Swimming against the tide
War forced him to flee his home in Aleppo, but Rami Anis refused to give up his dream of swimming at the Olympic Games. Seeing him train in Belgium reminded me of my own love of the swimming pool and my desire to compete.
“On your marks…”
*Pause*
“Seeeeeeet”
*Pause — but this one drags out*
BANG!
Arms whirling, turning, jerking. Feet together kicking and kicking and kicking. Muscles are pumping. Pumping!
Focused. The cheers of the crowd fade out. Even the water seems to disappear. But I’m swimming — the 100 metres butterfly event. I’m in Australia and I’m swimming at the big pool at the Australian Institute of Sport. It’s a school swimming competition, but it feels like the world is watching.
It feels like the world is watching.
Hit the wall hard and bounce back — half way. The acid is already burning in my chest. The pain is worth it.
Prove yourself. It doesn’t matter that you’re British. You can swim — it’s all good. Its all good, mate.
Crunch. I’ve hit the wall again. I’m done — its over…Where did I place? Did I win?
Having migrated from England to Australia when I was twelve years old with my family, I didn’t fit in. I didn’t know the songs, or the names of the “footy” players. I learnt quickly that footy now meant rugby, not soccer.
I could pass French tests, but geography was tough!
Swimming fitted. I could beat most of the class in the pool and that, for some reason, counted. It mattered.
Fast-forward through adolescence, growing up and the university years…Fast forward the first job and all that. I’m twenty-seven years old, and Syrian refugee Rami tells me; “swimming is my life. The swimming pool is my home.” I hear him — this makes sense. I get it.
“Swimming is my life.”
On assignment in the Belgium town of Ghent with the United Nations Refugee Agency, UNHCR, I am chatting with Rami at the sports complex where he is training hard. He is hoping to qualify for the Refugee Olympic Team, and he will find out within the next week.
“The decision of the [International] Olympic Commission to give a grant to the athletes to form the refugee team was a great decision for us,” Rami explains. “They revived our sporting spirit.”
We are basically the same age, Rami and me. We both have two brothers. We both share an obsession with swimming and our preferred stroke is butterfly.
“They revived our sporting spirit.”
Yet there is this gulf between us — his country is at war. He was forced to flee home and seek asylum in a foreign country. I left my home country because my parents chose to do so. We could return home if we wanted, but Rami does not have that luxury. I thought my transition was tough, but I cannot fathom how much harder it must have been for Rami — leaving behind friends and family because of bombs, violence, war.
During the interview with Rami I’m scribbling pages of notes and don’t realize time is ticking. Rami politely reminds me he needs to start training.
As the photographer I am with (Gordon) prepares his underwater equipment, and Rami goes to change, I chat with Rami’s coach while we walk to the poolside.
“I really think he is motivated enough to go to the Olympics,” says coach Carine Verbauwen, who has competed at multiple Olympic Games herself. “He has what it takes.”
I watch from the edge as Rami rockets through the water — I can’t see his eyes through his goggles, but I can see his determination, his drive. In a small way it reminds me again of my life in Australia, even though my fastest time in the water would probably be Rami during warm-up.
“There were kidnappings and explosions — that’s why I decided to leave.”
What I don’t see is any of the pain he must feel for what is happening in the country he is from, or the uncertainty he has experienced in his young life.
“There were kidnappings and explosions — that’s why I decided to leave the country,” Rami tells me. “The bag I took had two jackets, two t-shirts, two trousers — It was a small bag… I thought two months and I will return to my country and live normally.”
He told me this five years after the day he fled, and there is no indication that he will be able to return soon.
The next day Gordon and I meet Rami at school with cameraman Alex, who had joined us in Belgium earlier that morning. Dutch language classes are a State requirement for asylum-seekers living in that part of Belgium, and sitting next to Rami is his dad, Ousama, and on the other side his younger brother, Mohammad, who is twenty years old. Rami’s cousin Abdullatif is also in the class.
After the lesson ends Rami and his dad invite us for lunch and we head back to town. On the way to their home we pop into a busy fast-food joint run by a Turkish man who recognises the boys and chats with them. Rami and Mohammad learnt Turkish in Istanbul — where they lived with their older brother Eyad after fleeing Syria. It’s casual and cool, but I can’t help wonder if speaking Turkish in Belgium sparks darker memories for them. While we wait for the pizzas, Mohammad fires up Facebook and we flick through pictures of the brothers together in Turkey. It’s all smiles in the sunshine.
After I get back to Geneva I learn that Rami’s hard work in the pool has paid off and he has qualified for Refugee Olympic Team. I’m ecstatic for him, and send a quick text.
I can’t even remember whether I won any medals at school swimming competitions, but I vividly remember the excitement of competing, and loving the pressure to perform. The pride that spurred me to push myself harder and harder to achieve my best.
During the 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro I know I am going to be cheering for Rami and #TeamRefugees. Rami’s story of reaching the very top level of sports is an incredible achievement and I wish him all the success he deserves.
Learn about the other members of #TeamRefugees here
Stand #WithRefugees and sign the petition here: withrefugees.org
