Pieces of Life on the Border

written for my photography class series

Living in Menton, the question of refugees and police violence is always buzzing in the background. Uneventful enough to be overlooked from time to time, but always present. Whenever we are on trains, whenever we cross the border for groceries, whenever we take a walk up the hills, we are confronted by the reality that the Côte d’Azur does not treat everyone with kindness.

Institutions, empowered by elected governors, hunt down people fleeing from political instability and dire living conditions, instead of protecting the vulnerable. What does it mean, what does it do to your psyche, when your dignity, worth, and survival hinge on a piece of paper, a stamp?

This semester, my friend Caro and I went on frequent walks in the hills behind Menton. We linger in secret spots to journal, nap and hide away from the world. One afternoon, we took a different path down the hills. Wandering aimlessly, we entered a deserted route, our adventurous spirit was met with a hillside of scattered living debris. I audibly gasped.

Until then, I did not realize that the hills are symbolically different for those among us with less privileges. That it could be a sanctuary, a lighthouse. Even though it is never completely safe, never a home, as police vans often rush up the hills. Now we know what follows.

Walking across the slope, vivid images animated in my head. Other senses arrived too. People running, stumbling in the dark. A frightened flock of birds. A shoe was dropped. Panting, the nerve racking wait. Stinging grass. The metal fence as a hand rest. The chilliness of early Spring kicks in. To the bones. An almost dissipated stench of piss. Sirens from afar, but not far enough. Did they make it? Did their families make it? Please let them. Let them. Let them. I silently prayed.

These pictures are taken on a recent walk at the spot by my iPhone 8. Editing was made to capture the ambience in my imaginations. Except for the shoe, the remains are fresh fragments. I imagine the mental fence being crossed over. A ​​precarious task kick started by a peer in the sky. I hope they are all on the other side.

Ann, May, 2022, Menton