But tonight, I am a cartographer.
The father of three behind us starts to pray. The teenager from Idlib is laughing—hysterically, I think—because the moon is very bright and we are all going to die in a raft meant for ten people that holds forty-seven. refugee the diary of ali ismail
War exported me. Bombs exported my neighbor, the baker. Fear exported the girl who sat in front of me in chemistry class (she could name all the elements, but she couldn't name a single safe country). But tonight, I am a cartographer
— Ali
Remember that I, Ali Ismail, age sixteen, once had a favorite cup (chipped blue ceramic). I was afraid of spiders. I hated boiled okra. I wanted to be an architect, not because I liked buildings, but because I liked the space between buildings—the shadows where children play. War exported me