Inside, you look around Abshir’s lounge room in wonder. A music video is playing on a large TV.
Abshir gives you just some plain biscuits with milk at first, as your stomachs aren’t used to food.
‘Don’t scoff them too quickly, walaal, or you’ll vomit!’ he cries.
You smile. ‘Walaal’ is Somali for ‘friend’, and you know you’ve found a good one in Abshir.
‘This is better than a movie star’s mansion,’ enthuses Jamilah, and Abshir laughs, but you totally agree.
Half an hour later, you are standing in Abshir’s shower. Warm water pours over your skin. Even back home in Mogadishu, you only washed with a cold tap and bucket. This is a miracle. Taps! Lights! Warm water! Soap! You open your mouth and swallow the water as it cascades over your face.
You can hear Abshir talking to Aadan in the next room: ‘They’re alive … an absolute miracle, walaal, praise Allah … I know, I would have paid for them too if I’d known, but it sounds like they had to get out of there in a hurry … I know you’re worried, but they’re safe here – no one from Arsenal knows they’re here … They can’t talk right now – your niece is asleep on my lap and your nephew’s in the shower – but we’ll call again soon … You’re going to love them so much, I swear, they’re just amazing …’
You lie down that night on soft sheets, and before you can even whisper goodnight to Jamilah, you’re both fast asleep.
The days after that pass in a blur. At first, your stomach aches when you eat any food at all, even though you want to stuff your face. You and Jamilah spend a lot of time sleeping as your bodies slowly get stronger again, while Abshir goes out to work for a phone company in downtown Nairobi.
You and Jamilah talk to Aadan on the phone, and although it’s only the second time, he feels like family to you already.
‘Abshir and I are making a plan to get you guys to Australia,’ he promises. ‘There’s nothing more important to me in the world right now than making sure you’re safe. I spent all day at the embassy today – it might take a while, but we’ll work something out.’
You call Sampson too, who can’t wait to see you both. You tell him how much you want to let Adut and Jok know you made it here safely, and it turns out he’s recently met a businessman who takes loads of tinned food to sell in Bosnia regularly, who could pass along the message.
Abshir, who’s listening in, promises to take you to meet with Sampson at a nearby coffee shop the next day – it’s only a few blocks away, so it seems like a safe enough excursion. You are all delighted.
‘Everything’s working out just great!’ laughs Jamilah once you’ve hung up.
‘Jamilah,’ you say warningly, ‘I know it feels like our new life in Australia is just around the corner, but remember how everyone checked the resettlement noticeboard in Dadaab every single day – visas to Australia are rare as hen’s teeth. We still might be holed up here, hiding, for a year or two, maybe more.’
‘It’s still better than we’ve ever had it since we left home,’ Jamilah insists, and she’s right.
‘Getting you visas is going to be damn hard,’ admits Abshir. ‘You don’t have passports, and even if you did, the Australian government would make you wait years for visas. Your uncle’s even talking about adopting you, but man, that’s more complicated than a basketful of snakes. Uncle Aadan’s going to send some money for me to look after you here in the meantime, don’t worry. Although I am sorry you won’t be able to go to school, or out much at all.’
‘That’s okay,’ you say. ‘Thank you very much for having us.’ Your heart is glowing to imagine being Aadan’s legally adopted kids, no matter how long it takes.
‘Walaal, it’s no problem at all,’ replies Abshir.
A thought occurs to you. In Dadaab, you sometimes heard stories of people who tried to reach a safe country in the same way that you crossed the border from Somalia into Kenya: undercover, without papers. ‘Could we get to Australia without a visa?’ you ask. ‘Maybe hiding in trucks or boats?’
Abshir grins. ‘Oh, walaal, you and your sister – I’ve never met such a tough pair of kids. You just walked through the desert, and now you’re ready to take on a journey like that? Look, it can be done, but I don’t think it’s safe, and nor does your Uncle Aadan. Especially not alone. Let’s just chill and stay safe in old Eastleigh for now, okay?’
True to his word, Abshir takes you and Jamilah to meet Sampson the next afternoon. Sampson leaps up from his seat when he sees you and rushes to embrace you both. Then he loads your pockets with sweets he’s brought from his shop.
‘Oh, children, I’ve had so many sleepless nights worrying for your safety!’ he cries. ‘It’s sweeter than honey to see you again. Hakuna kilicho kitamu kuliko kilichopatikana kwa shida. There is nothing sweeter than what has been obtained at great effort. Am I right?’
You grin so much that your cheeks hurt. He strokes Jamilah’s head and she closes her eyes in bliss.
It’s dark by the time you all finally say farewell and leave for home. Abshir is half a flight ahead of you as you climb the stairs to his apartment; you’re helping Jamilah, who still tires very easily. Then Abshir’s usually cheerful voice echoes back down from the internal door at the top of the stairwell, sounding stunned: ‘Whoa. Kids, stop. Don’t move a muscle.’
You both glance up in alarm,
