"Rukn ad Din",

"Maybe you met with my father, he is very well-known." He adumbrates a curved mustache around his lips. Unfortunately, when walking through the neighborhood and its narrow streets in my thoughts I do not remember his father as a resident.

"In his room he offers me protection from the sun. Water is refreshing my arms. The tea is hot and sweet, we are smoking a Denver cigarette. He sits on bags full of maize kernel, the only furniture in his room of 4 sqm, located way up the hill, where the streets are narrow and it is difficult to pull the loaded wheeled case up the stairs. Residents of Rukn ad Din come along with me. A group of women listens to the young teacher translating the message of my task. We shake hands: "Thank you for coming to our street." Arafat smiles from the walls. I am pleased about the unexpected encounter with the Palestinian leader.
"Are you an archaeologist?" The ankle-length garments are pristine white. "Do you need any help?" The sheiks friendly gaze at me from underneath their red and white ghutras. The bullet-proof vests at Bab Musalla square are far away. Same with the army, the weapons." excerpt of the diary "Djannat al Ard"| Damascus 2011

Mohamed is 18 years old. He shares the room at the asylum with his mother and three of his six sisters. Two of them have been in Berlin for a long time. The Palestinian with a Syrian passport has been one of the clowns at "TRY TO LIVE" a group of young people in Lebanon with the aim "to make a smile on the faces of children everywhere in the marginalized areas, schools and public places."

Besides, he is a barber.

We're covering Tetra Paks with first-aid sheets. "I am familiar with the material," Mohamed says. "When Italian coast guards rescued us they would wrap us in those sheets."
The golden sheets glitter in the sun.
 

Gordon | Khaled | Mohamed | Serdar

Damascus, Rukn at | 2011

Damascus, Rukn at | 2011

Damascus, Rukn at | 2011