By Nicole Schilit
About 12 meters from the end of the bridge stood the fence separating Egypt and Israel. Zebib, 27 years old, born and raised in Eritrea, was alone. Alone except for the 36 other African refugees who had become her travelling companions, unified only by their common goal of reaching Israel. They came from Sudan, Ethiopia, and Eritrea. Most of them were following friends and relatives who had travelled before them to Sudan and up through Egypt to the Sinai. For all of the migrants, Sinai was already worlds away from home, and it meant they were moving further and further away from the life they left behind.
The last leg of Zebib’s journey began in Sinai, Egypt at 2 a.m. on Saturday November 15, 2009. She was travelling in one of two pick-up trucks in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night. Zebib was one of two women packed into a truck so crowded that the only way to accommodate everyone was by layering the bodies, lying one on top of another. There were no children, no food, no water, no chance to use a bathroom, and no accidents. Zebib and the other woman, at least, were on the top layer, and the road was paved.
The truck was brand new and bright white. The drivers had covered it in dirt to avoid bringing unwanted attention to the vehicle transporting the 18 asylum seekers into Israel. Zebib and the other passengers remained immobile and completely silent during the seven hour car ride.
When the truck stopped all the occupants got out and began to walk. Zebib, like everyone else, carried her shoes in order to make less noise as she walked. All she had were the clothes on her back, $100 in her pocket, and the knowledge that someone she once known from the university in Eritrea had travelled to Israel a year earlier.
After 100 meters they were instructed to sit down. One of the drivers went up ahead to make sure it was clear and safe for the group to continue. Zebib stayed still, sitting in the dark, knowing that her safety was in someone else’s hands. When the man came back to retrieve the group, they all stood up and began to walk again. Soon Zebib was climbing up and down the 12-meter long slope of a bridge. When she reached the end of the bridge, she was standing meters away from the fence that separated Egypt and Israel.
Zebib was shaking and felt the pressure of everything at stake in that moment. She was painfully aware that if caught by the Egyptian border patrol she would not make it into Israel and was likely to suffer physical injury as well, for even attempting the journey. Zebib understood that this would determine whether the entire journey up until this point may have been in waste. She thought about the un-hospitable conditions she had left in Asmara, the widespread violence and theft she witnessed in Juba, and worst of all the sexual aggression present when she was in Kartoun. Worst than the dismal conditions though was knowing what she was putting her mother through by leaving her home in Eritrea.
The fence was not sturdy. Someone lifted a small portion of the fence to create an opening large enough for a full grown adult to pass through. The refugees went through, one by one.
All of a sudden, as the last of the refugees had “officially” crossed the border from Egypt, a bright light flashed on the group of migrants standing in the dark in the dessert. It was coming from 400 meters away, too far to distinguish who was shining the light. The flash ignited a fresh sense of panic among the group.
Voices speaking English and Arabic claimed they were the Israeli Military Defense Forces. Most people in the group shared the instinct to run and hide. Zebib was horrified but stayed in place, not sure if it was fear or reason that kept her there. The Israelis kept calling to them, telling them to “Come, come, come to us…” They weren’t not sure if they should trust the voice and most people didn’t, and ran away. They were desperate not to be caught without even seeing the sunrise in Israel. Zebib and one other person decided to start walking towards the light, but they went slowly and it took them a while to reach the voices. When Zebib finally made it to the Israeli soldiers she was exhausted and dehydrated, barely able to hold herself up. In her head, she thought she was dying.
The Israelis were who they said they were and helped Zebib by giving her fresh water. They asked Zebib and the man who walked over with her to call to the others in their group to tell them to come over. By this time the other refugees had all disappeared. Anxious that the voice was really the Egyptian patrol trying to fool them, they were nowhere in sight. It took about 20 minutes of Zebib calling for them to finally start coming out, one by one. Eventually the majority of the group joined her with the Israelis who would put them on a bus. Zebib was finally done walking.
Thirty minutes later they arrived at a military camp where Zebib and everyone else received water, a shower, and a bed. The space was like a large container, simple but safe. They had no choice but to stay there until the following day because it was Saturday by the time they arrived, which meant it was Shabbat in Israel.
The group was picked up at eight am Sunday morning. They boarded another bus and this time were driven 40 minutes to a site where they would be interviewed. Once off the bus they were divided up into different groups, each line designated a different language. Amharic and Tingrinya were the longest lines but Zebib’s line was short, with only eight other people in it. They were lucky enough to speak English. Zebib waited for two hours until it was her turn.
Zebib had yet to feel the sense of relief associated with reaching the final destination. During her interview she could barely get the words out to answer the questions because she couldn’t stop crying. As much as she tried she could not gain control over her exhausted small frame. The man who was sitting across from her delivering the questions, a large middle aged civilian dressed man, was patient and kept telling her that it would be okay, that she should calm down. Finally he succeeded in getting Zebib to take some deep breaths and stop crying.
After her interview she was taken to a detention camp that was close to Batsheva, still near the Egyptian border. There weren’t enough beds and blankets and Zebib spent two days sleeping on the floor before she received anything to sleep on. Zebib had no idea how long she would have to stay in the detention facility. She was allowed a phone call and used it to contact Desbelle, the friend she had known in Eritrea, and told him she had come to Israel. Zebib and Desbelle had once had a romantic relationship but had not been in touch for years.
One month and three weeks after she arrived at the camp, Zebib’s name was called. Zebib was taken by bus to Batsheva, one hour away, where her and the other refugees received a bus ticket they could use to go anywhere they chose. Zebib asked the driver to take her to Tel Aviv, where she knew Desbelle lived.
One hour later she was standing at the Central Bus Station in south Tel Aviv, an area highly populated by African refugees who, in the last few years, had made the same trip to Israel as Zebib just completed. Desbelle was waiting at the bus station but the building was so large and crowded that Zebib had to use a pay phone inside in order for him to find her. Desbelle took Zebib to his apartment, which was a 10-minute taxi ride from the bus station. There they ate tsebhi and injera, traditional Eritrean dishes which Desbelle had cooked himself. After eating, Zebib told Desbelle about her journey.
Zebib and Desbelle had history together. They had grown up together in Eritrea, a world away from where they found themselves catching up in Desbelle’s apartment in Tel Aviv. They had met as young children in school when they were seven years old. Eventually, as young adults their friendship had become romantic and they dated each other for three years before separating.
It only took five days after being reunited for Desbelle to propose. Their wedding, two months later, was a celebration of 250 people at a waterfront hotel in Tel Aviv. The ceremony began at 6am, with Zebib donning a traditional Eritrean dress and hairstyle. In the afternoon the wedding transitioned to festivities that were more illustrative of their current surroundings, with Zebib changing into a white wedding gown. The dancing went on until one in the morning. The wedding was representative of their new life together as refugees in Israel and exemplified a constant struggle that many of the refugees faced – to find a balance between retaining some part of the lives, family, and history they left behind, while accepting that, for at least the time being, Israel was their new home.