Migrants caravan to Croatia

Usually, Sid is a sleepy town in western Serbia, right on the border with Croatia.

Drivers stand next to their trucks, waiting in line at the border, crossing as they always do, passing the hours with small talk. They glance at the print and television journalists who are also waiting, though not nearly as patiently.

These days, Sid is in the headlines. The reporters are waiting for buses with refugees coming in from the Macedonian border, Belgrade and now also from Serbia's nothern border, where Hungarian police have resorted to a fence, pepper spray and water cannons to show refugees that they are not welcome.

Exhausted people emerge from a bus, and Hussam al Habali immediately stands out. He is 18 years old, with the wispy moustache of a teenager, carrying a backpack and clutching water bottles, a package of toast and sardine cans in his hands. These are donations from Germany, handed to him by aid workers.

The young Syrian also carries an empty plastic bottle, as if hopeful to find a trash can here, among cornfields and between two Balkan states. "In Greece, I also kept my trash and put it in a can," Habali says. "We were on a wonderful island, and people really shouldn't throw their trash on the streets there."

Endless war

Kos was the "wonderful island." Habali twice boarded a smuggler's boat in the Turkish city of Izmir; the first time he almost drowned. It took him eight days to reach Sid from his hometown, Homs, in western Syria. The English student is traveling on his own, and he worries about the mother and two sisters he left behind. He also has an older brother, Osama - and Habali hopes he is alright.

Osama al Habali, an internationally known young journalist and filmmaker, filmed the start of the protests against the Syrian regime in Homs. He was arrested for criticizing the Syrian government over three years ago. His family doesn't know whether he is still alive.

He could be in Sednaya prison, near Damascus, Habali says. "Sednaya has three buildings, white, yellow and red - and red is the worst," he says. "That's where they detain reporters or political prisoners." Habali asks whether there is anything he could do from Germany to see his brother again.

Habali holds Germany in high esteem. He says friends of his have lived in Berlin for years. "Perhaps I'll be allowed to study there," he says. "In Syria you study and study, but then you end up in the army, and a diploma won't save you." Hussam seems to have resigned himself to never seeing his native country again. The war there, he says, is never-ending.

Glorified Germany

The young man takes a geostrategic view of why Germany is the country in Europe that takes in by far the largest number of refugees. All the Americans want is oil and riches from the Persian Gulf and the Middle East, he says. "The Germans want to be in control, too," he says, "but they want to draw people on an emotional level, and they are successful."

He pulls a smartphone from his pocket and gives an impromptu presentation, showing photo compositions of Chancellor Angela Merkel with the German national banner and the federal eagle, and declarations of love in German and Arabic. "Many Syrians have the chancellor's photo on Facebook or use it as a background picture on their mobile phones," he says.

Halabi says he also knows that there are people in Germany who torch refugee shelters and insult migrants. "They must think that they don't need us," he says. "But, if we work and study hard, we'll undoubtedly be good for Germany."

He says he has also heard that Germany isn't that populous. "How many people live in Germany?" he asks, and is surprised at the answer. "Eighty million? That many? But the country is huge, isn't it?"

Getting closer

As we walk along the dirt track to Croatia, Habali repeatedly offers me a drink of water. The sun is hot, but that doesn't faze the Syrian. The minefields, however, do. Thousands of uncleared land mines still lurk in an area of about 500 square kilometers (200 square miles) in Croatia, the dangerous legacy of the bloody war that resulted in the collapse of communism in Yugoslavia.

The Croatian police have turned chaos to order within 24 hours. Now, the refugees no longer hastily sprint through the corn fields: they walk directly to the police. Hundreds arrived here on Wednesdy afternoon alone. Countless police vans wait in the background to take the refugees a few kilometers down the road to the village of Tovarnik for registration before they are whisked away to one of the few shelters.

Hussam al Habali isn't sure what awaits him in Croatia. He would like to go on directly to Austria. He calmly accepts the information that he will first have pass through Slovenia. After all, it's just one more step in a long journey.