In hindsight it was amazing we lasted as long as we did. But at the time, being discovered by the train guards was like a cold slap of water in the face.

We’d left North Macedonia’s wall behind and passed through into Serbia… The sun came out, we passed through stations and countrysides and snacked on a bag of nuts Grandma had been saving.

Just after pulling out of our fifth loading yard crop fields whizzing past us began to slow. Within two minutes the train ground to a halt.

‘Repairs?’ I whispered.

‘Animal on the tracks,’ Ayamin suggested.

We heard the crunch of multiple boots on the gravel. They were moving quickly.

‘Don’t move,’ Grandma whispered, she clutched one of the children’s hands, ‘Be brave for me.’

The boots came to a stop, the guards stood there staring at us. There were three of them, they held batons in their hands and hate in their eyes.

One of them was sweating, had a tiny moustache, and seemed to be in charge. He shouted something in a language I couldn’t recognise and they advanced, batons drawn.

The first blow from one of the lackeys came swooshing down towards my head. I moved sideways and it caught my collarbone with a dull thud that left a patch of pain.

Two of the women screamed and we tried to back ourselves up but could go no further than the beech logs. I wrapped my arms around Ayamin and rolled so only my back was facing the guards. Their batons hit my ribs and smashed down on my spine.

I felt something crack and breathing became painful.

The kids, sheltered by their fathers, were bawling.

When the beating stopped, a hand grabbed my hair and used it to yank me from the train. The rocks tore into my hands as I hit the side of the railway.

Grandpa, sitting in his run-down wheelchair had clung to the logs right through the beating without making a sound. When the rest of us had been yanked from the train the guard with the tiny moustache climbed onto the carriage. He grappled with Grandpa until the old man was sitting right on the edge of the carriage.

The guard spat in Grandpa’s face.

‘Kol Khara,’ Grandpa said, Eat shit.

The man yelled, leapt forward and kicked the old man straight back off the train.

Grandpa’s spine landed with a thump on the sharp rocks of the train track, he let out a soul-destroying scream. I leapt up and tried to drag him and his wheelchair away.

But the guards were ready for that. The tallest one swung his baton and a dull thud hit my shoulder. My arm transformed into a river of pain but I clung to the wheelchair and dragged him back while Mahdi and Jamal pushed at the men.

The men yelled, spat on us, and then walked back towards the carriage slapping each other on the back. I still held Grandpa in my hands. He was crying and the tears mixed with blood from a cut on his cheek.

In that moment I snapped from self-preservation to anger. I’d landed not far from an old fencepost.

I grabbed it and ran towards the train which had already begun to move off. I tried to catch up to the men who’d beat us. You’re going to pay. I thought, You cowards.

But a sharp pain shot through my chest with every step. I was out of breath. I felt weak and the train was leaving me behind.

I turned on the passing carriages and whacked my stick against the train until it snapped on one of the wheels. I threw my stub at the final carriage and it bounced off with a small thud.

I shook my head as I fell to my bloody knees, sometimes in life, there is no justice.