rabah has kept the family close, just as she did in Damascus.

Mustapha closes his eyes and allows him to drift in and out of consciousness, enjoying the lull of the train’s motion, speeding fast towards London, from Cardiff. The gentle rocking and the hum of the engine create a soothing background noise that he finds peaceful. He thinks about the work he needs to do once he reaches London, but he can’t quite focus on it. He decides to let his mind wander instead, letting the rhythm of the train take over. He feels relaxed, and he’s grateful for the brief respite before the busy day ahead tomorrow. He opens his eyes and sees that the train is approaching the next station, Paddington. He gets up to look for some coffee, feeling tired and exhausted from his long day’s work.

Suddenly he is interrupted from his thoughts by a commotion. The ticket checker is trying to communicate with a passenger who doesn’t understand English. Mustapha offers to help when he heard the ticket checker is seeking help from an Arabic speaking gentleman.

Mustapha approaches the man who is dressed in worn and tattered clothes that are clearly inadequate for his emaciated, skeletal frame. His shoes have seen better days and have likely travelled many miles on foot. Mustapha speaks to the man in Arabic and offers to help, but the man barely acknowledges him. Mustapha looks into the man’s opaque, lifeless eyes and his unshaven, sickly face with hollow cheeks. Suddenly, a cold fury runs through Mustapha as the face ignites in him a trauma he can never forget. Abdul-Aziz! A face from his past that he had prayed would rot in the fire of an eternal hell. The memory of how Abdul-Aziz left Mustapha and his family stranded in Maritsa, a small town in Greece, to die, still haunts him.

Mustapha wishes only if he could kill Abdul-Aziz with just a glare. Mr. Fennel, the ticket checker, informs Mustapha that Abdul-Aziz, has boarded the train without any papers, ticket or money, is in violation of the law and must be handed over to the police. When Mustapha addresses Abdul-Aziz by name, Mr. Fennel looks curious. Mustapha explains that Abdul-Aziz is his brother from the same village in Syria, and they are both refugees in the country. Mustapha engages Mr. Fennel in conversation to determine the best course of action. He assures Mr. Fennel that he will take care of Abdul-Aziz once they reach London and will take him to the police as advised. Mr. Fennel, who maintains a stoic demeanor, accepts Mustapha’s explanation and payment for Abdul-Aziz’s ticket before continuing on with his duties.

“Why did you do this to me?” a weak, faint voice comes from Abdul-Aziz, who was once a strong and powerful smuggler and member of the mafia. In that moment, looking at Abdul-Aziz, and realizing how fleeting fate really is, Mustapha is overcome with the power of forgiveness and his hatred and malice towards Abdul-Aziz fades away. He realizes that there is no difference between Abdul-Aziz, the smuggler, the human-trafficker and Mustapha Alhamdan, the devout and dutiful Muslim. He understands what it means to be a refugee and strangely feels drawn toward Abdul-Aziz’s plight and pain. Mustapha quotes a verse from the Quran, Surat An-Nisa, # 149, “Whether you reveal a good act or keep it hidden, or pardon an evil act, Allah is Ever-Pardoning, All-Powerful”.

Abdul-Aziz narrates his story in a low and soft voice. Mustapha murmurs “Alhamdulillah”, when he finishes, recognizing the fact that now sending Abdul-Aziz back to Syria would be akin to a death sentence because, the very community he has duped and embezzled will kill him and that will be man-slaughter by him. Islam prohibits him from committing murder. Mustapha promises help to him. Abdul-Aziz tightly clutches Mustapha’s hands, his bony fingers desperately grasping like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline, as he begins to weep in a muffled sob.

Perhaps it is moments such as this that can even lead a non-believer to accept the existence of a higher power, regardless of the name we give to it.

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