Stranded at the airport until further notice

Fatima raced to customs to sort everything out. Thankfully, the customs office was expecting people from her plane, and although most had already left, the Arabic interpreter noticed her, and with a blush gestured her over to sit at a table across from immigration officers. Fatima sat, making sure to cover her upper torso and breasts with the map.

"Good afternoon, love," the officer greeted her with all due respect, "what's your name?"

"Fatima Darwish", she spoke through her interpreter.

"I've seen you're in a bit of a predicament," the officer chuckled, "what seems to be your issue? Have you any clothes?"

"Umm, I lost my dress on the plane and I haven't seen my bag anywhere. Sorry about my attire!"

"No matter, it's a good thing you came when you did - we've just received word that the Syrian government has fallen! It's been total chaos and anarchy ever since. No more flights to or from there anytime soon..."

Fatima's face sunk at all this. She really hoped her family was okay, and that she could send them money! The interpreter held her hand in sympathy as she froze, letting the map fall off her body and onto the floor.

"Very well, let me just look you up in the system..." the officer typed her name in a computer, focusing intently on the database and not on the shell-shocked lass wearing only a hijab and sandals.

"Oh dear," the officer's voice fell, "it appears your application was misplaced somewhere at Whitehall and didn't get approved. I am absolutely sorry, but I cannot let you leave the airport without the proper approval and documentation. There's obviously no going back to Syria, so it seems you'll be in this airport for quite a while."

The interpreter's mouth opened in shock and disgust at what the officer had just said, before mustering the courage to telling Fatima the news as the girl started hyperventilating.

"Here, what I can do," the officer tried calming the situation down, "is get you some clothes. Let me dial your airline real quick," the officer dialed the number and ordered the crew responsible for the flight to present themselves on the other line.

"Hi, yes, were you the crew loading the last flight from Syria? Yeah, it appears a woman's lost her bag from the flight and I was wondering if it was somewhere in your ken? Yes, yes, delightful..."

"What does your bag look like, love?" the officer covered the mouthpiece and turned to the girl.

"It's dark green with red roses on it," the interpreter strained to translate Fatima's outbursts of words in between heavy breathing.

"Dark green with red roses," the officer spoke back into the phone.

"Uh oh..." the crew member began recounting the situation to an officer whose consternation was only growing.

"Ummm, it appears that the crew had forgotten to pack that bag back in Syria. I'm really sorry, but you'll probably never see those clothes again."

The interpreter scowled before telling Fatima the news.

"And I'm doubly sorry," the officer continued, "but I need this office for further work, so you'll have to go back into the terminal and buy some new clothes."

The interpreter explained this to Fatima, helping her stand up and leading her by the small of her back out of the office.

It was then, as she was brought back to the terminal, that Fatima knew the gravity of her situation.

No clothes.

No money.

No language.

No country.

No papers.

No one to turn to.

No way to go home.

The only three things Fatima seemed to have left separating her from a stray animal who had wandered into the airport were her name, hijab, and sandals. Dazed and confused, she walked to the nearest gate and sat herself down.