THE GLOBAL DAY OF STRUGGLE AGAINST THE REGIME OF DEATH AT THE BORDERS

February 6th marks The Global Day of Struggle Against the Regime of Death at the Borders, against a regime which on its sea borders denies access to people trying to reach a safe place, leading to many of them dying or being declared missing. You can find more about the campaign here.

On this day, in solidarity with people affected by such a regime, we share with you a story from the river Drina, a natural border between Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. The story is based on real life events, yet all names used in it are changed due to privacy concerns.

WHIRLPOOL

My heart beats like the a darbuka I used to play at home often while spending time with my friends, but the beating is getting so loud that I cannot hear what the people around me are saying. The are gathered around me, they are trying to ask me something or tell me something, but I do not understand them and I am trying to read their lips so I can figure out what they want. I am cold, I am pressed against an abandoned building’s wall sliding down until I reached the hard concrete floor. The concrete is hot. The sun is shining directly into my eyes, warming my wet body. I’ll just keep sitting here for a while, I thought. The warmth, that is what I need. A few people are sitting next to me, with a similar face expression, their clothes dripping with water.

The darbuka heart drumming is getting lower in my head and I am starting to comprehend some of the words the people around me are saying. Up until that moment I have felt more like an animal than a human – an animal trying to escape, a fish in the water a quick rabbit on the ground binkying to reach this place I had left only a few hours before while it was still dark at night.

I hear voices, my friends are calling my name: Sadik, Sadik! they’re yelling and thanking the heavens I’m alive. Sadik, Sadik, I thought, it could have easily been Mustafa, Mustafa! while Sadik would be a few hundred meters downstream drowned in the river.

We started off from Serbia crossing the river Drina late at night. We were crossing the river in a rubber boat. A few people were in the boat, while the rest were hanging on to it or to the ropes attached to the boat, crossing the river like that. The dam was lowered. We reached the other river bank after an hour or so and found ourselves on the territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Steep and covered in overgrown bushes and trees, the same as the bank we had just left, the patch of land was our goal. We left the boat and starting running in silence, covered by night. Rocks crumbling under our feet was the only sound in the dark. We had climbed the steep river bank, when we heard loud vices from the direction we were headed to. A few moments later several flashlights were shining on us. The police. I tried to jump and hide in a bush, so I could continue running through the forest, but a policeman had already spotted me and was now flashing the light directly into my eyes, while saying things I couldn’t understand. All of us were caught soon enough and returned back to the river bank. Firstly they cut the rubber boat and then they started ushering us to the river, while holding us at a gun point. Walking backwards we started pleading for mercy yet the next moment we were already in the water up to our waists.

They were walking towards us with the guns at ready and beating us until we had to start swimming back to the river side we had come from. After swimming for just a few moments I heard a scream of a friend being sucked into the river by a whirlpool. None of us managed to see him in the dark. From the river bank I heard the policemen laughing at what had just happened. What kind of people are that, I asked myself. Back to the other river side arrived eight of us, we started of as a group of nine. My friend Mustafa had drowned.

I was sitting on the floor with my back against the abandoned building and thought about how the police pushed us back to the river. If we’re lucky, we might find Mustafa’s body somewhere on the bank down the river. At least this is what I heard from the other refugees who had been here for a while – the bodies of the drowned could often be found at the river bank.

I kept sitting in the sunlight thinking about the last night, hoping sun would shine brighter and that soon I will be able to eat something. Hoping I will be able to forget the policemen’s laugh and that I will be able to fall asleep tonight. Tomorrow I will join the search for Mustafa’s body.