Refugee Boy (22 page)

Ruth sat down and Robert thanked her. Some other duties were delegated, including the job of planning the route of the march and notifying the police, which was shared between Tibra and Robert.

Then Robert made his final speech. ‘Don’t forget now, we don’t have much time. We really need to get moving. Get petitions any time after tomorrow from Ajay in school or from Ruth here after five o’clock, and get as many signatures as you can. Get them from your friends, your neighbours, shopkeepers, your parents, even your local policeman. Don’t stop getting them until those forms are full. Our next meeting will be here on the twenty-eighth at five. Hopefully by then we should be making some progress.’

After the meeting, when people were making their way out, Alem managed to get Ruth and Robert together. ‘What can I do?’ he said. ‘I haven’t got a job.’

‘Don’t worry,’ replied Robert. ‘We’re doing this for you. You and your father have other things to get on with.’

‘OK,’ Alem said, now turning to Ruth. ‘But what about your parents? We can’t keep using the house as a meeting place.’

Ruth went up to him and put her arms around his
shoulders. ‘You worry too much. Mum and Dad said it’s fine. They told us to use it and they said they’ll do anything to help, but only when asked. They want us to run this campaign ourselves. Adults must be accompanied by radical youths.’

Many of the activists were seeing each other at school, and Alem went to visit Asher at his flat and to see Pithead rehearse during that week.

At the next meeting it was obvious that all the jobs were being done; sheets of signed petitions were already being handed in, posters had been put up on the streets and the route of the march had been agreed.

Early on Saturday evening Alem and his father made their way to the school by bus. Inside the hall records were already playing and the hall was half full. The event was attracting a diverse range of people; many of Alem’s fellow students were there, some of their parents, some teachers, more kids that looked like clones of Buck and many very familiar faces. Mariam, Sheila, Pamela and Alem couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald paying the going rate at the door before coming into the hall.

Soon the hall was packed and Robert appeared on stage. He took hold of the microphone and began to speak. ‘I would like to thank you all for coming here
tonight to support this cause. We will not give up this struggle because we are strong and I think we are getting stronger every day. Before we begin the entertainment tonight, I just want to remind you all of the march next week. We will be leaving Great Milford School on Saturday 11th March at eleven a.m., and from there we will be marching via a pre-planned route to Stratford Town Hall, where I shall be handing in a petition to Mrs Leonie Ranks MP. It is very important that we get as many people as possible on that march so please come, bring your friends and make sure that you have strong voices. Tonight we have a great local band to play for you. But before the band we have a local poet who is going to share his work with us, so please give a big welcome to Asher Obadiah.’

Robert walked off stage as the crowd began to clap, shout and whistle. Alem did a double-take when he realised that it was his friend Asher who was now standing on the stage. Wearing a West African gown and a red, yellow and green headband around his dreadlocks, Asher stood and delivered five poems, one after the other. The crowd applauded after each one. When he was about to do the final one, he dedicated it to Alem and Mr Kelo and all those who were fleeing from persecution.

When Asher left the stage, Robert reappeared. This time he was much quicker. ‘And now for the
main act of the night, the band of the future with their own home-grown indie sound – please welcome Pithead.

The band came on and started to play. Buck and the other band members seemed to have made no attempt to dress up, and Buck’s style of singing still sounded like moaning to Alem.

Mr Kelo couldn’t believe what he was hearing or seeing. He had always known music as a form of celebration. Even the music he had heard at funerals was a celebration of the life of the deceased, but these guys sounded as if they were in mourning. Everyone started dancing, and the people dancing looked as if they were enjoying the music more than the band members were. Mr Kelo raised his eyebrows at Alem. In the middle of the hall Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald were dancing completely out of time, looking out of place but having the time of their lives. Teachers danced like vicars at weddings, and students tried to dance as far away from the teachers as possible.

Buck introduced each song.

‘This one’s called, “Who Are the Living?”’

‘This one’s called, “She Took My Coat”.’

‘This one’s called, “I Believe in Acne”,’ and so on.

At the end of the night Robert got back on stage and thanked everyone for coming. He reminded them of the march, then without warning he called Alem on stage to say ‘a few words’.

