On the tracks of Mussa Khan
“This is Kurdistan, not Turkey!”. From within his stormy eyes, Taha is very convincing. After three weeks of border crossings and a thousand different languages, I stumbled over the easiest of words: thank you. ” No problems!” he reassures me with a smile. Then he takes me by the arm and walks me to the centre through a labyrinth of alleys crowded with the tables and stools of tea shops.
Waiting for us is Shahin, who for three to four days will be my interpreter. A recent graduate, wearing a striped shirt and black leather shoes, he doesn’t inspire much confidence with his tremolous voice. His name is the result of Taha’s tenacious research, whom I met only one hour before on the bus. After introductions, a cup of tea and a shoeshine, we got to work. Mussa Khan will soon be in the area and before he arrives I want to have a full understanding of the situation faced by Afghan refugees in Van, the arrival point for those coming from Iran.
Shahin proves himself a good guide as well as a competent interpreter. He negotiates his way through the back alleys saturated with colors, he dodges vendors who come are closing in and pounces on the first task of the day: IHD, Human Rights Association, an anonymous building on Cumhuriyet Caddesi, Republic Street. Inside I meet Maria, a lawyer from Helsinki Citizenship Assembly, the only organization in Van dedicated to legal consultancy for asylum seekers.
The interview lasts only half an hour, in a short break between Maria’s meetings. Their clients are predominantly Afghans. “In the last two years their numbers have increased exponentially”, states Maria. “Since the end of March to today we have had 91 cases involving Afghans. In certain periods we have had two or three Afghans knocking at our door each day”. This increase “is not so much due to an overall increase of migrants, but to the more restrictive measures adopted toward asylum seekers by Europe”. The consequence is an enormous backwave reaching all the way to Van.
Notwithstanding the rush, I’m satisfied: I found out that there are between 1200 and 1500 Afghans in the city, concentrated in a couple of suburbs. Mussa Khan must be aware of the situation, having heard on the grapevine or informed by the guides escorting him and his group through the mountains between Iran and Turkey.
I haven’t heard any news from Mussa Khan since three days ago, when he sent a Facebook message from Tabriz to his cousin Asif, who lives in Italy as a refugee: “We will leave tomorrow morning. Hoda Hafez Asif”.
It will be no mean feat finding him. From Iran he won’t be able to comunicate, as SMS addressed abraod are blocked in most cases. I have to hope he will show up immediately once he reaches Turkey, via Facebook or via SMS from a Turkish SIM card. However, the chances that he will stop at Van are high since he is moving like most self sustained migrants: step by step, city by city, without a fixed plan, until the arrival on European shores.
The midday sun doesn’t deter us: we are at 2000 meters above the sea level, on the banks of the biggest lake in Turkey, the weather is mild here. I ask Shahin if he can follow me to the UNHCR , the United Nations Agency for Refugees, located out of town. I want to ask if immigrants seek out UN protection after the challenging hike over the Turkish-Iranian border . From the street the Office looks like a fortress: barbed wires, high walls, armoured gates, private security. An Afghan woman is knocking at a door that nobody is going to open. I will try again next week.
We go back to the city centre for a bite of burek, crispy pastry enveloping cheese and a sip of ayran, sour milk, a drink almost as popular as tea. I ask Shahin how much he knows about Agfhan migrants coming to Van, but he only shakes his head. I like this boy’s sincere nature. Pointing at the military base dominating the city, on which stands the writing ”I am proud to be Turkish”, he tells me that ten years ago there were tanks patrolling these streets and the talk was mainly about bombings, resistance, repression. Before proposing to me our next destination he concludes: living with war in the home is inhuman.
So my thoughts turn to Mussa Khan. Where are you rebel Afghan? Didn’t your cousin tell you not to leave for Europe on the eve of 18? That the hopes of making it are too small and the price to pay is too high? That a boy like you, who speaks English and knows his trade, could make it in Iran or Pakistan as well?
Tomorrow I will come to look for you in Yuksekova, on the mountains. If you have crossed the border at Urumiya, you should be right there.
