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  • I'm walking down narrow streets passing children playing and old people chatting while reality of life here slowly reveals itself to me: Rashedieh is a refugee camp and the people living here are first, second or third generation of Palestinian refugees.

    We pass an old man in a wheel chair with an umbrella. He is looking towards the endless sea in front of him. I’m thinking: he is begging the sea to make him forget the barbed wire that surrounds him on all other sides, begging the sea to heal his legs and the wounds of war and exile, begging the sea to give him freedom and peace.

    Told by Kristine, 26 years.
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