… I’ve seen those same kids in Cairo…in Aswan… in Morocco, in Romania….. in Spain… but at least they had some hope. Even a hope of stealing smthg. Damned wars. Damned rulers.
In the park outside our house in Damascus, Syria, new families regularly come to sleep for a couple nights before being escorted away. The few belongings they keep themselves with; blankets, clothes and plastic cups, are being hauled away at the same time. Where do they go? To the temporary camps in schools or mosques? Will they be one of the families living in unfinished buildings, without electricity or water, with no protection from strangers?
One afternoon when I was meeting up with a friend, a teenage girl saw us walking on the street. She came up, asking for money.
”No, habibti.”
After a couple of weeks here I have improved my skills in saying no. And if I gave to someone living close to me, I might be harassed every day.
“Ahmed!” the girl called out and a little boy, maybe 5 years old, ran between us…
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Al-Must'arib (the vocational Mossarab) 