Among the thousands trapped in the blistering heat of a tiny rural train station on the Croatian border, urgent hunts are under way for loved ones.
Wael Jaafari, 37, has driven from Vienna to find his uncle and two cousins from Damascus, who he believes are somewhere in the huge crowd that has gathered overnight at the station in the town of Tovarnik, near the frontier with Serbia.
He bluffs his way past the police blockade, pretending to be a translator for the press.
Wael is shocked to see the huge numbers. With no sign of any trains or buses, and police blocking anyone from leaving the station grounds, there are over 5,000 people here by mid-morning.
But then, miraculously, almost the first people he sees are his family. They dive into each other's arms, crying with joy and relief.
But there is a catch -- the police have seen what happened and no longer believe he is a journalist so they refuse to let him leave.
"We are so close, but we are trapped," cries Wael.
Nearby, a desperate crowd gathers around the few Red Cross workers, who long ago ran out of food and water bottles as temperatures creep up to 37 degrees Celsius.
From somewhere, a screaming child can be heard. A small Syrian boy, crying inconsolably, is picked up and passed to an Arabic-speaking aid worker, Dianabadi Haddad.
People nearby try to calm the boy down, but he has lost his parents and is frantic. A middle-aged man looks on, weeping softly at the scene.
- Son was kidnapped twice -
Further down the path, Hasan Albalah has been on a mammoth drive over the past 48 hours to get here from Dortmund in Germany to find his wife and two teenage children.
He has not seen them in three years.
"I wanted them to take the legal route into Europe," says the 54-year-old Syrian, who was granted asylum by Germany last year. "But my son has been kidnapped twice by the Syrian regime. We had to pay 20,000 euros to get him out last time.
"The German embassy would only give us an appointment in January. We could not wait that long, so I told them to just come."
He knows they left on a bus from Belgrade in the early morning, and should be arriving soon, so he heads to the path through the fields where hundreds are arriving by foot over the Croatian border into the station.
Those arriving at that moment left earlier than his wife and children, so he sits in the middle of the path and waits.
- Good news -
Then, two pieces of good news come in. The Red Cross worker walks past, and confirms that he found the little boy's parents.
"Thank god, it ended well. His parents were not far away, they were so worried," says Haddad.
There is good news for Wael, too.
He has been helped by the chaos. Protests have broken out, with several chanting "Let us out!" at police.
Emotions boil over and the crowd charges the barrier and breaks through. Suddenly, thousands are running out of the grounds of the station and into the streets of Tovarnik.
"We took our chance and ran," Wael tells AFP by phone later on.
He is safely on the road to Zagreb, where he plans to register his family with the authorities before driving home to Vienna.
"It is perfect. We are so happy!" he says.
There is no good news yet for Hasan.
He is still sat in the middle of the path as new arrivals trickle past from Serbia, asking them when they left Belgrade and did they see anyone that resembles his family.
"I am happy to wait. I have waited three years. I know they will come," he smiles, and stares off into the fields.
Among the thousands trapped in the blistering heat of a tiny rural train station on the Croatian border, urgent hunts are under way for loved ones.
Wael Jaafari, 37, has driven from Vienna to find his uncle and two cousins from Damascus, who he believes are somewhere in the huge crowd that has gathered overnight at the station in the town of Tovarnik, near the frontier with Serbia.
He bluffs his way past the police blockade, pretending to be a translator for the press.
Wael is shocked to see the huge numbers. With no sign of any trains or buses, and police blocking anyone from leaving the station grounds, there are over 5,000 people here by mid-morning.
But then, miraculously, almost the first people he sees are his family. They dive into each other’s arms, crying with joy and relief.
But there is a catch — the police have seen what happened and no longer believe he is a journalist so they refuse to let him leave.
“We are so close, but we are trapped,” cries Wael.
Nearby, a desperate crowd gathers around the few Red Cross workers, who long ago ran out of food and water bottles as temperatures creep up to 37 degrees Celsius.
From somewhere, a screaming child can be heard. A small Syrian boy, crying inconsolably, is picked up and passed to an Arabic-speaking aid worker, Dianabadi Haddad.
People nearby try to calm the boy down, but he has lost his parents and is frantic. A middle-aged man looks on, weeping softly at the scene.
– Son was kidnapped twice –
Further down the path, Hasan Albalah has been on a mammoth drive over the past 48 hours to get here from Dortmund in Germany to find his wife and two teenage children.
He has not seen them in three years.
“I wanted them to take the legal route into Europe,” says the 54-year-old Syrian, who was granted asylum by Germany last year. “But my son has been kidnapped twice by the Syrian regime. We had to pay 20,000 euros to get him out last time.
“The German embassy would only give us an appointment in January. We could not wait that long, so I told them to just come.”
He knows they left on a bus from Belgrade in the early morning, and should be arriving soon, so he heads to the path through the fields where hundreds are arriving by foot over the Croatian border into the station.
Those arriving at that moment left earlier than his wife and children, so he sits in the middle of the path and waits.
– Good news –
Then, two pieces of good news come in. The Red Cross worker walks past, and confirms that he found the little boy’s parents.
“Thank god, it ended well. His parents were not far away, they were so worried,” says Haddad.
There is good news for Wael, too.
He has been helped by the chaos. Protests have broken out, with several chanting “Let us out!” at police.
Emotions boil over and the crowd charges the barrier and breaks through. Suddenly, thousands are running out of the grounds of the station and into the streets of Tovarnik.
“We took our chance and ran,” Wael tells AFP by phone later on.
He is safely on the road to Zagreb, where he plans to register his family with the authorities before driving home to Vienna.
“It is perfect. We are so happy!” he says.
There is no good news yet for Hasan.
He is still sat in the middle of the path as new arrivals trickle past from Serbia, asking them when they left Belgrade and did they see anyone that resembles his family.
“I am happy to wait. I have waited three years. I know they will come,” he smiles, and stares off into the fields.
