Refugee Boy (23 page)

Robert took the megaphone from Mariam as she stepped aside, and he began to speak when the applause had died down. ‘Now, I must say that I haven’t warned him that I’m going to do this, and I hope that he forgives me, but I would like to ask Alem to say a few words.’

Alem shook his head vigorously. He didn’t want to stand in front of so many people. He looked at the large crowd and his stomach churned. He looked at his father, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘It’s up to you, don’t ask me.’ He looked towards Ruth, who just smiled, and Mr Fitzgerald put a thumb up to him. But still he didn’t want to face the crowd until the crowd started chanting, ‘Alem, Alem, Alem, Alem,’ and the longer he left it, the louder they got.

Alem moved towards Robert and took the megaphone. He looked out over the sea of people and took a deep breath.

‘My name is Alem Kelo and I really can’t understand why I am here. You see, in my homeland they
are fighting over a border, a border that is mainly dust and rocks. I really cannot understand why these people are fighting over this border. If there is to be any fighting, we should be having a nonviolent fight to get rid of borders.’

The crowd erupted in cheers.

‘I haven’t come to England to become a problem. I didn’t leave the land that I love so much to be so cold.’

The crowd laughed.

‘But what can I do? At the moment they are fighting and not talking. If they ever start talking, they may arrange a time to negotiate. If they do ever negotiate, they may draw up a peace treaty. If they ever manage to draw up a peace treaty, they will have to agree on it, and if they ever agree on it, they may sign it. But it is only a peace treaty, a peace deal, a piece of paper. What we really want is a culture of peace! We must raise a new generation of peacemakers.’

The crowd erupted again.

‘I don’t know what else to say because I had not planned to make a speech. But I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support. Since I have been in this country I have made some very good friends, and now I look at all of you and I feel like you are all my friends.’

The crowd clapped and shouted, ‘Alem, Alem, Alem!’

‘You make me feel so good!’ There was more laughter. ‘Yes, my name is Alem. In my language Alem means “world”. I would love to see the day when there are no more refugees in the world and the world can live in peace. Then when I would come to England I would come to see my friends and instead of demonstrating we would be celebrating.’ He paused for thought. ‘But I would come in the summer when it’s warm.’

There was more loud laughter and applause. Alem let the crowd settle down. ‘Before I go I have a request.’

Suddenly there was silence as they waited to hear what he was in need of.

‘I would like one last thing: I would like my father to come up here and introduce himself to you.’

The crowd cheered. Alem, Robert and the other people on the steps all gestured to Mr Kelo to step forward. Mr Kelo knew from the noise of the crowd that it would be very difficult for him to decline. As he took the megaphone from Alem, they hugged each other to the delight of the crowd.

‘I want to thank each one of you for coming today. It really does mean so much to us. I love my country, so I will always try to work for peace there, but every day I and my son Alem have to live with the knowledge that right now our country is at war with itself. Mrs Kelo – my wife, his mother – was killed there.
Her life was taken by people who are really not concerned about the wellbeing of our country. She was concerned, so now she is our inspiration, she is the symbol of what is possible, because she believed that human beings are capable of enormous love when we put our hearts together. And if she were here today, each one of you would know that she represents unity and that’s what we must strive for. And I have one last message; this message is for the Eritreans and Ethiopians that are killing each other. Stop it! War is not the answer, only love will conquer. Stop fighting and let us live!’

The crowd went absolutely wild. The Fitzgeralds, Alem, Mariam and Robert joined hands across the stage and held them high.

Robert whispered to the doorman of the town hall, who then went inside. Mr Kelo handed Robert the megaphone and Robert began to speak. ‘I have here –’ he waved in the air many pieces of paper tied together with a ribbon – ‘six thousand signatures that have been collected in less than three weeks, which I am now going to present to Mrs Leonie Ranks MP.’

Mrs Ranks came out from the town hall with the doorman standing at her side. Robert’s words were now addressing Mrs Ranks but he was still using the megaphone so that the crowd could hear.

