A series of first hand accounts from refugees and volunteers
The refugees’ entries will contain personal accounts detailing any part of their story they wish to share with the reader. It is an opportunity for them to dictate the narrative which so often they are the subjects of. The volunteers’ entries will be accounts from those working abroad and locally with refugees and asylum seekers, detailing an aspect of their experience which are generally alien to the public. The hope is to add a level of proximity to issues seemingly affecting people in a different stratosphere to ourselves.
Accompanying each entry will be an illustration in order to create a more visually engaging piece and to heighten the reading experience. Through such creative collaborations, we will be able to sensitively give voice to narratives which are difficult to articulate and often left untold.
I don’t know if my brain has died after the jungle or my ability to speak English has just completely stopped because I have been trying to write this for over a month. I thought it would of been easy to do but that has been far from the truth. I have maybe wrote it one hundred different times, one hundred different ways and then deleted it every single time. The problem is I don’t know how I can accurately describe my time there or how close me and my friends, had become. Really my words cannot fairly describe all the things I have seen, the friendships I made or the trust I was given. I have searched for the words, the days and the different moments to tell but my words are not strong enough to describe how strongly I actually felt. There is too much to write about but I never went there to write.
The Journey Abass
Since the first time I decided to leave my country I felt so emotional. I was about to leave my family, my friends, my country, although there is civil war since long time. My journey started from Egypt. I went there, I worked in factory of cloths for 2 months, 12 hours a day. Then I crossed a long way to Libya. We had been so insulted in Egypt but the Libyans respect Sudanese because before they got a lot of Sudanese teachers but the Ethiopians, Eritreans and Somalians are treated so bad even sell them like slaves. They put us in a small jail with woman and kids. [click image]
A Man Without A Nose Sharif
He loudly and so harshly shout at me and said “look right Sharif!” As soon I saw that a lorry was coming at my side at a very high speed I ran back fast, tried to pick up my bag, but it was too late. I got rid of deadly accident but my bag was crushed into pieces down the 22 wheels of the truck. He was laughing at me because of being so ignorant of Calais’s deadly and lawless roads, but he didn’t know that I may laugh at him later. I sat down a while, took a deep breath and start a new thought for a game of death. He slap me at head and told me “come on let’s go”.