An old Arab gentleman ushers a curious volunteer into his tent and gestures with his wiry thin arms to have a seat. Sit, he says with his eyes. The shrapnel wounds down his legs tell more than his words. Min-ga-la-ba she smiles, uh, hello, she corrects herself. But it’s her clear, shining eyes that express …
The meadows here are overgrown with wild strawberries, sweet peas and brambles. The hillsides roll on for what feels like ever and I sit here, sipping a fresh mint tea with the sun on my cheeks. Where Athens was orange blossoms and pine needles, and Idomeni the stench of burning plastic and mud puddles, this …
Let’s play a game, use your imagination and follow along. You’re cosy in that recliner you love, you know the one. You picked it out together right after you brought your first home. It was after the wedding, of course. But before you started painting the nursery pink and stocking up on tiny socks. It’s …
A little girl scrutinises under a rock with her torch, carefully turning each one over looking for treasures underneath. She reminds me of myself as a child, endlessly fascinated with searching for creatures in the rock pools. Completely oblivious to the fist-fight breaking out nearby, she gently replaces each turned stone as men in orange …
I like the way his whole face smiles, beginning in his shining eyes and bursting out across his tiny cheeks as he dangles his mothers handbag from a nearby stick.
I’ve run out of tears for the everyday. For the child tugging on my trousers in need of more things than money can buy, for the desperation in that parents eyes, for the putrid toxicity of the smoke billowing, created by people so desperate for warmth that they are burning their plastic raincoats for firewood. …
I have spent the past few days wondering how, when I finally got the chance, I might tell the story of the past five days. Agonising over the details and the timelines. What happened when? Did the hospital trip happen before or after the border closures. Honestly, it has been a bit of a rough …
At the other end of the world from this escalating assault on Syria, my hometown was once again rocked by a large earthquake. In the quiet moments, in the middle of the night when everything is still, I can’t help but wonder how much more this world can take.
The wind howled through camp the last two nights, hurling pine needles and poorly pinned laundry across the grounds. Spring is coming, but before the orange trees burst into flower I will be gone from this island. Providing the weather stabilises, we will be leaving on a ferry bound for Kavala tomorrow morning. Will I …
I’m sitting in the reception, a small brightly coloured room at the entrance of Pikpa. To my right is a pile of drums taking a break from their usual residence in evening drumming circles, landscaping sketches are taped to the walls behind me telling stories of beautiful things to come. This room is the hub …