‘Mrs Ranks, as you can see by the size of this demonstration and those six thousand signatures,
there are many people who are not happy with the way refugees are treated. We are the young people who are growing up in this country and we demand better treatment for refugees, you know, more compassion. I have looked at your family history and I see that your family came here as refugees. This country of ours was once empty and barren so in some ways we are all refugees. So please take this to the Prime Minister and let him know how we feel.’

The crowd erupted again and Mrs Leonie Ranks MP went back into the building without saying a word. Robert raised the megaphone to his mouth one last time and shouted, ‘Go home now, people, and prepare for a revolution!’

The crowd clapped and began to disperse.

Alem and his father made a conscious decision to take it easy the next day. For most of the morning they stayed in the hotel, but late in the afternoon Mr Kelo decided that he wanted to do some shopping.

As they were going downstairs, they heard a voice shout out, ‘Hello, my friend!’

It was Abbas, who then started to chant, ‘Alem, Alem, Alem!’ He was soon joined by what looked to Alem like Abbas’s smaller brother and two other African children whose little voices began to accompany Abbas. ‘Alem, Alem, Alem!’

Alem and Mr Kelo smiled.

‘Hey, Alem,’ Abbas shouted down the stairs, ‘much respect! You’re a freedom fighter!’

They didn’t spend very long at the supermarket; all they put in their basket was a small amount of vegetables, more tinned meat and a packet of biscuits. As they were queuing for the cashier, Alem noticed that other checkouts were less busy.

‘Father, look at those other counters! Why are we waiting in this long queue? Let’s go to one of them.’

Mr Kelo’s eyes dropped as he realised that Alem didn’t know the deal. ‘We can’t,’ he said, ‘we don’t have any money.’

‘So what are you paying with?’

Mr Kelo took out his wallet and pulled out what looked like tickets. ‘These, I have to pay with these. These are vouchers; look up there.’

He pointed to a sign above the counter where they were waiting. It read, ‘Food vouchers only.’

‘What is this all about?’ Alem asked.

‘These vouchers are for asylum seekers. We cannot buy clothes with them, we cannot get any change from our shopping with them, and we cannot use them at any other counter.’

Then Alem realised that he was waiting in the same place where he had seen Abbas three weeks ago and that Abbas may have not responded to him because he was feeling humiliated. The queue was long and full of exactly the same kind of people Alem had seen outside the courtrooms, Asians, Africans, Romanians and Kosovans, all waiting with their heads hanging down, looking humiliated. Meanwhile many other cashiers were sitting filing their nails or combing their hair, waiting for customers. Other shoppers just seemed to be a lot happier and some looked over to the ‘Vouchers only’ queue as if the customers
there were exhibition pieces.

Alem could also see the humiliation on his father’s face but as for himself he felt angry; he didn’t want to show it but he felt really angry. His father was a qualified person who had been in a good job and always proud to have earned every penny he had, but now he had been reduced to what amounted to living off aid. As Alem looked up and down the queue, he wondered how many people there were in the same position. Which of the men and women were doctors, lawyers, nurses or mathematicians? Could he be standing next to one of Bosnia’s most promising architects, or an Iranian airline pilot? His father saw him silently shake his head in disgust as they shuffled down the line.

When Alem arrived at school the next day, he received a hero’s welcome. Students he had never noticed before said hello to him. In the playground Robert came rushing up to him. ‘Did you see us on the telly?’

‘What?’ Alem said. ‘Slow down.’

‘Did you see us on
Newstalk South East
on the television?’

‘No,’ Alem replied, ‘we don’t have a television, only a radio.’

‘Well, did you hear us on the radio? They used part of your speech.’

‘No.’ Alem was surprised. ‘They used my speech?’

‘Yes, well, part of it.’

‘What did it sound like?’

‘It sounded wicked, guy. You were like Martin Luther King or some freedom fighter.’

The school assembly proceedings started as normal until the headmaster stopped talking about students running in the corridors and started talking about Saturday.

