This is a part of my story, my roots and my family.
My father is born and raised in Asmara, Eritrea. He had to leave the country when he was only 9 years old and he had to go alone. He thought his whole family died in the Independent war in the 1950, but he did not know that his mother was still alive. In that year he left Eritrea he found his home, the house with his 9 siblings, aunts, uncles and everyone bombed. They were all inside.
When I think about it sometimes I am amazed and sad, what a brave little boy my father must have been – had to be, travelling alone to the seaside with the thought that his whole family just died. Climbing on a the next ship as a stoaway and eventually landed in the USA, a country he has never been before with nobody he can relay on. Like I said he was nine years old.
Eritrean people are very recourceful, brave and have a amazing skill for surviving. And it sometimes breakes my heart to see all those refugees here and knowing that they have a similar story as my Dad.
But yes enough of that: pictures and photography…
I was able to visit Eritrea some years ago when there was still food, water and electicity. I saw beautiful landscape, amazing history and kind people. And to be honest I never felt as safe in a city before, as I felt in Asmara the capital of Eritrea. Everyone was concerend if we were lost or if we want to know something about anything. If we want tea or coffee, where are we from and so on. We were welcomed and it was great there…
But let me show you some pictures 🙂
This is my grandmother:
side note: sorry that my post sounds a little depressed… But my granddad died some days ago and two of some closer clients of mine. I don’t know.
My granddad was 96 and it was not really a surprise, the clients were both just in their 50. It is just a little exhausting right now, but I am fine ^^