Homecoming

You can't go home again. But you can try!

Arriving at a Dutch train station, the first thing I noticed was this poster. War Victim. Persecuted by his past. Give him a perspective on a different future, it said. The photo shows a handsome black man - most likely a dancer - who covers his eyes with one hand. There isn't a trace of pain or suffering in his face. For all I know he's standing in front of his bedroom closet trying to decide what shirt to wear.

What's going on in Holland, I wondered. Did I miss out on a new media trend? Globalization perhaps? Could it be that similar posters showing war victims of every imaginable color and creed were hanging in train stations all over Africa? And if so, does this campaign consistenly use handsome models with athletic bodies to focus our attention on the psychological damage war inflicts upon its survivors?

I still had a lot of catching up to do!

The Immigrant

Once upon a time I left Holland, my native country... I was an adventurous young man then: a writer, a poet and a painter. Twenty-six years later I returned: a middle-aged man with a suitcase full of memories.

I had traveled the world. I had chosen my own path and I had followed my heart. I had even overcome the sadness and pain caused by an unfortunate coincidence: I was the firstborn son of a father who's entire family was slaughtered by the nazis.

Or so I thought...