Twenty-two days

Submitted into Contest #94 in response to: Start your story with someone accepting a dare.... view prompt

21 comments

Drama People of Color Contemporary

“Don’t you dare go," Mariam said, as Aicha tucked the money into a hidden belt around her waist.


“If I stay, nothing changes for any of us," Aicha replied.


"You are as stubborn as a donkey."


Aicha smiles, thinking about that last conversation with her sister, as she stands on a windy beach looking at the rickety boat that's meant to carry her 800 kilometers across the open ocean. Even a donkey would have more sense than to ride in that. But she's already travelled for weeks from the Ivory Coast to Mauritania to hand the money she’s saved since she was fourteen, working twelve-hour days, to the skinny man with the gold teeth.


The boat looks more like a large canoe to Aicha. Ten metres of splintered wood painted white and blue, like the ocean, but flaking under the baking sun. The canoe is widest in the middle, a meter and half across, before tapering to points at each end, punctuated with wooden crossbars spaced about one meter apart, like ribs picked clean from a scavenged elephant. Stuffed between the ribs are dozens of people. There can't possibly be space for another, but room is made for her, and five more after her.


For the first few days the roar of the outboard motor and the rush of wind in the ears drowns out conversation. Aicha watches the coastline fade to a hazy lump, her right hand gripping the side of the boat, her left the crossbar in front of her. The motor struggles to make progress against the waves and wind and currents, weighed down by nearly sixty people in a boat designed for half as many. The broker, the man with golden teeth, told her it would take three to four days to make landfall on Tenerife, but at this pace, it will take twice as long.


The engine runs out of petrol on the third day. The men take turns dipping two small paddles into the sea. Aicha speaks in snippets of French and Arabic with the passengers closest to her, packed shoulder to shoulder near the bow of the boat. At seventeen she is one of the youngest people on board, though most are in their twenties and thirties, travelling without their wives or husbands, brothers or sisters. Everyone who makes this journey knows the dangers. The unscrupulous ferrymen, the treacherous ocean, the sharks on land and sea drawn to the smell of blood. But they go anyway. Facing possible death is better than living in certain fear.


Aicha learns that the woman next to her, Prista, is also from the Ivory Coast. Last year she tried to make it to Europe by boat, but the border patrol made them turn back to shore. Since then she’s been working as a housekeeper, even though she has a degree in biology. Two months ago, her younger brother died in a shipwreck on the way to Italy from Tunisia. His body was never recovered.


On the fifth day the food and water run out. The sun beats down and the wind and waves push them further away from the coast. They can’t see land anymore, or other boats, only endless sea. Even though it’s hot, Aicha wears a knitted hat, the one Mariam made for her, with a black and white checkerboard pattern topped with a black pom-pom. Sometimes she sees birds gliding on the surface of the ocean and she imagines her sister is one of them. Once Aicha reaches the Canary Islands she will work hard and earn enough money to send back home. Her family can have food and medicine. Maybe Mariam can go to school, then she can get a good job in a tall office building or on an airplane winging through the clouds.


On the eighth day, one of the men, too weak to stand, screams out from thirst. He pleads for someone to give him water. A young man takes off his shoe, fills it with seawater. The man drinks quickly and asks for more. The next day, he is dead. Aicha joins the prayers with a parched tongue. It takes three men to roll him overboard, into the roiling sea.


A few days later, she doesn’t have the strength to say the prayers. Nobody has the energy to roll the dead into the sea or dip the flimsy paddles. Aicha drifts with the gone and going and wonders if she will join them, but the donkey in her kicks such thoughts away. She pictures the panic on her mother’s face after the last election. Her parents lived through two civil wars and fear they won’t survive a third. For weeks Aicha and her sister were not allowed outside. Every evening they pushed the table to block the door to their tiny apartment. Outside, gunfire punctuated the air joined by the plaintive prayers of women trapped in alleyways, begging the soldiers to stop.


On the morning of the twelfth day, it rains. She opens her mouth wide, daring not to close it until it’s nearly full, in case the deluge stops. She nudges Prista, who rests her head on Aicha’s aching shoulder. “Wake up, drink!” But Prista doesn’t move. Aicha gently leans her against the other side of the boat. If she had the strength she'd tip her slim body into the sea, where Prista's soul might swim to her brother.


A shimmering below the waterline catches Aicha's eyes on the fifteenth day. Fish scales reflect the sunlight. Aicha imagines reaching in, tickling the fish, putting it to sleep, before cupping hands on either side and scooping it into the canoe. It would lay flapping and gasping for air, like she gulps for rain, like her empty mouth chews on phantom food.


