Crossing the Sea by Wolfgang Bauer

Author:Wolfgang Bauer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Stanislav Krupař;Wolfgang Bauer;Sarah Pybus;Prix Bayeux-Calvados for War Correspondents;reportage;non-fiction;translation;Libya;Syria;refugees;refugee;crisis;european;mediterranean;egypt;UNHCR;smuggling;smuggler;smugglers;Germany;Italy;Lampedusa;Greece;Lesbos;Turkey;Istanbul;Cairo;Alexandria;prison;detainee;detainment;deportation;Europe;gang;sea;crossing;boat;ship;photographs;photographer;The New Odyssey;The Story of the European Refugee Crisis;Patrick Kingsley;Guardian;Faber;Guardian Faber;The Lightless Sky: An Afghan Refugee Boy's Journey of Escape to A New Life in Britain;Gulwali Passarlay;Atlantic Books;A Hope More Powerful than the Sea;Melissa Fleming;Fabrizio Gatti;Bilal;Finding Home: The Real Stories of Migrant Britain;Emily Dugan;Icon Books;Illegality Inc;Ruben Andersson
Publisher: And Other Stories Publishing
Published: 2016-06-05T13:10:43+00:00

‌The Odyssey

Alaa sees the captain on the first afternoon when he suddenly appears next to him on the bow. The captain ignores him; he rarely speaks with the passengers, and then only with the older men. The captain is called Abu Ahmed. In his fifties, small and hefty, he seldom appears on the deck. Abu Ahmed spends his nights in the wheelhouse and eats there too. The refugees who sleep nearby sometimes hear him using the satellite phone to talk to other captains or smugglers on land. He’s usually swearing.

Abu Ahmed wears a dark red shirt and stained beige cotton trousers. The crew have great respect for him; a hushed command is all it takes to send them scurrying. He has left his deputy, Mustafa, to make a short morning announcement to the refugees. ‘You’re hungry,’ he says. ‘You will get food. You’re tired, you can sleep in peace. If you fall ill, we have medicines too.’

Alaa is impressed by the crew, who are strong and sturdy and seem to know a bit about the sea. They come from the coastal town of Rosetta, sixty kilometres east of Alexandria. Most of them come from one family, live in the same street.

The lowest-ranking member is Ali, the cook, a lanky eighteen-year-old whose hands are rarely clean. He is the only one not from the family. He too orders the refugees around like a shepherd boy. He tells them to duck when another vessel overtakes them, forbids them to sit on the railing because it’s too dangerous. He is also the one who carries the children to the toilet when the waves are too strong. The children are scared of him; his skin is darker than the others, and he smells funny too. He receives just under 100 euros for every day spent on the boat. Most of the men earn 200 euros per day.

As the journey progresses, Alaa befriends the mechanic, another Abu Ibrahim. He’s in his mid-thirties, has stubble, wears a grey hooded jacket, and is a father of three. ‘A good man,’ Alaa reports. He is one of the highest earners, around 300 euros a day, he tells Alaa proudly. He has an assistant, perhaps fifteen years old – his nephew, Abu Ibrahim says, a nice quiet boy who’s come along to learn the ropes. Like his mentor, the nephew sleeps right next to the engine. ‘Don’t stop praying,’ Ibrahim tells Alaa. The engine is as good as new, installed just two months ago, and they have plenty of diesel – enough, he says, to travel between Egypt and Italy three times. He doesn’t lie, which earns him Alaa’s respect. ‘I’m just the mechanic,’ he says when he doesn’t want to answer a question – such as whether the boat is heading for Greece or Italy.

On the second night, Alaa and Hussan come to the conclusion that if they don’t reach Greece tomorrow, then they’ll know they’re going to Italy. A Syrian from Latakia, who once went to sea, told them it takes three days to get to Greece.

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