Tina Rothkamm: My escape from Tunisia
Done together: Tina Rothkamm and her daughter Emira have survived the dangerous journey across the Mediterranean (photographed by Tina Rothkamm). The biggest fear on the way: a weather change. In rain and storm, the refugees would have had little chance.
We are sitting in a boat. How many times had I heard that phrase and even said it myself - and had no idea what that might mean: sitting in a boat. This boat, in which I crouched more than sat, felt like a nutshell, so vulnerable I felt in the face of his condition. It was a discarded fishing boat that had sailed close to the Tunisian coast in its best days. Was he seaworthy at all? The side walls were not even man-high, a protective railing did not exist. He was to bring us to Italy, that was about one hundred and twenty desperate Tunisians who fled from the unrest and unemployment, and in the middle of it my daughter and I.
How deep must the desperation be that a person entrusts himself to some tugs and buys a passage to Europe? That he ignores all the fates of those who have suffocated or drowned on such a journey? That he squeezes himself into a boat that hardly deserves the name? Why does anyone dare to leave everything behind and risk their lives to flee?
Because the alternative would be even more terrible. Because poverty or violence can destroy you. Because behind all this inner voice is not extinguished, which tells you that the fight for freedom and a dignified existence is never hopeless. That it can go well, will go well ...
That's exactly what I said to myself since I climbed aboard. We were sitting tightly packed so that hardly a cigarette would fit in between. If one wanted to move only the leg, to change into another position, that had an effect on all; we were connected in a wave of waves. A fallen foot, a poor arm, every cough was planted and balanced by everyone. When the boat was long overcrowded, one of the tugs came and made us even closer together. At least twenty more men climbed aboard, all without luggage. What they possessed they carried. For some, her body was everything they had. Her body and the hope we shared. That our nutshell will do it. That we did not capsize, that no navy ship rammed us, that we were pulled out of the water when a storm came up. That we would be spared by the unspeakable refugee dramas, which were only partly heard in the media. Each of us knew that crossing could cost his life. It was doubly bad for me, because I had decided for two people. For me and for my daughter Emira.
But this was our only chance of a life together in Germany. All my attempts to travel legally with my daughter had failed in the past few years.
One thing was clear: we could not hide forever. At some point in those days, between the overwhelming desire to allow my daughter a free life without violence, and the fear of being discovered with all the consequences, suddenly there was only the way forward. The tug boat to Lampedusa was our last chance.
* The book by Tina Rothkamm will be published on 12th March under the title: Escape to Hope. How I freed my daughter from Tunisia. (286 p., 14.99 euros, Piper)
"Mom, when are we there?" Emira asked in a voice as if she were a toddler and not the tall eight-year-old girl. "Soon," I said, unknowingly. I tried not to let my fear show. Emira should feel safe by my side, finally sure. I did not even know if we would even arrive. "There," I pointed toward the sun, though that was probably wrong, but for me it was true at that moment. "There is Europe." "And there, look, mom ..." Emira pointed to the shore. "That's Djerba!" "Yes, indeed, you are right."
Emira beckoned to the land, beckoning to her father, who was by no means joyfully standing on the beach, waving his hand back, but was probably still looking doggedly. How many henchmen had he put on us this time? "Bislema, Baba!", Emira sent him a greeting. Goodbye, dad! Would she ever see him again? Would she ever want to see him again, after all that had happened? I would not take it away from her as he had tried the other way round.
"Bye-bye, Farid," I said in a flat voice, for there was nothing in me but emptiness. There was no feeling for this man anymore. I had loved him as I had never loved before, and hated as I had not thought possible.His machinations had driven me to dare the madness of this crossing. It was the worst thing he could do to me-to take my daughter.
I knew what that felt like. I had already lost two children. I would fight for this, nobody would take this daughter for me, I had sworn that to myself. Nobody - and not the sea.
Our boat turned its back on Djerba. I did not turn around. I did not want to have anything to do with the place that once was the symbol of my greatest yearning. I was thirty-nine years old and would never let myself be blinded more than eleven years ago, when I thought I had met the man of my life. How many times had I wished never to have met him ... and yet I had to meet him so that our daughter could be born.
My dream had failed. Now it was all about saving Emira. I hugged her tightly to me. "We'll be there soon," I encouraged ourselves. A whole day and a night in the nutshell lay before us. "And then I get sausages with mustard," Emira was pleased. "Yes," I promised and knew exactly how lucky it tasted: German sausages with mustard.
The book by Tina Rothkamm will be published on 12th March under the title: Escape to Hope. How I freed my daughter from Tunisia. (286 p., 14.99 euros, Piper)
