I wrote down my first impressions as soon as my plane landed in Egypt.

U.S. pop-culture is omnipresent. My taxi driver idolized fiscally irresponsible American rappers.

American imperialism has done so much harm to this continent. That painful fact did not stop the expansion of U.S. pop-culture. Why?

Alexandria is a city of concrete. I can only imagine how hot it gets in the summer.

Seriously? Not one day in Egypt, and I meet a competing reporter?

Sure, all wars are complicated. But I can’t even begin to fathom the nuances of the conflict in Syria.

I remember the casual tone with which the smoking Syrians spoke about war.

This delicious note on the diversity of Egyptian cuisine makes my mouth water.

After several hours of physical work at the Home of Hope, I had an existential epiphany.

The Egyptian beach prompted a few thoughts.

I mean, I had known about Egypt’s radical anti-alcohol policy before I got there, but it still felt weird.

A few mouth-watering paragraphs about the gastronomic sensations offered by the chef in my hotel’s conjure the taste of the dish.

I made some notes as Erik lectured me on the history of humanitarianism. Aren’t they too academic?

I would like to believe that all NGO employees are idealists. But every herd harbors some black sheep.

Erik’s reprimand still makes me question my motives. Isn’t this journey just a privileged guy’s whim?

I felt surprisingly at ease at the Home of Hope, and wrote a few words about it.

Did I really come here just to build my literary career on the backs of refugees?

The Dunant–Nightingale dilemma summarizes the debate on the moral quandaries of humanitarianism.

I would highly recommend this local dish from a street stall. I would not recommend the shits that followed.

Revolution-era Isaac seemed like a different person. In his twenties, he was a dreamer and an idealist. Did he just grow out of it?

All I know about the Muslim Brotherhood, I learnt from Google. Is this what journalism has become?

I didn’t expect to find real works of art in the stairwell of a dilapidated block in the suburbs. I was wrong.

Anywhere you go in this world, you’ll find an identical shopping mall.

The several hours I spent motionless, sitting for a portrait, were surprisingly emotional.

It felt really awkward to pose as an expert after just a couple of days spent in Alexandria. Is that all it takes?

Taking these drugs was a philosophical expedition in its own right. I’m still wondering about the idea of free will.

Marko’s story is tragic. And one of thousands.

How could I get arrested? At least it gave me the opportunity to write about Egypt’s prison system.

People can adapt to any conditions. Take these smokers in jail.

I have uncovered Erik’s secret! He’s building his own boat to transport refugees to Europe. A noble idea. But is it legal?

I spent so many days in a Libyan hideout. Can these few paragraphs do justice to my experience?

A crime syndicate operates just like any big business. The difference is the mafia can’t be bothered to pretend.

This one word contains so many meanings: refugees.

I had plenty of time for writing detailed descriptions of the refugees’ routines on board the smuggling trawler.

Wahid has travelled thousands of kilometers. His young age makes this all the more astounding.

I summarized Wahid’s story in a few paragraphs.

Wahid seems surprisingly music-savvy. This makes me feel like we come from the same world.

I discovered the secret of Wahid’s actual family background.

I learnt about the realities of living in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq.

I recorded my feelings as I looked at Kassim’s sketches.

The casual conversation with Kassim gave me a temporary reprieve. It felt like I was back in college.

Kassim’s secret tragedy was veritably Shakespearean.

I saved a little girl’s mother from drowning.

Taribo fell victim to a lynching. Is this the lesser evil I’ve heard so much about?

Had I not obtained this vest through deception, I would not have saved the drowning mother. Can vile deeds have virtuous consequences?

When I got a panic attack during the storm, I felt... possessed.

The inevitability of death struck me with great force during the storm.

This Zambian visionary dreamed of flying to the Moon.

The story of Zambian Afronauts sounds implausible. Is it true?

Mona showed me a photograph from her childhood and told me all about it.

Mona’s childhood memory remains a vivid symbol of her dashed hopes.

I’ll never forget having explosive diarrhea at sea, in the middle of a storm. If you like amusement parks, you should try it.

The refugees imagined Europe in a naively idealized fashion.

The sea seems eternal and unchanging. Time gets dissolved in the inky waters.

Battuta relayed a vision of a friendly relationship between man and God.

The full story of Zambian Afronauts sounds much like a mushroom trip.

Dinah told me about a local custom of same-sex marriage. It sounded progressive.

Dinah lost her hand after she was bitten by a venomous viper.

Dinah and her daughter went through some ups and downs with aid organizations.

People’s relationships with their fathers are often fraught. But Dinah’s father gave her hell.

After several weeks spent with the refugees, I’ve formed a bond with them. I feel part of something greater. It’s a new feeling.

I’ve spent a few weeks among the refugees and I still feel like an outsider. Do I need more time? Or is it not a matter of time?

This independence movement operated in Western Sahara for several decades.

Most people were running from the Islamic State, and she was headed right for the heart of darkness...

Anna called jihadis hypocrites. They fight against Western culture, yet wallow in lavish consumerism.

The Islamic States quite deliberately uses various propaganda techniques.

Anna fled the Islamic State. What does fate have in store for her next?

Battuta’s story had a painfully tragic ending. His dementia seemed to be a blessing and a curse.

Almas’s story culminated tragically. She lost everything that was of any significance to her.

Francesco laid out some solid arguments against welcoming refugees.

Francesco’s inconvenient questions still ring in my ears. He forced me to look at the refugees from a different perspective.

I stayed at the Moria refugee camp in the Greek island of Lesbos and described my experience.

The ocean of tents in Moria… You have to see it to even grasp its scale.

Colin shared his dilemma: “Does socially engaged art make the artist disengaged?”

This world demands beauty. Even – or especially – from images of suffering.

Colin burnt out after years of social engagement. Is this what awaits me?

This photo makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. The tall heap of life-vests epitomizes the refugee crisis.

Do people simply get hooked on helping? How addictive is it?

You can’t see any borders if you look at Europe from a great enough distance.

Who were these day-drinking, chest-bumping, obnoxious passengers?

Planes and airports are a little magical. Like portals leading to foreign worlds.

The pitch-black trunk, the claustrophobia... Had I ever felt this helpless?

The moment they locked us in the back of the refrigerator truck... I get two kinds of chills just thinking about it.

The desert is as deadly as it is beautiful.

The methods to calculate smugglers’ rates in Africa deserve a scientific paper. Or maybe a whole dissertation.

The desert didn’t seem to end. I was slowly starting to believe there was no world beyond it.

I’d never seen this many stars.

In the smuggler’s hideout, the refugees developed new rituals.

Boredom can be deadly. Why is it so rarely mentioned in the context of the refugees’ plight?

We rode the minibus to who-knows-where. Anything could happen. We were at the driver’s mercy.

The refugees viewed the Arab Spring from many different perspectives.

Run, boy, run! Nothing else matters…

People were saying their goodbyes to loved ones before we set sail. Was this the last time they ever talked?

I feel so lost. I don’t understand so many contexts, words and terms. Will this ever change?

Once the cell door was locked, all of my reflections focused on the shock of suddenly losing my freedom.

That was incredible. I’d never thought I would get the opportunity to just have some light-hearted conversations with refugees.

Wahid told me about the personal odyssey that led him to this boat. He’s traveled thousands of kilometers.

I got some incredible first-hand insight into the machinations of the Islamic State.

Sometimes, the greatest epiphanies come to you in the most mundane situations. Ordinary life with the refugees has taught me the most about them.

You have failed to reach Europe’s shores. Like thousands before you, you have drowned in the depths of the Mediterranean.