When we’d finished setting up Donna called us from the kitchens. We all filed out to where she sat waiting.

In fact, it was only the second time I’d seen Donna sitting. The whole way to Turkey she’d been rushed off her feet organising us. Now it seemed she could lighten the load a little.

‘So, we made it. You managed to fly more than 4200 kilometres and sit through the drive here without killing each other. We may have hope for the coming months.’

I stared around, killing was probably the wrong phrase to bring up in front of a group of juvenile delinquents.

Still, Donna’s energy and motherliness seemed to sweep most of the group over. Rows of silver teeth and scarred cheeks smiled at her.

‘Once we’ve eaten, we’ll head into the camp so you can see what it’s like. Then we’ll have a chat about the shower block we’re going to be installing.’

After eating tender, spice-infused, Turkish kebabs we shuffled from the shade of the containers into the heat of the camp. Up close the tents weren’t quite so vivid, most of the colour had been bleached from them by the sun.

Men, women, and children sat outside. Young mothers nursed babies.

Just like in England a group of young boys played football, only their stained leather ball was hardly recognisable from the synthetic fabrics we’d use at home, and not one of the little boys with their shirts off had any fat on their bones.

Our group cheered when one kid with a shaved head and only one arm volleyed the ball into their goal – two Red Cross flags about a meter and a half apart.

We stopped in an area just past where the boys were playing, it was inside the perimeter fence but had no tents on it.

‘We’re looking at installing a new temporary shower block.’ Donna said. ‘Everything in this camp is meant to be temporary, but some of these people have been here for years.’ she wiped a patch of sweat from her cheek, ‘No one’s really got a clue what to do with them.’

‘So, when I say a temporary shower block it means it needs to last a long time, but appear to be removable.’

She turned to us, ‘This is where you come in my English ambassadors, particularly those of you with a bit of muscle. You’ll be installing these temporary shower blocks.’

Malia – the girl with the dreads bumped me with her shoulder, ‘What do you think?’

I shrugged, ‘At least we’re not cleaning toilets.’

She laughed, a large unfiltered sort of cackle. I found myself grinning, ‘You?’

Malia rolled up her shirt sleeve, revealing yet more tattoos and a solid bicep. ‘See these guns here… They were built for two things… fighting and construction.’

She snorted, then spat on the dusty ground.

We made our way to the toilet block, hell on earth, despite modern materials, and the Red Cross’ best efforts, flies buzzed around the buildings like vultures.

Other departments we toured were the ration hall, gear centre, camp operations and finally the field hospital. A set of tall white tents housed metal bunks and an orchestra of coughs, groans, and screams.

The place was hot and stank of disinfectant. The nurses went around with bags of ice, placing them on patients’ heads, and adjusting the lines of morphine into their veins.

Donna started strong as she talked about the horrors some of these people had faced, and the countries providing aid and taking the wounded in. But the further we walked that white tunnel of despair the less she had to say until it seemed the only reason we were moving forwards was because it would’ve taken longer to go back the way we came.

Finally, we emerged from the hospital and gulped in breaths of disinfectant-free air.

‘Whatever you do guys,’ said one of the juvies, ‘Don’t get sick, because I ain’t coming to visit you.’

****

Night fell but the temperature almost seemed to rise. My heart felt like it was thumping out of my chest. I kept thinking about snow – the cool English snow. Someone in our cabin was snoring. I tossed the blanket off my bed and rolled onto my stomach with a groan. Through the window rows of tents reflected the starlight.

‘That’s it,’ I whispered, ‘I can’t sleep.’

I stood and nearly tripped on my blanket. I whispered a couple of swear words to myself and tugged my boots on.

The door of our container slid open without a squeak. I spotted the soldier guarding us half asleep behind a cigarette. His feet dangled near my head as I crouched past him and the sand masked my footsteps as I moved into a run.

The tents flashed past. Some of them glowed with faint colour. The fresh air seemed to cool around me.

At the edge of the camp, I spotted the outline of the water tower, and even before I consciously thought about climbing it, my legs and hands were pulling me up the ladder. I blinked and I was three stories high, sitting on top of a concrete tank with my legs dangling over the edge.

I laughed into the night sky. Tents glowed below me while a cluster of city lights twinkled off on the horizon. The energy of the night and the cool made my arms shake. I wanted to fight, to steal something, or ride a motorcycle as fast as possible.

I looked over the edge of the water tank, it was high enough to be dangerous.

I slid over the side until I was just hanging onto the edge with my hands, my feet dangled far from the uneven ground below.

I considered letting go and felt the thrill of adrenaline.

Then I heard a shuffling sound above me. There was barely time to say ‘huh?’ before two feet appeared an arm’s length to my right, then legs, shoulders, and a silhouette of a face.

‘Hello there,’ the face said, its voice was warm with an Arabic accent.

My mouth opened, but I didn’t know what to say.

‘I don’t usually get visitors up here,’ the girl flicked the long silk hair that ringed her face, she waited a moment before continuing, ‘Are you usually this silent, or have I picked the wrong language?’

She switched into Arabic.

‘I’m Danny,’ I said, my forearms were beginning to ache, ‘Aren’t you scared of falling?’

Her white teeth flashed in the dark. She carefully took one hand from the edge and held it out to me.

‘Are you?’

She was holding on with a single hand, I looked down, the ground was too far to drop without breaking a leg. But then there was this girl. I didn’t know what to think. So instead I just did.

I reached out my right hand and touched hers. Her fingers curled between mine. They were warm and steady. My left hand shook and sweated as it clung to the tank. I felt myself begin to slip.

‘Maybe we should just let go?’ she laughed.

Vertigo hit my stomach and I let go of her hand, then tried to scramble up the side of the water tower. My knee banged the side, and I felt my shin tear. My arms shook as I edged my elbows, then my stomach back onto the flat, safe, top.

I was panting as the girl calmly pushed herself up beside me.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I get caught up in the fun sometimes. You were very brave to hang off the edge like that.’

I stared at her, trying to find words.

She reached out a hand and touched my shoulder, ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again and in the same breath she was on her feet and walking towards the ladder. There was this slight tapping as she descended. I stood up and walked to the edge of the ladder and searched for her, but all I could see was the ground. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear an Arabic lullaby echoing through the tents.

I hung around and tried to imagine what I should’ve said to her. Slowly the night grew colder and when the words wouldn’t come, I snuck back to the containers and lay back in my bed just staring at the bunk above me.