I was doing some photographic housekeeping the other day when I came across this series of dark and dingy photographs. I never published them, each one is caked in a film of dirt, they are too bleak to ever see the light of day really. I remember crawling about in a series of stinky, nearly pitch black tents trying to get them and then realising it was unlikely anyone would ever want to see them. But if you’re still reading, maybe you do.
Last time, when I got caught at the ferry it was at the last security check, by the British police. They treated me like a gentleman, they put the torch under the truck and said: ‘You have to come out of there now, Sir’. When they called me Sir, I wanted to go to England with all my heart. (Osman, 2 months in Calais)
It began like…
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