We. The Refugees: Ticket to Europe

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

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

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

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

I’d never seen this many stars.

A mountain of life-vests. The refugee crisis, epitomized.

Seriously? Not one day in Egypt, and I meet a competing reporter?

American imperialism has done so much harm to this continent.

The mafia: a corporation that skips the pretense.

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

Almas’s story culminated tragically. She lost everything that was of any significance to her

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

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

Anna fled the Islamic State. What does fate have in store for her next?

Battuta’s story had a painfully tragic ending. His dementia seemed to be a blessing and a curse.

Living with refugees, I've found a new sense of belonging.

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

Colin burnt out after years of social engagement. Is this what awaits me?

My greatest lessons came from ordinary life with the refugees.

You drowned in the Mediterranean, like thousands before.

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

Explosive diarrhea in a storm at sea. The ultimate thrill ride.

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

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

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

This Zambian visionary dreamed of flying to the Moon.

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

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

Erik's secret: a refugee boat. Noble, but is it legal?

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

Francesco's questions changed how I see the refugees.

Francesco laid out some solid arguments against welcoming refugees.

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

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

A few mouth-watering paragraphs about the gastronomic sensations offered by the chef in my hotel.

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

I'd like to believe that all NGO workers are idealists. But there's a black sheep in every flock.

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

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

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

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

Young Isaac was a revolutionary idealist. Did he just grow out of it?

I got some incredible first-hand insight into the machinations of the Islamic State.

The Islamic States quite deliberately uses various propaganda techniques.

Erik’s reprimand still makes me question my motives. Isn’t this journey just a privileged guy’s whim

Posing as an expert after just days in Alexandria. Is that all it takes?

Locked in, I felt the shock of lost freedom.

I recorded my feelings as I looked at Kassim’s sketches.

Kassim’s secret tragedy was veritably Shakespearean.

Great dish, awful aftermath.

We rode the minibus to who-knows-where. Anything could happen. We were at the driver’s mercy.

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

A psychedelic journey that challenged my free will.

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.

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

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

Weeks with the refugees, still an outsider. Is it time, or something else?

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

I mean, I had known about Egypt’s radical anti-alcohol policy before I got there.

I had ample time to record life on the smuggling trawler.

Run, boy, run! Nothing else matters…

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

People can adapt to any conditions. Take these smokers in jail.

Locked in the refrigerated truck. The memory still chills me.

The pitch-black trunk, the claustrophobia... Had I ever felt this helpless?

The desert is as deadly as it is beautiful.

Taribo fell victim to a lynching. Is this the lesser evil I’ve heard so much about?

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

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

The refugees viewed the Arab Spring from many different perspectives.

The full story of Zambian Afronauts sounds much like a mushroom trip.

This one word contains so many meanings: refugees

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

Did I really come here just to build my literary career on the backs of refugees?

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

I spent so many days in a Libyan hideout. Can these few paragraphs do justice to my experience?

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

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

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

Farewells before sailing. Were they the last?

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

All I know about the Muslim Brotherhood, I learnt from Google. Is this what journalism has become?

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

A deceitful act saved a life. Can evil beget good?

This independence movement operated in Western Sahara for several decades.

Masterpieces in a crumbling stairwell.

The refugees imagined Europe in a naively idealized fashion.

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

The Egyptian beach prompted a few thoughts.

The economics of smuggling: a doctoral thesis in the making.

I saved a little girl’s mother from drowning.

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

A welcome respite: light-hearted chats with refugees.

I summarized Wahid’s story in a few paragraphs.

Wahid has travelled thousands of kilometers. His young age makes this all the more astounding

Wahid seems surprisingly music-savvy. This makes me feel like we come from the same world.

I discovered the secret of Wahid’s actual family background.

Wahid's epic journey to this boat.

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