On the eighteenth day, a handful of people are left. A dragonfly lands on a body near Aicha. She admires the green iridescent body and lacy wings, before capturing it and crushing it in her hands. Popping it whole into her mouth, the crunching in her ears is louder than any sound she’s heard for days. The legs stick in her throat as she swallows, making her cough.


For several days Aicha fades in and out, between waking and sleep, drifting in a floating grave in the middle of the ocean. She thinks about drinking the sea, salty and stinging, if she could dip her shoe, but her stubborn arms refuse to move.


One morning, she’s a ghost hovering over her motionless body, like a black dragonfly who’s feasted on all the prayers, drained all the tears, drank all the dreams. The thumping of powerful wings hums in her ears, the wind buffeting her from above. She opens her eyes. A helicopter. She tries to call out, but no words can crawl from her desiccated lungs. All she can do is nod her head, the black pom-pom flapping in the downwash of the spinning rotors. She knows if they don’t see the boat, they’ll all be ghosts.


The men in the helicopter bring her to the nearest island, flying nearly 500 kilometres to reach Tenerife. They tell her she’s been adrift for twenty-two days, and is one of only three survivors. It takes two days to tow the boat to Tenerife’s harbour. Firefighters must saw it into pieces, to free the dead. They bury them in Santa Cruz cemetery, where the graves look out over the Atlantic ocean.


Aicha calls back home to let her sister know that she made it. Her parents tell her that Mariam left weeks ago, to Mauritania. She’s saved some money, and will buy passage on a boat.


****

This story is inspired by a true account of a seventeen year old girl, Aicha, who travelled by herself from the Ivory Coast to Mauritania, where she bought passage on a boat, and survived 22-days at sea before being rescued by the Spanish Air Force. More here: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/world-europe-57089249

May 15, 2021 15:09

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21 comments

Ellie Yu
17:23 May 19, 2021

I'm not usually into these kinds of stories, but this one was really interesting and captured my attention for the whole narrative. I have no idea how to critique - it seems to shine as a whole, impossible to pick apart. It was really entertaining and thought-provoking, thanks for sharing!

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H L McQuaid
17:35 May 19, 2021

Thanks, Ellie. I don't usually write these kinds of stories, so I also don't know how to judge it. :0 Glad it was thought-provoking.

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Nina Chyll
16:55 May 18, 2021

I don't think I have anything in ways of comments. I was strangely 'looking forward 'to the days passing in a contradictory way, which is only testimony to how engaging this narrative was. I also 'like' a lot how it ends - on a huge cliff-hanger and a bad premonition for the sister. And I also like, now without quotes, how this story has made me need to use quotes. It was like a car crash: as much as I wanted to look away, I was sealed inside the magnetism of the narrative. I really think this is a great piece, and what an incredible ba...

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H L McQuaid
17:20 May 18, 2021

Thanks so much Nina. This was one of those stories where I really can't judge whether it's any good. I wanted to do Aicha's story justice (as I interpreted it), but it's not my usual style, and I didn't want it be trite or political. So I'm relieved that you think it's good.

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Nina Chyll
19:39 May 18, 2021

No politics in sight, and I have no idea what trite means, so I'll just say no to that, too.

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K. Antonio
14:41 May 16, 2021

I really enjoyed the story a lot and agreeing with Cathryn, I think it could be considered creative nonfiction. I really enjoyed the details poured over throughout the story, the struggle and tension. The part about the shoe being used as a vessel to drink salt water from, ugh that was good (I watched the video and it really did happen, damn). The only thing I would probably add is maybe some more language to heighten the "poor quality of the canoe", the feeling of being cramped though you're in the ocean, and everything is so vast. I fe...

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H L McQuaid
14:48 May 16, 2021

Ooo, good idea K. I could weave a few more details about the isolation and entrapment. Maybe she sees dolphins playing or something. The contrast of freedom versus confinement and the alienation of being in the middle of a world that's not made for humans. And yeah, that video is heart-wrenching. :(

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K. Antonio
15:06 May 16, 2021

Stories to me like these are always heart-wrenching. I actually had a relative of mine that went through something similar, crossing a desert and staying 23 days in a state of "escape". I heard some stories of people crossing a river with nothing but a plastic bag to keep what ever possession they had (which wasn't much) from getting wet. It was honestly one of the craziest things I had heard.

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H L McQuaid
16:11 May 16, 2021

omg. I wonder how bad things must be for people to take such risks (spoiler alert: really, really, really bad).

