There had been no adverse reports or even a hint of radicalisation claims amongst the men either. But the fear was still in Antonia whether she cared to admit it or not that he might be an IS terrorist recruiting undercover. As a westerner, she was becoming paranoid but then IS had recently threatened to send fighters through the refugee camps to arrange terrorist attacks all over Europe and she wondered if she could be blamed for thinking that way.
But the man never appeared to be outside of his tent until today. He was having a discussion with two Ethiopian men and handing them leaflets. Antonia frowned wondering how he had been able to afford having leaflets made. She wanted to get her hands on one. She made a mental note of his tent and its position before continuing on her way. As she walked she began devising a plan in her head to return in the evening and see if she could somehow listen in to one of the many prayer meetings he held.
But Antonia and the girls were to find their path temporarily blocked when they were pushed aside by an angry man determined to have words with the cleric. He pushed past Antonia with such force she nearly fell to the ground. Recovering she watched the man thrust a leaflet at the young cleric. The cleric bore the face of an Angel. Antonia would later dub him The Angel of Death. He must have been around twenty-seven or perhaps twenty-eight. He was tall with smooth skin tempered only by a thick black beard and soft black curled hair. It stood out against his white mud splattered clothing.
The older man pointed his finger at the young cleric and tried to give him the leaflet back. He spoke Arabic extremely fast and Antonia found it difficult to translate all of his words. But she did not miss the word murder and hatred. The man was warning the cleric to keep away from his son. They were a peace-loving family wanting to make a new life for themselves in Italy and wanted no part of murder.
When the cleric tried to reassure and encourage the man to trust him as a religious leader, the man dropped the leaflet into the mud and walked away. But he turned and threatened to tell the authorities about what the cleric was doing. Once again, the angry father warned him to keep away from his son. The whole conversation was to fuel Antonia’s suspicions wildly and she wouldn’t rest until she could find out more.
Antonia tightened her grip on little Nazila’s hand and ushered Qaifa, holding the bread, forward away from the small group. The cleric bent to pick up the leaflet as they passed. Antonia felt his eyes rest on her as they passed and something made her look at him.
He smiled at her, tilting his head to one side as though he were intently scrutinizing her. For a moment, she was fearful. It was as though somehow, he knew she wasn’t the woman she pretended to be, Jamila Zaman a Syrian Refugee whose husband had been killed on the journey over to Italy. Bending her head and hurrying on with the girls she still felt the weight of his eyes until they turned the corner at the end of the row of tents and disappeared from view.
It was beginning to rain and thunder boomed overhead when she left the tent late that night. She made sure the girls had barricaded themselves inside the tent before she left. Luckily, there was no one to witness her leaving. The men were sitting around the fire too busy talking and drinking to notice her. She stole into the shadows and made her way back to the cleric’s tent.
There was no one outside but she could hear talking. Slipping between it and the next tent she crawled to the back and stayed flat so her shadow would not betray her in the dim light. It sounded as though there were quite a few men crammed into the small tent and they were speaking in low Arabic voices. She recognized the sound of three of the voices. They were part of the large family who had all migrated together from Syria and lived in the tents across and next to her. The boys of one of the mothers had been helpful and had protected Nazila and Qaifa.
A man was talking about the cleric. He called him Aalam El Hashem and he spoke about him with reverence as their leader. There was talk about the oppression of Muslims in the West and the duty to convert everyone to Islam. Antonia raised her eyebrows listening to the man preach and attempt to radicalise the group of men huddled together in the tent.
They were encouraged to talk about the anger they held about the West as though they were heavy grievances they needed to address and do something about. She must have spent nearly an hour listening to the young men, including the sons of her new friends, about the US military’s mistreatment of Muslim prisoners in Iraq and Afghanistan, difficulties in getting passports, the airstrikes on Syria and how isolated the men felt.
The thunderstorm was now loud overhead. Lightening lit up the camp making her put her head down to keep her cover. The air was so hot and close Antonia felt as though she might suffocate. But she wanted to hear more. Finally, Aalam spoke.
“We must not allow this oppression to continue. We have been given a destiny but our oppressors do all they can to stop us from fulfilling this destiny. If we do not, we are going against Allah’s will. It is my
