‘BOAT,’ came the cry in Arabic. 

Ayamin and I sat up at the same time. The sun was down and the smuggler with greasy hair was walking through the shed, whispering for us to get ready and banging a hollow steel pipe on the floor. He grabbed a woman in his way and shoved her in the direction of the boat ramp. 

Ayamin’s skin was pale. Her lips shook as she breathed in.

We stood up. Ayamin placed her phone, book, and money into plastic bags. Then I took the pack and slipped it onto my back. 

Across from us two ladies were crying. They had a young girl with them who started bawling too. The smuggler came over and pushed a rag into the kid’s face. He grabbed the woman’s arm and slapped it over the rag. The kid cried even harder. 

‘When outside keep it quiet,’ the smuggler growled in Arabic. 

There were shouts ahead of us as we moved towards the boat. We rounded a concrete wall and saw our ship. It was an orange inflatable lifeboat with sagging sides and bits of canvas peeling off it. The people closest to the boat had stopped moving. Their feet were turning around as their confidence plummeted.

The smugglers grabbed people’s luggage and threw it on. They were laughing. 

‘No refunds. Noooo reeeefunds.’ 

We moved a step closer in the line that had formed. I looked around. The boat was made for twenty people. Around us there were fifty. 

As I took my seat on the sagging orange canvas I wondered briefly if they had a second boat. I doubted it. 

When I looked out, I saw three men standing with arms crossed over their chests. One was arguing with a smuggler. Their families, weighed down by large bags, stood behind them. The kids were crying. 

As the boat filled up, I watched the men’s heads drop and they allowed the smugglers to guide them on board. 

Ayamin’s hands travelled up my arm. She took deep breaths. 

I stared out towards the dark sea. Felt the water rock the boat beneath our feet. 

The smugglers were fast. Fifty of us were packed like sardines returning to the sea. The two who’d helped load the ship hopped off and the greasy-haired smuggler started up his engine. 

We moved into the harbour; our boat sat dangerously low in the dark water. Suddenly light flooded into the boat as a large cruise ship passed through. The smuggler called out in Arabic and parents around us wrapped their hands around their children’s mouths. Trying to stifle their sobs. 

The muted crying made the water’s slap deafening as it hit the side of our boat. The cruise ship’s wake rocked us from side to side and the light was blinding.

With a large swoosh of water, the ship moved away from us and the smuggler started our engine again. A tinny rattling sound moved through the boat as we sped from the harbour. 

Right at the edge a small motorboat sat waiting.

‘It’s the police.’ a refugee in front of me said, ‘No,’ someone else whispered, ‘It’s just more smugglers.’

I wasn’t sure which option I preferred. 

The motorboat carried a blinding light that made me turn my head away. Ayamin held her hands in front of her eyes. Her hair was blowing everywhere. 

The greasy smuggler handed the control of the engine to the refugee next to him. 

Then the smuggler stood up, took two steps and jumped into the motorboat. He yelled to the man steering it who swung the boat around with a great churn of water and headed back into the harbour.