Short story: Behind Closed Doors: Stories of Hope

In the near future, Europe has closed its doors to immigrants. The news has spread like a raging wildfire across the African continent, leaving thousands of people trapped in a cycle of despair. My name is Amina, I am 25 years old and I am one of those people. Together with my little brother, Samir, I have left behind our home in South Sudan, a place that was once a home full of laughter and dreams, but that the war turned into a field of ruins.

Night falls on the makeshift camp on the European border, where we meet other refugees. The stars are just peeking through the gray clouds that seem to reflect the sadness of our souls. The air is cold and cutting, but the fire we have lit gives us a little warmth and hope.

Next to us is Malik, a middle-aged man with a deep and sad look. His story is one of the many that are intertwined in this place. He has lost his wife in an airstrike and carries the weight of her absence with him like a constant shadow.

"Amina—" Malik says to me as he watches the dancing flames, "why do you think we've come this far?" Is it worth risking everything?

I stop to think before I answer. The truth is that I don't know for sure.

—I don't know," I admit. But we had no future at home. The war consumed us day after day. Here, even if it is difficult, there is a small chance of starting over.

Samir plays with a piece of wood near the fire, oblivious to the gravity of our situation. His innocent laughter resonates in the midst of the unrest that surrounds us. Suddenly, he comes up and asks me curiously:

- When will we arrive in Europe, sister? Will we be able to live there?

I look at him and I feel a lump in my throat. Their blind faith in a better future moves me.

"Soon, Samir—" I say with a forced smile. We just need to cross this border. There will be schools and food there.

Next to us is Fatima, a mother who is traveling with her two young children, Layla and Omar. She overhears our conversation and joins us.

"Hope is the only thing we have left—" says Fatima as she strokes Layla's hair. My children deserve a better life away from the desert and violence.

Malik nods sadly as he watches the children play.

- But Europe doesn't want us here. The doors are closed - he says with a gloomy tone that resonates in our hearts.

The conversation becomes more intense; we all share the same pain and the same struggle to survive. We talked about what we have left behind: our homes destroyed by war conflicts, the lands withered by climate change and the economic inequality that has made it impossible to live with dignity.

"In my village," Malik says, "water has become a luxury. People are fighting over a little rain. I remember when we used to play in the river; now there is only dust and desolation.

Fatima adds:

- And when there is no water, there is no food. Desperation drives us to seek refuge in faraway places. I have seen how my neighbors have had to sell everything they have just to be able to buy some bread.

Sadness hangs over us like a dark cloud, but a spark of resilience also shines through the shadows.

—It doesn't matter what they say," I declare firmly. We are human beings and we deserve to be heard. We will not let our dignity be taken away from us.

The others nod, feeling the force of my words.

"Yes," says Malik. Freedom is our goal, and even if the road is difficult, we must keep going.

So we spent the night talking about dreams and hopes while the cold surrounds us. We share stories about our families and the sacrifices we've made to get here. With each story, our souls become more deeply intertwined; we are more than refugees; we are warriors in search of a better future.

At dawn, reality hits us again: the camp is full of uncertainty and fear before the border authorities who patrol the area. However, we decided to join forces to plan how to cross the border undetected.

Fatima proposes:

- We could try to do it at dawn when there is less surveillance.

Malik responds cautiously:

- It's risky, but maybe it's our only chance.

Samir looks at me with his eyes full of hope, and I feel a mixture of determination and fear in my chest.

We finally agreed to leave the next dawn. That night we barely slept; each one lost in his thoughts about what could happen when crossing that invisible line that separates our dreams from our current reality.

When the new day arrives, we prepare to leave with the little we have: some essential belongings wrapped in worn-out rags and the necessary courage to face the unknown. As we walk towards the border, I feel how the weight of fear mixes with the adrenaline inside me.

As we reach the boundary marked by a tall and menacing metal fence, our hearts beat in unison as we watch the guards patrol unsuspecting in the distance.

"It's now or never—" Malik whispers as he takes a deep breath.

With a determined gesture, we began to move stealthily through the bushes bordering the border. Every step is a mixture of hope and fear; every sound seems to be amplified in the tense silence of the moment.

We finally managed to get through the fence without being seen; once on the other side we felt as if we had left behind some of the weight we had been carrying on our shoulders for so long.

As I look back for the last time before we venture into European territory, I realize that we have left behind more than just a country; we have left behind our previous lives full of suffering and uncertainty.

Now we are here, together as a family chosen by adverse circumstances but united by the same desire: to find freedom and dignity in a world that seems to have forgotten our humanity.

As we move towards the unknown, I feel a new hope blooming inside me: even if Europe has closed its doors, our stories will continue to resonate until someone decides to open them again.

Source of the images.
Image created with Starryai.