《Syria Girl》A visitor

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The trial was set for two weeks from the day we’d been found. It was a quick turnaround as far as the legal system was concerned, but then again there wasn’t much to Ayamin’s case.

They had to decide whether she would be allowed to stay in England and claim refugee status, or whether she’d be sent ‘back’ to where she came from – although no one was entirely sure where that was.

While having a roof over my head was great at first, I got progressively lonelier and more bored over the first two days in my cell. My guard only spoke in two-word bursts, but sadly these short conversations were the highlight of my day.

The guard pulled open a screen on my door.

‘Visitor’s coming.’

I sat up on my bed, saw the face and dull eyes peering at me from behind the screen, ‘What?’

He sighed as if the extra words were a burden, ‘A visitor – wants to – see you.’

‘Is it Ayamin?’ I asked.

The man just shrugged, ‘Can’t say.’

‘When’s she coming?’

‘Midday tomorrow.’

As I went to ask another question the screen slid back into place. I shrugged and lay back on my bed, it had to be Ayamin, who else would want to see me?

That night I dreamt about a rural English road, complete with hedgerows, and little robins flying about. I imagined the two of us walking along it, the pack strung high on my back. We picked dark blackberries and raspberries and ate them and talked.

It’s funny the things you miss, there had been so many times where I’d wished that we could at least stay somewhere warm for a night.

Yet there I was dreaming about the road once more.

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****

I woke early – a big mistake. After a yawn, I did some push ups, some squats and was able to get five lunges in across my cell. I thought that maybe when I was out, I’d start a petition for border security offices to get board games or a weights machine.

Midday came around slowly. I waited on the floor with my legs crossed like I was back in school. Eventually, my guard knocked on the door and uttered a solemn, ‘Stand up.’

I followed him down the corridor. A grin swept my face. The guard pulled open the door of a meeting room and held it open.

‘Don’t be – too long,’ he said.

I walked into the room. The door closed with a metallic squeak behind me and the smile fell from my face.

There, sitting on the opposite chair was Judge Streisand – the same woman who had decided I should go to Syria.

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