A Land of Permanent Goodbyes

Alexia is the epitome of the “helper” motif and serves as the helper that the reader is best acquainted with throughout the book. Her desire to assist other humans is so great that she spends time reflecting on how little she’s done in her time in Greece—although she’s already done more than most. Her character also speaks to the universal nature of trauma as it becomes clear that her experiences as a volunteer leave emotional scars.

Alexia’s character also is a testament to how universal and common it is for humans to have to flee their homelands, or to simply immigrate in search of better opportunities. People don’t want to accept the uncomfortable thought that they themselves could one day become refugees, running for their lives. As Destiny reminds the reader repeatedly throughout the work, this has happened again and again throughout history. In Alexia’s case, her father was a Jewish refugee to the US from Russia, while her mother is a descendent of immigrants from Greece. She personally identifies with the refugees in this regard and knows that her parents also relied on the kindness of strangers at one point. 

Fayed is Tareq’s father. He demonstrates some of the difficult decisions parents must make in times of violent conflict. When the family home is bombed, he must set aside his grief over his wife and children’s passing and ensure that his remaining children are brought to safety. He must then part from Tareq. Finally, he must remain in Turkey, sending his two children ahead of him on a journey that could well result in their deaths. Fayed plans to follow Tareq and Susan to safety in Europe, but his fate is uncertain. First he needs to get the money for the journey and then he has to survive the journey. His character exposes the difficult choices and sacrifices parents in particular make. Waleed and Nada make similar tough choices, as they send Musa on to safety without them. The parents of the neighbor girls Shams and Asil, do the same, putting their children’s safety first. 

Susan is Tareq’s four-year-old sister. She serves as an impetus for the refugee narrative, as both Tareq and Fayed are motivated largely by the urge to bring her to safety. Young, sweet, and pretty, Susan insists on bringing her doll, named Farah after her dead sister, with her throughout her entire journey. When human traffickers snatch Susan in Greece, Tareq finds himself thinking, “I will kill myself if anything happens. I was supposed to protect her” (242). Susan is also a representation of innocence and seems in many ways unscathed by her journey, especially compared to her big brother: “A four-year-old has extra opportunities to escape her thoughts” (255). Ultimately, Susan’s character also serves as a representation of hope: For both Tareq and Fayed, getting Susan to Germany safely will make the difficulties they have endured worth it. They both place their hope in her.

Najiba and Jamila are two young sisters from Afghanistan. Tareq and Susan meet them in Turkey as they are waiting for their boats to cross to Greece. They recognize that Tareq is there with his sister and “not a threat, unlike the many men they’d met along their journey” (148). The girls are fleeing the repressive Taliban in Afghanistan. Unlike Tareq, they have no concept of a life with peace, as their county has been at war for over 40 years. The girls were born refugees in Pakistan. They returned to Afghanistan when the US entered, thinking it would be safe—but it wasn’t, especially for women. Their characters serve to emphasize the fact that the refugee experience can be riskier for women. Even after they are “safe” in Greece, the girls exhibit a distrust of men. For example, when Jamila tells a volunteer about her missing sister, she thinks “The fact that the volunteer was a woman made it easier. She can’t hurt me. She calmed herself with that thought” (213). They also serve as a connection to another character, Muzhgan—a girl they meet in the camps—who was raped by her Turkish smuggler.

Jamila also serves as a romantic interest for Tareq, reminding the reader that there are bright spots of “normal” humanity (like falling in love), even throughout horrible journeys like Tareq’s. 

Salim is Tareq’s brother, the second oldest of the children. After the family home is bombed, Salim is presumed dead. In fact, he’s alive and treated in a different hospital from the rest of the family. Salim is then recruited by Daesh. He eventually escapes.

