You are Safe

With 24 hours to flee their country, this mother and her son arrive on the brink of passing out.

By Noémie Winkel

There I stood, at Amsterdam Central Station wearing a bright orange ‘Refugees Welcome’ t-shirt. I noticed a family who had just arrived and seemed very confused. I greeted them and the boy replied in perfect English: “Hello, thank you. My mother does not seem well.”

Her eyes were rolling around, she looked like she was going to pass out. I gave her some water and a banana, while trying to figure out where the fuck I was going to find a doctor.

Nobody from the Red Cross was there, nor from the GGD (Dutch public health service) either. Did I need to call an ambulance? Or would that create more fear and confusion? I didn’t want them to see how concerned I was.

Luckily, another volunteer arrived. He had been a general practitioner for many years and tried to calm the mother down. He found that her heartbeat was abnormal. She was shaking as she told us that she had only consumed some chocolate and water in the last 24 hours. The doctor told me that she was ‘just’ exhausted from the big trip and from the lack of food. I was able to breathe again.

I tried to convey a sense of safety to the woman. I saw fear in her eyes, I saw how exhausted and scared she was. By smiling and keeping my breathing as calm as possible I tried to make her feel more relaxed. How do you give someone the feeling of safety? It’s impossible.

Half an hour later I called the refugee sleeping-camp next to Central Station, De Regenboog, to ask if they were ready for new guests. The volunteers were kind enough to tell me that I could bring the family straight away, even though they were still cleaning up.

After a while the mother was ready to walk to De Regenboog. I grabbed her bags: one tiny backpack and a plastic bag. The son had another small bag. That was it. When we arrived, I told the volunteers what I knew about them and what they needed the most: rest and food.

I needed to leave this beautiful family, because I didn’t want to get too attached. I sat down in front of them and tried to find the right words to tell them that I had to go back to the station. I smiled at them timidly, and saw that the mother had regained some colour and that her eyes were steadier.

She started to talk, but I was not ready to hear their story. I didn’t want to know what they had been through; I knew it would break my heart. But she started and I didn’t want to stop her. So she told me the reason they had to flee within 24 hours, leaving their whole life behind…

They had to leave: leave their family — her husband and the rest of her children — her good job, her beautiful house, her life. Her son was the only boy in his cricket team who had a different faith to the rest.

The others threatened him, told him they were going to murder him and his whole family within 24 hours, including his parents and his brothers and sisters.

They had no choice but to leave, immediately. They told me they didn’t care where they fled to, as long as they were going to be safe.

All of a sudden the mother went into shock again. She needed to know if the rest of her family was still alive. I panicked as well. I gave them a Dutch SIM card, so they were able to contact the rest of her children in Pakistan. I left them alone. Telling them “You are safe” didn’t help anymore.

An hour later I checked to see how they were doing. The mother told me her family was still alive. She thanked me and I thanked her as well. I had learned so much from them. The son smiled when he saw me and we talked for a while. He was really happy to see a familiar face. He was such a shy kid, and I reminded him for the millionth time that he could always ask for food and clothes from any volunteers when he needed them.

“Noémie”, he asked, “can I have your telephone number for when I need something or when I have a question?”. I started to cry. I told him the other volunteers could always help him but that I had to say no. My heart broke. I knew I had to say no. I had to say no for myself. I didn’t have the professional skills to help them further. I told him where they could find other people who could help them more.

Then I said goodbye.

I went home and cried in my mother’s arms. All my tears were for the mother and son, and for all the people who had to flee. Why them? Why not me? I imagined their family having dinner with each other after work and school no more than a week ago: a happy family, together.

You are safe now, you are safe now, you are safe now

I sent my brother a message to make sure he was safe. He replied immediately saying that he was. Of course he was safe. Of course.

“You are safe now, you are safe now, you are safe now.” That was the mantra I kept telling the mother and son, and myself.