Alem was taken aback; he didn’t expect it and he had nothing prepared. His father nodded his head in the direction of the stage and Alem began to make his way slowly. He was so nervous that when he lightly touched the microphone, he could see his hand shaking; he had to grip it tightly in order to stop the shaking.

‘I don’t know what to say. I just want you to know that we are so happy that you are helping us and we hope one day to repay you for your kindness. Maybe one day there will be peace in my homeland and I can invite you all back for a big party.’

Everyone laughed and clapped their hands.

‘Thank you very much, that’s all I can say for now.’

As Alem left the stage, Robert darted back and quickly uttered a few more words. ‘Before you go I just want to say that tonight we have raised seven hundred and thirty-five pounds, eighty-five pence.’ There was another round of applause. ‘And this money will go towards promoting the campaign and for expenses for Alem and his father if they need it. Thank you, and see you on Saturday!’

The next week flew past. Alem was quietly excited as he watched all his young activists organising the rally. Now posters could be seen all over the streets of Newham and neighbouring boroughs. On Wednesday night Alem and Mr Kelo were invited to St Emmanuel Parish Church, where the Newham Echo interviewed and photographed them for the weekend edition. The priest and the users of the community centre expressed their support for them.

On Saturday morning the sun shone. Alem noticed that the cold was less biting. He and his father took a bus to the school. They had simply not prepared themselves for what they saw. Hundreds of people had gathered there, many of them carrying banners with slogans:

‘Alem Kelo must stay.’

‘Home, sweet home.’

‘Refugees need homes too.’

‘There are no illegal immigrants, only illegal governments.’

Mr Kelo grabbed Alem’s hand. ‘Look at all these people,’ he said. ‘They are all here for us! Where did they come from?’ He was astounded by the range of people: young, old, Black, Asian, White, men in suits, girls in suits, new-age hippies, punks, Rastas and Buck lookalikes.

‘Look, Father,’ Alem said, pointing ahead, ‘there’s Abbas.’ And there he was carrying a banner: ‘Refugees are human, let us live.’

Then Alem felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned around to find an excited, smiling boy. Alem hesitated a little; he did not recognise the boy who was reaching out to shake his hand. His face was quite badly scarred.

‘Hi, Alem,’ the boy said, shaking Alem’s hand enthusiastically. ‘My name’s Martin. I made these for the campaign. What do you think of them?’ He handed a badge to Alem. It read, ‘Refugees make great lovers.’

Alem smiled and said, ‘Very good.’ He turned to show it to his father. Mr Kelo shook his head and smiled in amusement.

‘Wear it,’ Martin said. ‘Put it on, man.’

Alem looked towards his father for approval. His father nodded. ‘Go ahead.’

Alem pinned it on his jacket. ‘I must thank you for making them, it’s a great idea.’

‘No problem, mate,’ Martin said, taking another
one out of his pocket and handing it to Mr Kelo. ‘Here’s one for you, Mr Kelo.’

‘It’s OK,’ Mr Kelo replied, ‘they don’t look very good on me.’

Martin laughed and said, ‘I just want to say good luck to you. I support you all the way – don’t let them get you down, stay strong! I must go and shift some badges – see you.’ He turned and disappeared into the crowd as quickly as he had appeared.

Ruth spotted Alem and Mr Kelo making their way through the crowd, so she waded in to rescue them and take them to what was to become the front of the procession. This was where most of his friends were; Buck, Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald, Asher, Mrs Kumar – the head of his year – and her son Ajay, as well as some other teachers, and they were all being watched by the police.

Robert appeared with a megaphone. ‘How you going, Alem? What a turnout! Good, hey?’

‘It’s amazing,’ Alem replied.

‘Hello, Mr Kelo.’

‘Hello, Robert. You have done such a great job.’

‘We haven’t finished yet, Mr Kelo. There’s this rock song, right, it’s a bit dull, a bit like that music you heard last week. Anyway that song says it ain’t over till it’s over. And that’s it, Mr Kelo: it ain’t over till it’s over.’

‘Very good,’ said Mr Kelo.

Alem heard a whisper over his shoulder. ‘Tena-yestelen.’ He had not heard any Amharic for a long time. He looked around quickly; it was Tibra.

‘Tena-yestelen,’ Alem replied.

His father heard Amharic being spoken and turned to see them both.

