The Terrorist Script

By Gilbert Washaya

The terrorist script is a plea to humanity that he is not a terrorist but society is pushing him into that dark world. You bombed my house killed my family I ran away. Sought asylum in your country you treated me bad. You would not allow me to work. I sought free medication you refused me I sought help from lawyers I had no money.... You deported me to the world full of terrorists? Are you surprised Im radicalised? The characters depicted are refugees from various countries savaged by British French USA and German bombs. After rigorous journeys through dangerous seas and borders they are accosted by a host whose agenda is cryptically benevolent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524633493

Gilbert Washaya

Gilbert Washaya was brought up as and educated by Catholic Missionaries. After graduating from London University he worked as a lawyer for several years. Here are the books written by Gilbert Washaya. KNOW YOUR RIGHTS HE TERRORIST SCRIPT AND IS WORKING ON HIS THIRD NOVEL SELL ME TO THE

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THE TERRORIST SCRIPT

The lorry turns and enters the Motorway Services Centre. The driver stops in the parking bay jumps out, opens the door, climbs down looks around to see if the coast is clear. Then he moves some tyres aside and faces his cargo…a shivering man 30 years old looking decidedly frightened… unkempt hair rough clothes and dirty trainers. He is a refugee from Iraq smuggled in the truck for a fat fare.

‘Ok boss we here…now you’re on your own mate’

The refugee jumps to attention. Where is this place …why we stop here?

‘We in Dover, England…and our contract comes to an end here my mate’

The refugee sighs as he struggles to get up and out of the truck. He readies himself to jump down…‘Mind how you land…nice and easy…that’s my man there we are …Now my balance please…

‘You sure we are Britain England?

He pulls out the money from his pack…hands it over and thanks the driver takes a quick glance at the surrounding area

They shake hands and the driver climbs up his truck and disappears into the traffic mist. The man remains still a bit then picks up his bag and walks… to nowhere]

‘You’re on your own… that can’t be true…Allah walks with me at all times’ he talks to himself, wistful. He notices people going in and out of something like a hall, follows them and realises it’s only a cluster of restaurants. He proceeds to the toilet and cleans himself up … taking stock of things. He has no money anymore. He sits there not quite sure what starts next or what to think about. He returns to the loo and shuts himself in trying to work out the next move. Nothing seems to be working out…he decides stretching out his legs.

He decides to walk out into the night. It is getting darker and quieter. He must look for some place to stay the night. As he enters what appears to be a village he notices a nondescript building down the lane and decides to go see. It is a small railway station. But there is no sign of life anywhere. He enters an empty waiting room…sits on a bench and gradually doze offs from sheer exhaustion.

He wakes and the clock on the wall reads 3 o’clock. He stands up… walks to the window. The silence tells him there is no life around him. He takes a look at the train schedule on the yellow board. The next train is at 4 am…half hour away. He sits in the corner and wraps himself up and decides to stay there until then…

A little time later he is awakened by some vague noise…perhaps a distant train….oh no the noise is near him …oh it’s only the cleaner. He rises up and walks up and down… to appear as if he just arrived. It works. The cleaner man does not even pay attention to him. When the train arrives he walks out of the station like a passenger off the train. It works again. He has no money now…completely. The train is heading to London…the sign reads so… There are bigger issues at stake here. He mumbles to himself

‘London’s where… m’posed to be heading …if only I were heading anywhere…’

He walks blindly out to nowhere and notices a police car stopping at a shop opposite. A lady officer alights and enters the same shop. Immediately hunger registers its presence inside him. After some resistance he decides to face her…’who knows where help comes from’…he reasons.

‘Excuse me, ma’am’

The police officer stops to listen to the man noticing many questionable things about him.

‘I want to go London… [Can you] direct me there please…‘Yes of course…in a bit’

A police officer in the waiting car is watching the drama.

He calls out,

‘What’s he on about?

‘About to find out…’.

She turns to the waiting man after her brief shopping’

‘…You were saying sir?’

‘Yes I want to go London thank you please…’ the awkward man says

How you travelling sir…driving or something?

‘No …no I walk…or hitch a ride …umm…’

‘London’s miles away sir’

The other policeman blows the horn again and beckons her over. She excuses herself and rushes to the car.

‘Ask him the address he is going to’

She mock ignores him…and hurries to the man.

‘Excuse me sir…what’s the address you are going to in London?’

‘Yes I… umm …that my aunt’s in London’

He hands her a piece of paper showing an address in Highgate north London.

‘And where do you live, sir?’

‘Well I…I…eh…huh…I’m a refugee madam. I don’t live anywhere…yet. I want to live.’

The officer nods to her fellow officer…a nod that reads…its one of those.

