the voyage

CW: Physical violence, gore and abuse, mental health, starvation, refugees

The Voyage

Using their last ounce of strength, the weary people heaved the dinghy unsteadily through the shallow water. Clutching at faith alone, the boy and his father, along with the woman, prayed they'd make it to shore. The woman, a young mother, was particularly relieved to have spotted land at last. Breathing heavily, hair plastered to her face, clothes clinging to her thin body, she collapsed, arms outstretched, as if embracing the warm sand beneath her. In the dinghy, three children began to stir, the baby girl letting out a plaintive wail. How much longer can these three could survive? The woman thought.

"We're here.” The exhausted mother whispered, trying to comfort them, "We're home." With those words, her eyes drifted closed, and her body lay motionless. Eventually, someone would find them, she felt certain.

The boy and his father were equally exhausted and gaunt. Lack of food and water had robbed everyone of energy, yet here they were. Stretched out in the dinghy with the children, they prayed for a miracle!

Boom, boom. The explosion shattered the peaceful night of the slumbering neighborhood. Residents either attempted to flee, or remained behind, frozen by fear. As dawn broke, the residents who'd survived ventured out, gaping in horror at the utter destruction around them.

Apartment buildings, once tall, were now blasted to rubble, others were barely intact, shells of people's former homes.

As people wandered around shell-shocked, they listened for any calls from their wounded; finding survivors was critical! They knew this was going to be a tedious mind-numbing process which would consume them for months.

In a building not completely destroyed by the bomb blasts, a mother clutched her baby girl. Huddled on their ground-floor apartment, Marta had felt the impact as the blasts shook her building. As the smoke cleared, she rose slowly, hardly daring to look about her. She and Amira were unharmed; outside her window, her eyes witnessed a different story. Buildings leaned precariously against each other or were toppled altogether. She heard people crying out for loved ones, many sifted through rubble with bare hands. Numb with horror, Marta ran out to assist her neighbors.

The worst part was everyone in their country knew on whom to place the blame. A neighboring country had chosen to bomb them because of a dispute their rulers had had regarding their border. Each felt the wide valley separating the two countries should belong to them, no questions asked. Neither ruler would compromise, so they'd halted their discussions. Until, on the morning of a national holiday, the neighboring ruler had taken matters into his own hands.

Outraged, the people couldn't believe such a thing had occurred. Bombing our country for such a miniscule piece of land! Next came the dictator's takeover.

Under this new, harsh regime, their way of life as they'd known it was altered completely! Girls were forbidden from attending school beyond the elementary years, and universities couldn't teach history. Well, only if approved by their new ruler first. Even entertainment was challenged. Playing music or singing of any kind was punishable with jail time. The new ruler felt certain songs were radical, with lyrics which spoke out against him; therefore all music had to go. Even books were banned, with them proclaimed as "Poison for your minds."

Unable to stand this, Marta and a few others decided to flee. It wasn't an easy task, since the military now patrolled the mountains and that coveted valley. Nothing for it, but to cross the sea.

This was easier said than done. The journey required money; many sold what little belongings remained. Local sailors realizing money could be had, volunteered to aid the travelers in their mission. Pay up front, and they'd guarantee a smooth journey, they promised. Life jackets were sold in the markets "For cheap." To avoid a mass exodus, passengers were taken in small groups, usually under cover of darkness. Those who were caught were imprisoned or killed.

On the night of Marta's departure, she and some others arrived at their secret location. The sailors ordered everyone to come aboard a large boat, reserved for that purpose. Rowing quietly, they set off.

Unfortunately, the weather was far from ideal. Rain had been forecast, and as predicted, it began to drizzle as soon as their boat left land. Out on the open water, the sailors revved the motor. Plowing through the now choppy waves, the wooden boat began to jerk violently, sending water over the sides, spraying them all. Beside Marta, another mother struggled to protect her children's heads. Panicking, life jackets were quickly donned, since no one could swim.

Ignoring the passengers' entreaties to turn back, the grinning men drove faster. As the storm intensified, Marta noticed her feet were soaked. Glancing down, she saw tiny holes in the bottom of the boat just large enough for water to seep through. Then, the engine died with a sputter. One of the sailors lowered a dinghy into the water, and commanded people to get in. As the dinghy was pushed off, the engine started back up, and the boat turned around. The people screamed, but their cries were drowned by the storm.

The passengers huddled in the packed dinghy, with no shelter from the pelting rain. As the small boat was pitching and tossing on the merciless sea like a rag doll, the people fought for survival. Clutching their possessions or one another, each fervently prayed their little boat wouldn't capsize.