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David G.
13:07 May 21, 2021

Well done, Heather. There’s some really good tension in the way you write. This is a tragic and all too common story. A couple of the simile/metaphors felt a little bit forced to me. I found that the one about the worm on a hook broke the narrative. Maybe think about dropping that particular one? “She imagines biting into it, salty flesh and small bones, wriggling in her mouth, a worm on a hook.”

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H L McQuaid
13:37 May 21, 2021

Hi David, Thanks for reading and your suggestions. I removed a few of the metaphors, including the one you suggested. :)

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Ash Jarvis
02:47 May 20, 2021

Wow. I know this isn’t your usual subject matter, but you did an amazing job with this one. The imagery and language are wonderful—I especially liked “the donkey in her kicks such thoughts away”. I definitely don’t think this story is trite or political, but I agree with some of the other comments in that I’d like to know what she is fleeing from. I think knowing that would give an added level of tension to the story because we’d understand why she is forced to move forward despite the danger. To put it another way, the more we know about h...

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H L McQuaid
11:28 May 20, 2021

Hi Ash, Thanks for your kinds words and suggestions. I've added a mini-story of another women on the boat, and a little more detail about the conditions Aicha and her family were living under before she left. Hopefully that helps explain her desperation (and resolve) a bit more.

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Ash Jarvis
21:01 May 20, 2021

The details you added are powerful. I was about to say wonderful, but heart-wrenching is a better word. Those details definitely make us feel the desperation that moves her. I just wish more people—especially here in the U.S.—could understand the horrific circumstances that force people to flee their homes.

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H L McQuaid
07:59 May 21, 2021

Thanks for re-reading, Ash. And I agree, if more people knew what was happening, and why, then we (collectively) could do more to help.

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Jewel Robbins
17:44 May 19, 2021

This was so good! It reminded me of Life of Pi but more grounded and realistic. The terror was real. Her strength and stubbornness shone. Spelling note: in the 2nd and 3rd longer paragraphs it spells Aiche instead of Aicha. I understand that people must be really desperate to brave that journey but what they're escaping from is vague. Perhaps she could have a terrible memory while she's drifting in the boat to highlight that her current conditions are still preferable to home? Totally understand if you're avoiding that route to keep i...

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H L McQuaid
17:55 May 19, 2021

Hi Jewel, I like your suggestion. I'd need to do more research into the specifics. I know there are gangs, and sex trafficking, displacement and violence from wars, famine, disease, and general lack of opportunities, but I don't know the details (like what that would mean, at an individual level, for someone like Aicha...what would her experience be). I think I could avoid politics if I could envision a specific moment where she was hungry, homeless, etc.. But I don't know enough (yet) about what such a moment might be. So something for me ...

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Cathryn V
02:21 May 16, 2021

Hi Heather, Well done! I’m a sucker for creative nonfiction. The story retained tension throughout and had loads of sensory details. There are a lot of lines I liked. this: where she’ll load her hopes onto a craft headed for the Canary Islands. This felt out of place: famished buffalo. Maybe use a whale carcass or something sea related? Here, omit he begs. Please someone give him water, he begs. Great work!

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H L McQuaid
10:48 May 16, 2021

Thanks, Cathryn. I was wondering whether this might be considered creative nonfiction...? I might have imagined too much for it to be considered nonfiction. Anyway, I'm glad you liked it. I edited the story a bit based on your comments (using an elephant rather than a whale, to echo the Ivory Coast theme). I appreciate your feedback! :)

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Mark Wilson
05:45 May 23, 2021

Great job capturing this story, Heather ~ So moving and visceral. An absolutely heart-wrenching tale, and with an open, questionable ending for the sister. Watching the video (as hard as it was at times) literally brought your story to life; Watching the small boat, adrift at sea. Aicha's story is the human story. I used to be a prolific runner, at one point. I had quit smoking, and needed something to take its place. I would run, and run, and run until I thought I couldn't possibly run anymore, but I did. It's like a Military Basic Tr...

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H L McQuaid
11:01 May 23, 2021

Hi Mark, Thanks so much for reading and commenting, and especially for watching the video. You're right, the story works best as a supplement to the video, because pictures give us a totally different feeling than words. Aicha's strength and persistence is amazing, and I'm glad that you also found it inspiring. And I think there's a whole other story from the rescuers' perspective. I too, was impressed with his compassion and humility. Thanks for dropping by, Mark. I look forward to reading more of your stories. :)

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