We. The Refugees: Ticket to Europe

Do people simply get hooked on helping? How addictive is it?

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A crime syndicate operates just like any big business. The difference is the mafia can’t be bothered to pretend.

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American imperialism has done so much harm to this continent. That painful fact did not stop the expansion of U.S. pop-culture. Why?

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Alexandria is a city of concrete. I can only imagine how hot it gets in the summer.

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U.S. pop-culture is omnipresent. My taxi driver idolized fiscally irresponsible American rappers.

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

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The refugees viewed the Arab Spring from many different perspectives.

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

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The casual conversation with Kassim gave me a temporary reprieve. It felt like I was back in college.

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

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

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

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I remember the casual tone with which the smoking Syrians spoke about war.

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The methods to calculate smugglers’ rates in Africa deserve a scientific paper. Or maybe a whole dissertation.

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Dinah and her daughter went through some ups and downs with aid organizations.

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People’s relationships with their fathers are often fraught. But Dinah’s father gave her hell.

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

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This Zambian visionary dreamed of flying to the Moon.

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

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How could I get arrested? At least it gave me the opportunity to write about Egypt’s prison system.

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

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

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

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

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Francesco laid out some solid arguments against welcoming refugees.

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

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I made some notes as Erik lectured me on the history of humanitarianism. Aren’t they too academic?

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I felt surprisingly at ease at the Home of Hope, and wrote a few words about it.

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A few mouth-watering paragraphs about the gastronomic sensations offered by the chef in my hotel’s conjure the taste of the dish.

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

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The Dunant–Nightingale dilemma summarizes the debate on the moral quandaries of humanitarianism.

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The Islamic States quite deliberately uses various propaganda techniques.

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

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

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

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

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

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I feel so lost. I don’t understand so many contexts, words and terms. Will this ever change?

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

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

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

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

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Boredom can be deadly. Why is it so rarely mentioned in the context of the refugees’ plight?

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

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I’d never seen this many stars.

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

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

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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?

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

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

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

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This independence movement operated in Western Sahara for several decades.

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The several hours I spent motionless, sitting for a portrait, were surprisingly emotional.

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

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The refugees imagined Europe in a naively idealized fashion.

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This one word contains so many meanings: refugees.

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I didn’t expect to find real works of art in the stairwell of a dilapidated block in the suburbs. I was wrong.

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In the smuggler’s hideout, the refugees developed new rituals.

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The inevitability of death struck me with great force during the storm.

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I learnt about the realities of living in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq.

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Anywhere you go in this world, you’ll find an identical shopping mall.

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That was incredible. I’d never thought I would get the opportunity to just have some light-hearted conversations with refugees.

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

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Marko’s story is tragic. And one of thousands.

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It felt really awkward to pose as an expert after just a couple of days spent in Alexandria. Is that all it takes?

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

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Taking these drugs was a philosophical expedition in its own right. I’m still wondering about the idea of free will.

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The sea seems eternal and unchanging. Time gets dissolved in the inky waters.

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I summarized Wahid’s story in a few paragraphs.

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

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The Egyptian beach prompted a few thoughts.

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