I took the bread crumb and wet it in the puddle to soften it, I took it to the mouth and fighting not to throw up to be able to eat it I finished with it. I lay back and thought of the good times. I settled for the fragments of sleep that allowed me the screams of a child in the store next door. He was there with my family before the Great Disaster. They were in the sun on a festive Friday. That day they ate dates and honey with milk. Everything was propitious: the footwear business was going well, its teenage children were intelligent and showed a moral character and compassionate in the duties. My wife, Africa, smiled at me under the shadow of a cloth that filtered the light and removed the soft wrinkles that already affected her face showing it without defects. I fell in love with her again. He had a newspaper in his hands and looked at him distracted from right to left. There were images of a politician who was beginning to annoy me for his speeches full of calls to values from which only violence could be expected. Everyone said that he had nothing to do, that he would lose. I do not know, I thought. I took off the slipper that my sister-in-law had given me and let the water in the small arm band wet my skin. We were all in white to celebrate that on that day as today twenty years ago we also all wore white dresses at our wedding. It lasted three days because of my father-in-law who had a property full of dunes and palm trees. What happiness…
I woke up abruptly with an explosion. A group of men dressed in black shouted out to foreigners! in English. They assumed we knew English and they wanted us to be afraid in advance. They beat us for a while and broke down some tents. They laughed as they kicked. The reporters filmed the scene looking for a good photo to win a prize. After a while they left us alone to comfort us. The wounded lamented and the children shouted. Soon a group of police appeared and explained that if we talked with our families on the cell phone, we must told them not to come more here because life was impossible. It was already enough. Soon they would start shooting at those who came to the shores. I had no family to call. I had no cell phone, either. Africa took him when he fell into the sea while I was passed out at the bottom of the boat with which we crossed the sea.
Sad remembered when the news coming from Greece about the Syrian refugees filled the news. I had subscribed to Doctors Without Borders, Save the Children and Amnesty International to calm my conscience and be able to continue my work. I could not imagine that this politician could win. He suspended the Constitution. My children started going to demonstrations against him. They were located and one night they came to catch them. Our anguish was horrible. We fell suddenly into a black well. We started visiting jails. Anti-government groups were formed. France helped them and the skirmishes began. We never found our children and my wife and I paid for a spot on a boat in Santa Pola and arrived in Morocco three days later alone. Now I will go out on the newsreels of countries in provisional peace. Surely I will look dangerous and undesirable by my appearance. I hope no journalist will give me the opportunity to throw out all my bile. The survivors of the camp have got a face of astonishment that is superimposed to the one of fear or hunger. My name is Juan Garcia and I never thought this could happen to me.
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