Borderline
© RiverboomAt the border crossing of Akcakale, between Syria and Turkey, two opposite currents briefly meet in the midst of the cacophony of taxi drivers, immigration police and moneychangers.
On one side are Syrians that left their country years ago, constrained in to exile by Assad’s regime, and living in Turkey, Qatar or Saudi Arabia. They have been waiting for this moment, when the rule of the dictator of Damascus seems to weaken, and have come now to join the insurrection. They are mainly men, some very young, determined to make history by fighting for the downfall of the regime.
On the other side are the laden cars of those escaping the fighting, the bombings, the lawlessness, and the spiral of violence, going to engross the refugee camps in Turkey set up by the government of Erdogan. They bring all they can carry. Or better, all that can fit on the few square meters of a border taxi’s roof. They cannot bring their cars. They do not know how long they will be gone. They do not know what will happen to the homes and fields they leave behind on the other side of the barbed wire. They are the ones that suffer history.
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