You have lost everything. Apart from the clothes on your back you have no possessions. Someone who offered you safe passage across a stretch of water has relieved you of your last wads of dollars and euros. If you are sent home this minute, someone else would be farming the plot of land you sold. Your relatives would say you are a loser. They will spit at you, snarling: ‘So much for the better life you said we’d have next year!’ The wind is whipping up. The water is becoming choppier. You count at least 40 people on the rubber dinghy. Word has gone round that the dinghy is taking on water. Two toddlers amidships wail either from fear or hunger. If the dinghy sinks, it won’t be such a bad thing. The weather is quite warm. You might even manage to swim ashore. On the other, your lifeless body will be washed ashore. Perhaps that would not be such a bad thing either. You will be released from the worry and uncertainty. Drowning must be a horrible way to die. It is simply unthinkable. You have to carry on for the sake of people back home. You find a job, somewhere to live and rebuild your self-respect and you’ll be literally home and dry. Then you should be in a position to invite your wife and children over. Now you are feeling damp. The water is forming puddles in what you can see of the floor of the dinghy. Someone should come to the rescue. Please, let someone take us off this dinghy before we —
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Volodymyr and Marina are settling in nicely. He’s got a job at the flour mill. It’s only temporary. He is an engineer after all. Perhaps he can do night classes and re-qualify. He said he might go in for an electrician. Marina is already working. Not bad after three weeks here. She’s helping a friend of ours child-minding three mornings a week. Yes, they do get benefits. I’m well aware it’s taxpayers’ money, but they’ve gone through so much, haven’t they, the poor dears? They had a great apartment in Kharkiv. They showed me pictures of it because they were doing some decoration. They had some ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures. One night, there was a raid. They all hurried down into the basement of their apartment block, which they used as a bomb shelters. The next morning, they came up to a pile of rubble. Lost everything, they did. Then they decided to come here. I know, this town isn’t much. There’s no night life and the nearest cinema is half-an-hour bus ride away. But Volodymyr and Marina haven’t come for that, have they? Did I tell you they found a lovely school for their kiddies? They go to the junior school. They spoke pretty good English when they arrived and they enjoy school. Well, it’s so much safer. The poor children had the most terrible nightmares in the first week after they arrived.
It’s good to be out of that dinghy. What a relief. I was helped up onto a larger vessel. I wanted to thank my rescuers, but I didn’t know how. They said nothing to me. Even if they had, I wouldn’t’ve understood. It seems four times the size of the dinghy, which is now being towed behind this ship. As for the people who took all the money we had left, I wonder if they didn’t puncture the dinghy on purpose. If we all drowned, we would be able to tell anyone about anything. But what’s in store for us survivours? No idea. I’m prepared to work. Do anything. How am I going to manage in this place we’re heading for? Someone hands me a mug containing a hot drink. Again, I wanted to say thank you, but no one seemed to be in the mood to talk. No one has asked us anything. It’s great to be able to stretch your legs and sit comfortably. Not long to go now. The coastline is becoming more detailed. The harbour entrance is coming into view.
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My English wasn’t very good when I first arrived, but people have been friendly and helpful. The job at the flour mill is a bit boring. I’m not used to this kind of work, but I will do some exams and see what happens. It took ages getting a visa for UK. They made us queue up in the bitter cold outside. None of the officials seemed to know what they were doing, or if they did, they were taking a long time. We had our identity cards, which were a great help in obtaining an emergency passport. After all the waiting (two weeks), we were so happy to get our visas. Three months we can stay in UK. And it can be renewed. Mr and Mrs Fortescue have been very kind to let us stay in their home until we find a place of our own. But they have a pretty big house, much bigger than our old apartment. At least we can keep out of each other’s way, but they insist we have dinner together. Marina has been showing them some recipes from home. I think we are going to like it here. And we are eternally grateful. If we do go back home, I wonder what we’ll find there. When will we go back? Will they rebuild Kharkiv as it was?
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Everything is so strange. I don’t know what people are saying. The men in uniforms keep conversing among themselves. They laugh loudly sometimes. They seem to be totally uninterested in us. They haven’t brought anyone in like an interpreter to tell us what’s going on and what’s going to happen to us. It’s a case of watch what everyone else is doing and do the same. I recognise many of the faces from the dinghy but we are too puzzled, too bewildered and too afraid to speak. We are given breakfast. Most of it looked halal. If in doubt, leave it on the side of the plate. The treatment by some of the men and women in uniform smacks of contempt. Otherwise, they are indifferent. Now we are getting on a bus. They drive on the left in this place. It feels odd. No one has told us anything. We have no idea where we are going, until we pull up at a pair of gates surmounted by razor wire. Is this a prison? Have we committed a crime? Is looking for a better life against the law? I can’t go back. On the other hand, I hope that an interpreter can explain what’s going on.
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Next time you look at news reports of asylum seekers arriving on UK shores, do not look at them. Look at the people around them. What do you think their attitude towards them is? Contrast this with how Ukrainian refugees have been received in UK. Consider the many young Egyptians who undertake a dangerous journey to Europe in search of a better life. As for many Ukrainians whose home towns and villages have been flattened, how is it that they are better received than others whose skins are a touch darker and their religion is different. I rest my case.
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