‘Tena-yestelen, Mr Kelo,’ Tibra said.

‘Tena-yestelen,’ Mr Kelo replied.

‘Father, this is Tibra,’ Alem said quickly. ‘As you can hear she’s from Ethiopia – well, she was born here.’

‘So you speak Amharic?’ Mr Kelo asked.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘I just know how to say hello, goodbye, not much else. My family came here when there was all that fighting in 1974, a long time before I was born.’

Just then Robert began to speak with the loud-hailer. ‘Now we shall begin our march. Please try and keep in line! Be as loud as you can but be orderly. If anyone feels ill, please let one of the stewards know as soon as possible. And whatever you do, remember to be well-mannered to the pedestrians and car drivers. OK, here we go!’

Robert turned and began to lead with Alem and his father at his side. Alem’s closest friends were behind them, followed by the rest of the marchers. Robert started chanting into his megaphone and the crowd followed him.

‘Don’t make the Kelos go – no, no, no, no.’

‘Don’t make the Kelos go – no, no, no, no.’

And ‘What do we want?’

‘Justice for the Kelos?’

‘When do we want it?’

‘Now!’

And ‘Solidarity, solidarity, every refugee needs solidarity.’

People clapped as they chanted and a few people played small drums and cymbals. Martin was weaving in and out of the crowd, distributing his badges. There was a carnival atmosphere with many cars sounding their horns in support, but as the front of the march reached the junction of Romford Road and Shrewsbury Road, a large people carrier full of people slowed down.

The windows of the van were rolled down and six men in their early twenties began to shout, ‘Go home!’ ‘Go and march in your own country!’ ‘Pakis . . .’

One of them spat in the direction of the demonstration. Some demonstrators broke away and began throwing stones at the van. The men in the van started throwing stones back and for a moment there was a mini riot. Alem and his father were surrounded by their supporters. They were both frightened and saddened that violence had broken out. A group of police officers moved in on foot to try to part the warring
sides, but it wasn’t until the sound of sirens could be heard that the men jumped back into their van and drove off. The police van followed behind them and the demonstrators watched the police stop them about half a mile up the road. The demonstrators reassembled and the march continued. Robert began leading the chants and soon got back the carnival spirit. As they crossed Green Street, an Indian restaurant started to hand out free vegetable samosas to those that wanted them.

Mrs Kumar smiled at Alem. ‘That’s my sister’s business.’

From the school to the town hall it took just over two hours but the conversations, the singing and the chanting meant that it felt much shorter. Outside the town hall the people gathered on the pavement on both sides of the road to hear the speeches. As the Fitzgeralds, Robert, Mariam, Alem and his father stood on the steps of the town hall, Robert lifted the megaphone and began his speech.

‘Thank you for coming here today. As you know, we have organised this march because we want to send a message to the people who make the rules, the politicians. This march has been organised to let these people know that Alem Kelo and his father deserve the right to live without fear. Now I’m not a very good speaker, so what I’m going to do now is
hand you over to Mariam Desta from the Refugee Council.’

There was clapping and whistleblowing as Mariam took the megaphone. ‘Girls and boys, ladies and gentlemen! I have been on many demonstrations in my time working for the Refugee Council. Every time people take to the streets it is important, but I have to say that this is a very special demonstration. Special because it is in support of two very special people, and special because it has been organised by some other very special people. The banner, the route, the publicity, the fundraising, the petition, everything about this demonstration has been organised by Alem’s friends. This march is truly an example of youth power. It is time that the voice of the youth be heard on this matter, because the youth matter!’

There was a loud round of applause, with shouts and whistles.

‘I have known Alem since he first came to this country,’ Mariam continued, ‘and he is one of the most conscientious, hard-working, intelligent people that I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of people, young and old. He has come through great hardship and he is a great survivor. But as you all know, we have reached a crucial point. A judge has said that he must return to his persecution. A judge who has never sat down and talked to Alem about his fears and dreams is sending him back to a nightmare to live in danger.
We must not let that happen! We at the Refugee Council are supporting Alem and his father because we know what it is like to live in fear of your life. We work every day with people who are persecuted because of their political beliefs, their race, their gender and even their language, and we will never stand aside and watch them suffer. We support the Kelos and I just want to thank you for supporting them too.’