‘I knew it…We take him to the holding camp… Don’t relax too much with this lot’ the officer tensed up. He regarded the refugee as a terrorist not to be trusted…a dangerous species.

‘Oh c’mon Jack…the man couldn’t hurt a fly…he’s too weak and hungry….’ She responded quite the other way.

‘Not too hungry to pull a trigger’ he retorts and she ignored him and turns to the refugee

‘You’re coming with us to the station i that ok?’

‘Am I under arrest? Did I break the law?’

‘Well yes/no…It’s just that the station may have a few questions to ask that’s all…you might get help too’ She was kind relaxing him a bit.

Hesitating, the man gets into the car and they whisk him away to the nearest police station. There he is placed in a room. There is another man in there…looking a cross between a hobo and a criminal…Wait a minute…At close range he remembers him…yes Ahmed still famously ugly and chat-loving! Why they were in the same camp, the Jungle over the English Channel [Calais] only days before! Ahmed!!! ‘Godwin!’

‘What you doing here…?’

‘I ask you first. Yesterday we were in the jungle [Calais] France… was it? Yes… Shit i don’t like this place. We were so free in that camp…so uncertain. But can we say we are safer?

The two refugees had met up at the police camp in Dover. It was a déjà vu. A Police Officer re-enters and their conversation freezes. It is too early to trust the law when you are an undocumented individual.

‘You gentlemen hungry yeh…want something to eat or drink… yeah?

‘Yes …very hungry…Yes tea I want… and plenty food’ Ahmed pleaded…no hiding his starving.

‘Tea and sandwich will do for me please’ Gondo says

Their vernacular shows one is from a former British colony and the other French. Their conversation is a hit-or-miss affair but they get along just fine.

The officer exits and the conversation resumes in active low tones. The unspoken fear is of possible deportation. Whatever they discuss is spark of some fear. Whoever they see or meet is perceived as superior because anyone with papers is a better freer man…nothing beats freedom

‘Yes… yes I remember…strange thing this is…refugees…meet like camels at the oasis…But you didn’t tell me… where you come from…i know where you are going.

Before the man answers the police officer brings in the ffood and the conversation ceases.

‘Here you are, enjoy your sandwiches’ he says and places a plastic before them.

‘What is it…me no eat pork….’Ahmed declares’

‘There’ are bacon and cheese beef and tomato sandwiches in the plastic bag’ the officer explains

‘Sorry me no eat meat…only halal…me Muslim see’

‘How about you sir?’ the officer turns his attention.

‘I eat anything thanks…my friend here takes chicken or fish sandwich and drinks….i think’ He stops short lest they know more about them.

The officer disappears and returns a few moments later

‘Here we are…is tuna ok… good then…Enjoy your breakfast…someone will talk to you later’

The breakfast is consumed at an impressive dispatch and during it the furtive conversation resumes

‘My first meal in a week…could eat a cow’

‘Desert hyenas don’t sit down to eat…’

‘I’m not a soldier….’

‘In my country everybody is soldier… mens… womens… and childrens’ Ahmed says making Gondo grin.

The officer reappears and the conversation freezes

‘We’ll take your names and you will be handed over to the Border Agency. This is for records only.’

They are formally handed over… identified… finger printed… and all their documents are photocopied by the BORDER AGENCY… The process takes the whole day from 9am to 5pm.At the end of the day they are taken to a holding in a house

During break they try to know each other better.

‘Hey this is slavery. Treats us like some alien creatures …she doesn’t even look at you when talking to you?’ Ahmed grumbles and makes Gondo laugh.

‘There’s nothing much to look at my friend…only ugly furrows of misery. A lady gives you a second look if there is something to admire’ Godwin tosses a joke to lighten the tension.

‘We are joking but i really want to know where you come from’ Godwin starts seriously.

‘We met in the Jungle [Calais]…every refugee’s temporary home….the jungle of Calais’

‘Mahomet tensed up and replied ‘I live in a village in Iraq. I don’t think it’s on the world map. Anyway i studied engineering in Bagdad. Then one day while i was at work a bomb destroyed my home killed my entire family father mother and two brothers. I got a text from my sister that our home was no more and she and she and the baby had sought refuge in Basra. Right now i don’t know if she’s alive or not. That is why i’m on the run. All homes have been laid waste’

‘Do you know who bombed your village?’

‘The Americans the Russians the British the French the Germans or the Syrian Government i don’t know. This war has no name. When you run away from a bomb blast there’s no time to find out who’s bombing you…too busy looking for a place to hide or die’

‘Any idea why whoever is fighting?’

‘I know its ISIS or Al-Qaida but i think there’s more to this… can you imagine why