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Children Playing in my refugee Camp
Children Playing In My Refugee Camp “My son, do not give up hope. We shall return to our land, regardless of time and distance.”
Children Playing In My Refugee Camp “My son, do not give up hope. We shall return to our land, regardless of time and distance.”
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Children Playing in My Refugee Camp
Children Playing In My Refugee Camp These two paintings depict the games children play in refugee camps. They show how children create a beautiful life regardless of the hardships in their lives. I used gray to show the difficulty of life. Gray also represents death and suffering, Children are the life of the camp.
Children Playing In My Refugee Camp These two paintings depict the games children play in refugee camps. They show how children create a beautiful life regardless of the hardships in their lives. I used gray to show the difficulty of life. Gray also represents death and suffering, Children are the life of the camp.
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The Wall, Mohammad Ma’ali
The Wall Mohammad asks a rhetorical question: Are we not in prison? What else do we do in the refugee camp except stumble around this odd prison? Everything becomes a prison: the camp, your house, the newspaper, the radio, the bus, the eyes of people, our two decades spent in this camp...The biggest prison that prevents us from breathing is this high gray wall that surrounds us from every direction. We talk about prison and forget that we are in an even greater prison. We keep trying to convince ourselves that the bars of the prison can be grown in vases. Prison, prison, prison, even your body becomes a prison. The elders have only the faint echo of their endless steps. Scars are etched into our tired faces and cheap sheets fly like surrender flags.
The Wall Mohammad asks a rhetorical question: Are we not in prison? What else do we do in the refugee camp except stumble around this odd prison? Everything becomes a prison: the camp, your house, the newspaper, the radio, the bus, the eyes of people, our two decades spent in this camp...The biggest prison that prevents us from breathing is this high gray wall that surrounds us from every direction. We talk about prison and forget that we are in an even greater prison. We keep trying to convince ourselves that the bars of the prison can be grown in vases. Prison, prison, prison, even your body becomes a prison. The elders have only the faint echo of their endless steps. Scars are etched into our tired faces and cheap sheets fly like surrender flags.
