Funds raised from the sale of limited edition prints go to support Syrian refugees living in Zaatari camp through Save the Children International's programs on the ground.
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Children are gifted with ignorance. Anywhere even a refugee camp is a playground if you are fit and healthy but even so much irony pervades this blessed moment. The money he carries is worth little, his victory sign is a bad joke in this desperate place and number 1, is not a title anyone in Zaatari can claim.
What is a common place becomes special in Zaatari. Water is scarce, shampoo is scarce. Washing hair is a communal event amongst the children. Is this not a blessing, rare in Zaatari, to learn to appreciate such simple things…..
It is impossible to explain but it is unnerving. The grown up shirt this child wears is perhaps a clue but it is not us who are observing, it is us who are being observed and I am not sure if it is a look of pity, anger or reproach. It is probably all three and more! I wondered more than once in Zaatari which side of the fence I was on.
You can search for psychological insight, the mental anguish, the inner torment and you can find it in bucketfuls in Zaatari but then you turn a corner and you stop transfixed by the stark reality of what confronts you: a grotesque hybrid shack of aluminum and ripped tent. This is ‘home’ to a family, the paraphernalia of how they eat and survive stacked up on one side. A toy for a child. A bucket, evidence and reverse symbol of all that has not been supplied or provided. Only the mother ‘guarding’ this home provides, in her dignity, prove of human concern.


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