Refugee Boy Read Online Free Page A

vegetables thrown in for good luck. Oh yes, and a bit of gravy to help it go down.’
    ‘Does everyone around here eat meat and two veg?’ Alem asked, doubting the truth of what Pamela was saying.
    ‘Yes – well, not everybody but most people. We are only about thirty miles from London but you’ll find that London is a very different place,’ Pamela said as her voice began to settle.
    ‘I know, I went to London and it was very different. So much people, so many cars, so many big buildings and I only saw the parts where all the shops were.’
    For the next ten minutes they let Alem talk to them about his impressions of London and how he had spent his evening in the West End with his father. Soon Mariam thought it was time for them to start talking to him.
    ‘As I said before, Alem, we’re from the Refugee Council. We know a little bit about how you came tobe here and it’s our job to make sure that you’re looked after. We are not the police, we are not from the government and we don’t have any special powers, but we are on your side.’
    ‘We work with many people in the same situation,’ Pamela interjected, ‘so you have nothing to worry about.’
    Mariam took out her notebook and began to make notes. ‘We have to apply to what we call the Home Office for political-asylum. We need to get you this political asylum status so that you can stay in the country. Because we want to make sure that your wellbeing is protected and you get the best of what we have to offer, we have to ask you a few questions to start with. Now, if you’re having problems with English you can speak in Amharic if you like.’
    ‘I will try to speak in English,’ Alem replied.
    ‘OK,’ Mariam said while making notes in her book. ‘Can you tell us what happened before you came here? What made your father bring you here, and what was life like where you came from?’
    ‘Yes, I will try my best.’

Chapter 4
˜ Asylum Seeking ˜
    When Alem stopped speaking the room fell silent. Mariam had witnessed the Ethiopia–Eritrea war herself and both she and Pamela had heard many horror stories of people fleeing war and persecution in the past, but they still found that no two stories were the same and each new story they heard still touched them.
    Alem looked at them both and waited for a response, but there was none. ‘Have I said something wrong?’
    ‘No,’ Pamela said quickly, ‘no, not at all. You must say exactly what happened to you and your family. We need to know as much as possible about your experiences. Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
    ‘No,’ said Alem, shaking his head.
    ‘Do you have any friends or family in England?’ Mariam asked.
    Alem continued shaking his head. ‘No.’
    Mariam looked towards the photo. ‘Is that your mother and father?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Your mother looks like a wise woman,’ Mariam said, stretching forward to get a better view without leaving the chair, ‘and she’s beautiful.’
    The photo was a posed one. Alem was seated on a chair with his mother and father standing behind him. His mother was dressed in a bright orange, flowered dress that would have looked very out of place in inner-city Britain. Her shoulders were draped with a light-green scarf. Her face was dark and slim with a slightly pointed chin and gently smiling lips. Large earrings hung from her ears and her hair was plaited close to her head in rows going from the front to the back.
    ‘You look like a great family, there is a lot of love in that photo,’ Mariam observed. ‘Do you have a phone back home?’
    ‘No,’ Alem said, looking at the photo.
    ‘That’s fine. Enough for now,’ said Mariam.
    ‘One last question,’ Pamela said as she stood up. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
    ‘Yes,’ Alem said hesitantly.
    ‘What kind of food would you like?’ she continued.
    ‘Italian, Italian,’ Alem said with a hint of a smile on his face.
    Pamela was a little surprised. ‘Italian?’ she said, looking