Out of the frying pan into the fire. Between a rock and a hard place. The latest I read on CNN "Caught between a hammer and an anvil". That's where my Rohingya friend is right now.
I'll call him John. If I
call him John, rather than Mohammed, might you better understand he is a human being with feelings
just like you and I? (or to paraphrase Obama in 2012, someone who holds within himself the same dignity just as you do and I do).
He used to live in the ghetto, where he would send us
updates on their struggle for survival, and the odd photo, of malnourished people
wading through mud, fishing for mini minnows to feed their starving children.
Being the oldest of the boys, the responsibility to feed his
siblings and find medicine for his poorly mother (with heart condition) weighed
heavy on his shoulders. So at a time when most young men would be living it up,
studying for a promising future whilst partying hard in the evenings, John took
the decision that most young Rohingya men his age are obliged to take: to
escape, to find work in order to send money back to his family to save them
from premature death due to malnutrition and lack of medicine.
Fortunately for him he did not have to face death by
drowning, as for most Rohingya the only way out is via the sea and almost
definitely into the hands of the brutal traffickers. John managed to bribe his
way out of the ghetto and was smuggled into the city where he faced a new
enemy: loneliness. The message he sent me was that people in the city, even
ones he knew as a child, would not talk to him. Why was that? we pondered. We
concluded it was fear - fear of another person's needs, when you can hardly
take care of yourself. Even I was afraid to listen to him, I admitted, because
his story was so sad, and I so unable.
He had saved up his every last penny and handed them over to
a relative stranger to purchase an ID card and passport, without which he could
do nothing. With some regret he realised he had nothing left and would likely see
nothing in return. So he had no money, and his place of residence (a relative
of a friend) could not go on indefinitely, since all were struggling to exist.
I tweeted a little of his sadness and a generous soul stepped forward with some
life support: £200 which he managed to send over via Western Union - a little
space to breathe.
I said I would pray and advised him to pray. My inability left
me depressed.
Then a small miracle: the relative stranger returned with an
ID card and passport. Alhamdulillah! For a few days John dreamt of his new
future. The world was his oyster. What next? I asked. He dreamt of the UK or
USA. That is where I shattered his dreams. "Don't come to the UK" I
told him "it is so hard for immigrants these days, and they may not let
you in". Having a passport does not grant you entry, he came to
understand. Obtaining a visa near to impossible. I suggested Ireland seems more
welcoming - I think there is a nice Rohingya community there. But what did I
know? Really I knew nothing. He asked if I could find him a job - send him a
letter of invitation so he could apply for a visa - if only things were that
simple. More let down.
Does anyone have any advice for a young Rohingya man fleeing
persecution? Is there any way he could get to another country that would
actually let him in, help him find a way to achieve his dream: to find work so
he can send money back to his starving family in Burma?
The latest I heard, he was thinking to go to China. Why
China? I asked. Did he have friends there? No, it was just the only way out, as
far as he could see.
Between a rock and a hard place. One of a million. But
surely we can help one?
Latest update: My friend tells me they are hunting for the Rohingya in the city, checking every place to make sure they do not take refuge there. "I am afraid, don't know what will happen next".
If by some miracle, anyone can offer some help or advice,
please email me jamilahanan1@gmail.com
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