As the rain continued to pour relentlessly down, the boat rode the sea's churning waves. Where they'd end up, nobody knew. Prayers of a rescue were spoken aloud or in quiet whispers, their eyes searching for any sign of land through the heavy curtain of rain.

As if tempting fate, a massive wave swept over the boat, toppling passengers and possessions alike into the churning sea. The terrified refugees floundered in the icy water, scrambling to hold on to anything within reach—their flimsy life jackets were now proving to be useless. A floating tree became a kind of lifeline for some people. As they clung there, many less fortunate people succumbed to the water's icy embrace. As another wave swept them under, the survivors glimpsed terrified eyes! Their desperate, panicked screams echoed in its wake, long after they'd vanished; their sodden belongings the last remnants of their lives.

Some survivors had managed to haul the dinghy upright and had scrambled in. Miraculously, the vessel was still intact, which was a blessing! The bedraggled people clinging to the tree were quickly pulled aboard, too. In all, there were Amira and Marta, a boy and his father, and two small toddlers who'd been snatched up as their parents disappeared under the waves.

Without supplies of any kind, they weren't certain if any of them would last on this unexpected voyage. Paddling with their one paddle, the father (who was called Arthur) and Marta, tried formulating a plan of some sort. Without landmarks, it was difficult to see where they were heading; the thick rain and pounding waves showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Covering the children as best they could with a tattered tarp, the adults took turns paddling; they hoped that, by dawn, they'd be able to have a better sense of their surroundings.

By morning, however, their predicament hadn't improved; nothing around them but a vast expanse of gray ocean and dark sky. No land was in sight. The storm had blown itself out, leaving behind dark clouds which threatened to dump rain at any moment. The weather only dampened everyone's spirits still further; the children, overcome with exhaustion, cried or slept as day turned to night, followed by another cloudy day, and yet another. There they were, going nowhere on a seemingly vast ocean.

Sea water splashed in their faces kept everyone alive. Drinking was impossible, and food began to seem like a distant memory; the mere mention of which increased their raging hunger pains. Arthur and his son spoke of their family who'd been killed during the bombing. His mother had made fabulous dishes which made his mouth water. Marta described the meat and vegetables she'd prepared for dinner, and the treats, whose recipes her neighbors had often coveted.

The toddlers whimpered and called out for their mothers. Grief was still a raw emotion for all of them, it would take time before the memories faded completely, if at all; they needed to survive this ordeal, somehow.

The boy (who was about twelve) took his turn paddling, so the adults could get much-needed sleep. Sleep kept eluding them, perhaps because of raging thirst and hunger, lack of shade, or their predicament, they couldn't say. The harsh conditions were taking their toll on their bodies—raw, bleeding hands, parched throats, as well as other discomforts—kept them awake most nights. Marta found whenever she closed her eyes, images filled her head, too disturbing to dwell upon. Similarly, the boy cried out if he slept. Arthur's attempts at comfort provided temporary solace. Until the next night, during which his nightmares would return all over again!

In hushed tones, Arthur and Marta spoke of their decisions to flee their country. After their family were killed, the father saw no point in remaining in a place where laws were being changed at will, and women were undervalued. His disgust at the current military's orders regarding the drafting of young boys persuaded him they must try to escape.

Marta's story was similar. Unwilling to raise Amira under a dictatorship, she'd sold her remaining belongings to buy passage across the sea. To have their sailors just abandon them in their hour of need had made her more determined to see this through. Her plan was to head far away, where no one knew her. She spoke English, but could learn another if needed. As to the young children's future, their temporary guardians thought perhaps someone might adopt them? First, they had to reach land.

On their fourth day afloat on the sea, Marta shaded her weary eyes from the sun yet again. What was that drifting out there? A log? A fish of some kind. Her mind immediately conjured up smells of delicious fish and vegetables; in her excitement, she grabbed the paddle from Arthur and began paddling in that direction. Upon reaching it, her mouth opened in a silent scream! Not a fish, but a corpse, bloated and barely recognizable, floated along, a grotesque thing! Averting her eyes, Marta paddled back, away from the horrendous sight! Glancing over, she saw Arthur's eyes, wide with terror! Leaning over the side, she clutched her churning stomach. However, she discovered that owing to the lack of food, she was unable to throw up!

On the fifth day, Arthur spotted a welcome sight. As the sun was setting, he pointed towards the horizon. "Land." Indeed, they could barely make out a sprawling mass of sand. Stowing the paddle, they allowed their battered vessel to drift, hoping to be within sight of the shore by morning!

The End