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Addional information on Abbas Khider

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“You’re like a child. You’ve no idea what goes <strong>on</strong> out there in the world.”<br />

After I’d drunk some tea and smoked a cigarette, we got into bed and I fell asleep. I woke up and I<br />

could hear Miriam. “So?”<br />

“I’ve got the visa and the ticket. The ship sails this afterno<strong>on</strong> at four”, answered the Turk.<br />

Miriam looked at the clock <strong>on</strong> the wall. “We’ve got two hours.”<br />

I boarded the ship. Miriam stood <strong>on</strong> the harbour. With <strong>on</strong>e hand she waved at me, with the other<br />

she wiped away her tears.<br />

Since then I’ve heard nothing more from Miriam. In the space of <strong>on</strong>e year I sent her six letters. I<br />

posted them to the hotel. But not <strong>on</strong>ce did I get a reply.<br />

I swear <strong>on</strong> Miriam that I myself can hardly believe what I’m writing here. What happened after that<br />

wouldn’t even happen in a fairytale. For example, what happened in Istanbul. I was sitting with<br />

twenty Kurds in a two-bedroom flat <strong>on</strong> the top floor which was barely thirty square metres.<br />

There was also a Turkmen from Iraq. Ahmed was his name and he was very handsome, and dreamed<br />

of going to Germany and becoming a great artist there. The flat bel<strong>on</strong>ged to the people smuggler,<br />

who was supposed to get us to Greece so<strong>on</strong>. The smuggler had run into me <strong>on</strong> Taksim Square. He<br />

came straight up to me and asked me in broken English:<br />

“Greece?”<br />

“What?”<br />

“Are you Iraqi, Iranian, Pakistani or Afghan? Greece?”<br />

“I’m Iraqi.”<br />

“Me too, but I’m Kurdish.”<br />

“Great!”<br />

“Do you want to go by foot or by car?”<br />

“What’s the difference?”<br />

“By foot it takes nearly twenty days and costs 500 Dollars. By car it <strong>on</strong>ly takes two days, but it’s 1500<br />

Dollars.”<br />

“I haven’t got much m<strong>on</strong>ey. So by foot please.”<br />

“Come with me.”<br />

People smugglers know their clientele very well. A refugee doesn’t walk around the streets like a<br />

normal pers<strong>on</strong>. He thinks every<strong>on</strong>e around him is a policeman. He’s suspicious of every<strong>on</strong>e. He’s not<br />

interested in the shop windows, or posters, or even women. He <strong>on</strong>ly observes people’s faces and his<br />

eyes wander here and there anxiously. Like a clock that’s g<strong>on</strong>e mad. He’s c<strong>on</strong>stantly turning around<br />

Editi<strong>on</strong> Nautilus<br />

Schützenstr. 49a � D 22761 Hamburg<br />

www.editi<strong>on</strong>-nautilus.de<br />

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