We. The Refugees: Ticket to Europe

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I wrote down my first impressions as soon as my plane landed in Egypt.

Sure, all wars are complicated. But I can’t even begin to fathom the nuances of the conflict in Syria.

This delicious note on the diversity of Egyptian cuisine makes my mouth water.

After several hours of physical work at the Home of Hope, I had an existential epiphany.

The Egyptian beach prompted a few thoughts.

I mean, I had known about Egypt’s radical anti-alcohol policy before I got there, but it still felt weird.

I would like to believe that all NGO employees are idealists. But every herd harbors some black sheep.

I would highly recommend this local dish from a street stall. I would not recommend the shits that followed.

I didn’t expect to find real works of art in the stairwell of a ruined apartment block in the suburbs. And yet, I did.

The several hours I spent motionless, sitting for a portrait, were surprisingly… emotionally intense.

Taking these drugs was a philosophical experience. I’m still wondering what it says about the existence of free will.

How could I get arrested? At least it gave me the opportunity to write a note about the Egyptian prison system.

I had plenty of time for writing detailed descriptions of the refugees’ routines on board the smuggling trawler.

Had I not obtained this vest through deception, I would not have saved the drowning mother. Can vile deeds have virtuous consequences?

When I got a panic attack during the storm, I felt... possessed.

This Zambian visionary dreamed of flying to the Moon.

The story of Zambian Afronauts sounds implausible. Is it true?

Mona showed me a photograph from her childhood and told me all about it.

Mona’s childhood memory remains a vivid symbol of her dashed hopes.

Battuta relayed a vision of a friendly relationship between man and God.

Dinah told me about a local custom of same-sex marriage. It sounded progressive.

Dinah lost her hand after she was bitten by a venomous viper.

After several weeks spent with the refugees I feel a bond with them. I feel part of something greater. It’s a new feeling.

I’ve spent a few weeks among the refugees and I still feel like an outsider. Do I need more time? Or is it not a matter of time?

Most people were running from the Islamic State, and she was headed right for the heart of darkness...

Anna called jihadis hypocrites. They fight against Western culture, yet wallow in lavish consumerism.

The Islamic States quite deliberately uses various propaganda techniques.

Francesco laid out some solid arguments against welcoming refugees.

Francesco’s inconvenient questions still ring in my ears. He forced me to look at the refugees from a different perspective.

I stayed at the Moria refugee camp in the Greek island of Lesbos and described my experience.

The ocean of tents in Moria… You have to see it to even grasp its scale.

Colin shared his dilemma: “Does socially engaged art make the artist disengaged?”

This world demands beauty. Even – or especially – from images of suffering.

This photo makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. The tall heap of life-vests epitomizes the refugee crisis.

You can’t see any borders if you look at Europe from a great enough distance.

Who were these day-drinking, chest-bumping, obnoxious passengers?

Planes and airports are a little magical. Like portals leading to foreign worlds.

The desert didn’t seem to end. I was slowly starting to believe there was no world beyond it.

I’d never seen this many stars.

The refugees viewed the Arab Spring from many different perspectives.

People were saying their goodbyes to loved ones before we set sail. Was this the last time they ever talked?

Wahid told me about the personal odyssey that led him to this boat. He’s traveled thousands of kilometers.

Sometimes, the greatest epiphanies come to you in the most mundane situations. Ordinary life with the refugees has taught me the most about them.