Throughout the book, Tareq and the reader believe Salim is dead. Only at the end is the truth revealed. Salim’s character is a testament to the varying types of trauma refugees may experience. It’s also a testament to how evil does not always win in the face of a good heart. Daesh fails to brainwash Salim because of one key point, namely that he loves his sisters and he hates the way Daesh treats women: “Salim’s affection for his sisters was something that he was always conscious of, but he didn’t know how much that love would change his family’s world time and again” (17). 

Ameer and Sameer are Tareq’s five-month-old twin brothers. They are brought to the hospital after their home is bombed. Tareq, learning that they are at the hospital, hopes they may be alive. Unfortunately, both are dead. The image of the two dead babies drives home the unfairness of the situation. Dead children are difficult to face precisely because of their innocence. They epitomize the fact that bad things happen to good people, for no “good” reason, speaking to deep human fear: You can do everything “right” in your life and still have something horrible happen to you.  

Waleed is Fayed’s brother, and Nada is his wife. Fayed takes Tareq and Susan to Waleed’s in Raqqa after the bombing. Waleed provides them with the money they need to flee Syria and get at least as far as Istanbul. Uncle Waleed and Aunt Nada send their only son, Musa, with Fayed, Tareq, and Susan. They stay in Raqqa, however, hoping to protect their home—which the Daesh would likely seize in their absence. It’s later revealed that they are killed. Their characters function to demonstrate the difficult decisions many Syrians faced—leaving could mean losing a home but staying could mean death.

Musa is the son of Waleed and Nada. Tareq’s cousin. Although he is one year younger than Tareq, Musa knows far more about Daesh than Tareq. The conversations between the boys in Chapter 7, 8, and 9 in particular display Musa’s knowledge on the origins of Daesh as well as some of the historical and geo-political causes for the war in Syria. Musa is left an orphan, as both of his parents die in Syria after he’s already made it to safety in Istanbul. He ends up staying in Istanbul, having learned the Turkish language and established a relationship with Shayma, the pretty girl who works in a coffee shop in Istanbul’s “Little Syria” neighborhood. Musa’s character functions to show how different refugee experiences can be: While Tareq feels he can only make a new home in Europe, Musa is able to make his home in Istanbul. 

Shams and Asil are the daughters of the family living next door to Waleed, Nada, and Musa in Raqqa. Their parents are afraid that, because the girls are young and beautiful, Daesh will take them to marry them off as rewards to fighters. They are one of the examples of how times of crisis, such as war, are often more difficult for women than men. There are many other examples of this fact seen in the characters of Najiba & Jamila, Muzhgan, and even Susan. These women serve to complement the book’s thematic exploration of the refugee experience, allowing a special niche for the female experience. As Destiny notes, “In your world, the burden of softness and vulnerability is an extra weight a segment of the population carries. […] [M]uch more so for a female than for a male” (148).

Abu Laith is the Syrian smuggler who orchestrates Tareq and Susan’s journey to Greece. He seems as untrustworthy as all the other smugglers. His character serves to demonstrate that in times of crisis, some of the constructed human identities people often cling to—namely, nationality—are useless. It’s not a person’s citizenship or passport that marks them as a “helper” or “villain” but their heart. This fact is later demonstrated again by the interaction between Alexia and the Israeli volunteers, Mariam & Sivan. Alexia wonders that the Israeli girls are there to help Arab refugees, given the political tensions between these groups. She soon realizes, however, that these manmade characteristics that divide people (nationality, religion, politics) actually don't matter in times of crisis.

An older Greek woman who works at the coffee shop on Lesvos where Alexia frequently gets her pre-shift coffee. Like the majority of the locals—many of whom remember refugee stories from their own families, related to the Asia Minor Catastrophe—Annis has no problem with the refugees. However, she calls out the aid organizations and workers who ultimately seek to profit from the refugee crisis. Her character serves to shed light on the “money game,” what she calls “a big, black game” (115). She notes that some of the organizations raise millions in donations but don’t actually do much—and that many of the volunteers are also ineffective: “They bring kids who are too busy taking selfies with refugees behind them than to help them or us. This is war tourism!” (115).