Syrian refugee Hashem Alsouki risks his life crossing the Mediterranean, his sights set on Sweden – and freedom for his family. 

In the darkness far out to sea, Hashem Alsouki can’t see his neighbours but he can hear them scream. It’s partly his fault. They are two African women – perhaps from Somalia, but now is not the time to ask – and Hashem is spreadeagled on top of them. His limbs dig into theirs. They would like him to move, fast, and so would he. But he can’t – several people are sprawled on top of him, and there’s possibly another layer above them.

Dozens are crammed into this wooden dinghy. If anyone tries to shift, a smuggler kicks them back into place. They don’t want the crammed boat to overbalance, and then sink.

It is perhaps 11 o’clock at night, but Hashem can’t be certain. He’s losing track of time, and of place. Earlier in the evening, on a beach at the northernmost tip of Egypt, he and his companions were herded into this little boat. Now that boat is who knows where, bobbing along in the pitch darkness, lurching in the waves, somewhere in the south-eastern Mediterranean. And its passengers are screaming.

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