‘On Saturday there was a large event which many of you took part in and some of you may have seen on television. That event was organised by many pupils from this school and I think that it was a very significant event. As the headmaster of this school it is not my job to get involved in your politics, but I do think that it is very good that so many of you here felt so strongly about an issue that you were willing to take to the streets for it. When I saw the size of the demonstration and the publicity it generated, I thought of how much you kids can do when you really want to achieve something and the way you worked together. I won’t mention any names but I know that many of you worked hard to make that demonstration a success.

‘I do feel as if what I should be doing this morning is giving you all a Positive School Certificate, but I fear some other headmaster in some other school might think me arrogant. What I would like to do, in
a way on behalf of you all, is give the Positive Pupil Certificate to one very special boy, Alem Kelo. Not only has Alem had to deal with coming very suddenly to a new country and a new school but he has also had to deal with family tragedies that anyone would find hard to endure. When times were hard and many of us would have stayed at home, Alem came to school. He values education. Within a very short period of time he has excelled in the classroom, his interest in literature and language is passionate, his quest for knowledge is relentless, and I have never met anyone who has had a bad word to say about his behaviour and attitude. He is a hard-working, strong, intelligent student who must be seen as an example to us all, and I now ask him to step up here and collect his Positive Pupil Certificate.’

The students and teachers clapped. For a moment Alem just couldn’t move from his seat. Cheers were added to the claps and Alem could hear someone say, ‘Go on, Alem.’

Alem stood up and made his way on stage. As the clapping died down, the headmaster handed Alem the certificate and spoke again. ‘Well done to all of you for standing up for your beliefs! And well done, Alem, for showing such great character!’

Alem held the award high in the air and the applause started again. It didn’t finish until he was back in his seat, totally engrossed in reading the
wording on the certificate to himself.

The moment school was over, Alem headed to Meanly Road to see the Fitzgeralds. At the door Mrs Fitzgerald hugged and kissed him as she praised him. She took the certificate from him and ran into the living room to show it to Mr Fitzgerald, who was reading a newspaper.

‘Alem, we are so proud of you,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said as she admired the certificate in its frame. ‘You have done so well!’

Alem sat down and shook his head. ‘That’s what I don’t understand, Mrs Fitzgerald – what have I done so well? I haven’t done anything. Ruth has done more than me, Robert has done more than me, you have done more than me.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Fitzgerald, dismissing Alem’s comments, ‘you’ve done plenty.’

‘Plenty of what? I haven’t organised a demonstration; I haven’t given anyone a home. I’m not a teacher, I haven’t taught anybody anything.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Mr Fitzgerald.

‘Very wrong,’ said Mrs Fitzgerald. ‘You have shown courage. Look how well you’re doing in school, you’re like a role model. Yes, that’s right, a role model. Someone that people look up to – even we look up to you.’

‘That’s right,’ Mr Fitzgerald said, throwing his
newspaper on the table. ‘Kids give in too easy nowadays, they’re what I call the impatient generation, but not you, you don’t give in.’

‘And that’s why people respect you,’ Mrs Fitzgerald filled in. ‘Now, do you want some cola?’

Alem stood up. ‘No, thank you, I must go home. My father is waiting for me.’

When Alem arrived at the hotel he found that the door to their room was locked and his father was nowhere to be seen. On the floor there was a letter addressed to his father. He picked it up and sat on the top stair, holding the letter and the certificate, waiting for his father to arrive. But he just waited and waited and after an hour he decided that he had to make some enquiries. He went to the first floor and knocked on Abbas’s door.

His mother answered. ‘You want Abbas?’ she said in broken English.

‘Yes, please,’ replied Alem. ‘Is he here?’

‘Yes,’she said, ‘but you must wait one minute, he is praying. So you are Alem?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are from Africa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see you on television. You are revolution man, yes?’

‘No, not really. I am just a normal boy.’

‘No, you revolution man. Everybody say you are like Nelson Mandela.’

The thought of being compared to Nelson Mandela panicked Alem. ‘No, I’m not like Nelson Mandela! I’m not revolution man.’

‘So what you on television for?’ Her expression became very serious.