The Price of Freedom
No matter where they came from, they all fled here for the same reason. How they ended up in this situation is truly an invitation from Allah, but they don’t see it that way. Water was one thing each man had in abundance in their homeland. Abdullah sipped on water from a clear stream of melted snow in the Hindu-Kush Mountains of Afghanistan. Youssef drank from the same well that hydrated his family in Damascus for three generations. When they needed the most abundant liquid on the planet, none could be found. The prerequisite for life that washes away both the afterbirth and the pyre ashes, leads to death after three days without.
The front flap of Resident Tent 367 popped when Abdullah threw it open, sprinting out of the tent. He stopped, unsure in which direction he should be in a hurry, then chose left sprinting towards the depths of the endless sea of white canvas tents.
Across from Resident Tent 367, Youssef peeled back the front flap of Resident Tent 368, squinting away from the midday sun. He looked left, then right, and spotted a grown man frantically sprinting and shoving people out of the way. This was a sign from Allah. He began jogging to the left, away from the fleeing man. He was probably a dishonest thief or another person who’s mind broke from being in the camp too long. There was a lot of both lurking about.
Youssef stepped out to get water for his mother-in-law to take her medication. He knew the pills served more as a placebo than actual treatment to heal her stage 4 kidney failure. But to hear her writhing in pain, pleading for a fourth dose of the pill she’s only supposed to have once a day made Youssef feel helpless. He gave in and went searching for water.
Sweat dripped into Abdullah’s eyes as he approached a large junction separating two areas of the refugee camp housing 54,000 people on the Greek island of Lesbos. Ramadan was in full swing, and he knew water would be plentiful during the day. Since Muslims are not permitted to drink water from sunrise to sundown, except in the case of medical emergencies, he knew the water points would be flowing. The stockpiled waterpoints were usually ransacked at night then restocked the next day. As he ran, Abdullah envisioned cases of water stacked like a mountain. Sweat mixed with panicked tears when he saw only scraps of ripped cardboard boxes on top of wooden pallets, but no water. There was no time to waste on this foolishness. His wife went into labor two months early and she needs water.
Both Youssef and Abdullah knew the water point at the medical tent had always proven to be reliable, but only the water pallet located outside the Red Crescent tent. Once an asylum seeker stepped foot inside to seek medical attention, any appointments to interview for immigration or asylum were automatically put on hold. Venturing inside the medical tent would have guaranteed water but would have also delayed their exodus from the tent city by many more months, possibly a year.
Both sprinted through the dusty air, weaving in and out of densely packed human beings towards the water point outside the medical tent. From their separate perspectives, wooden pallets topped with shredded cardboard water boxes came into view. Youssef and Abdullah simultaneously spotted the only bottle of water left on the pallet. Then each spotted the other. Their eyes locked, reading the other’s identical motivation.
Youssef arrived first, being younger and of more life. He grabbed the bottle and Abdullah placed his hands on it.
“Salam alaikum, my brother.” Abdullah smiled, catching his breath. “This is the last bottle of water in the camp. My wife and I are thirsty and need this water to hydrate when we break our fast at sundown. Would you be so kind as to release the bottle to me?”
Youssef held the bottle tighter to his chest. “Alikum salam, brother. This is indeed an unusually hot day. My mother-in-law is quite old and quite thirsty. Surely you will receive Allah’s blessings for sparing this bottle of water for her to drink at iftar.”
Abdulla clenched the bottle tight and pulled it away from Youssef. “Yes, brother. Blessings be upon your wife’s mother. I wish her good health and a long life. But please understand, my wife and I have not had water to drink all day. It is the peak of the sun and we are feeling light headed.”
“I will not give you this water.” Youssef wrenched the bottle from Abdulla’s hands. “My mother-in-law needs water. I will take her this bottle.”
Tears welled in Abdulla’s eyes as he folded his hands and fell to his knees. “Please. I beg you. My wife is in labor, and she needs this water.”
“My mother-in-law needs this water to take her medication, or she will surely die. Her life is more important than the child you say your wife is having. If she is in labor, she needs to go to the medical tent.”
“Brother, I cannot go to the medical tent. We have our appointment with the immigration officer in two days. Why don’t you give me the bottle of water and you go to the medical tent. I would hate to see your mother-in-law die because you neglected to seek medical help for her condition.”
“We also have an appointment with an immigration officer in two days. How do you plan on getting a new baby past immigration? Don’t you need proof of your child?”
“We lost our three children to the sea on our voyage from Turkey. Our new baby will take the same name of our youngest child who is no longer by our side.”
A salt-and-pepper bearded man dressed in all white talking to a group of elders overheard the two men bicker. He was known by the locals as Imam. He led the daily prayers for all patrons in the camp for as long as anybody who lived in the camp could remember. Imam was rumored to have been a citizen of tent city from the first day it opened. He claims his name was never called for an asylum visa appointment because his life’s purpose was to help others reunite with their families and find their freedom.
Imam pressed his hands together and surrendered a parting bow to the elder gentlemen. He approached the two younger men.
“Salam alikum, brothers.” Imam folded his hands together, orange prayer beads dangled from his right. “Please do tell me what troubles you both today. Why the need for fighting during this holy month?”
“Alikum salam, Imam.” Abdullah reciprocated the hand gesture. “My wife and I have been without water for days and I was simply asking this kind person to spare this last bottle of water so my wife can quench her thirst at sundown.”
“This seems to be what this man says but I do not believe he has a wife.” Youssef retorted. “What woman would be married to such a desperate beggar? Besides, my elderly mother-in-law is in need of this water more than he is.”
Imam paused and contemplated the arguments. “I see Allah is testing you both. Helping you to see beyond yourself and recognize the needs and wants of others. Please, remember Ramadan is our chance to reflect and give to those most in need in our community.”
Imam placed one hand on each of the men.
“Perhaps this water is not meant for you. It is a rather hot day today though. I know the perfect elderly man of faith who could truly benefit from this hydrating blessing from Allah.”
Imam snatched the bottle of water from Youssef and walked away. The two men stood stunned and stared at each other. They heard the breaking of the plastic ring around the bottle cap and turned to see Imam sipping from the bottle, then hiding it under his white kandura before waving to members of his tent city congregation.