The many faces of traveling

by Daniela Sandoval Cuevas (Mexico)

A leap into the unknown Iraq

Last year I traveled through Greece and Turkey into Iraq. It was such an amazing trip! We were 3 people, driving through these incredibly amazing countries for 3 weeks, taking some amazing footage and enjoying every minute of it... Or so it seemed. I think that's what happens when us, privileged people who travel for pleasure, leisure or even business and education, often find ourselves explaining to others how great and eye-opening traveling can be, though. Talking to others about how meeting new people, cultures and places is amazing and enriches you in unimaginable ways. Why swimming in beautiful beaches, trying new food, and taking pictures in front of important monuments or buildings, is "what will be left in your memory and heart once you die." It seems as if we feel this constant urge to yell to others: “take your bags and GO! and don't get me wrong, it IS great and I have probably shared those same words more tan once but there’s also another side to this story. There is an untold truth I encountered over and over during this trip. This reality that's a part of today's world and that made my hear ache from dawn to dawn while visiting the refugee camps. The story of those who are FORCED or pushed until the edge where they have no other option but to travel long distances for an indefinite period of time. Those who very rarely get asked about their experiences, their journey (if not for an interrogation). Those who we see as a faceless mass. We don’t like their pictures on Facebook or comment their Instagram stories telling them how jealous we are of them and their trip. Hell, I don’t think we even see them as somebody who has something to say about their journey through their social media (if they have such, because hey, how weird would it be for a poor immigrant/refugee to have a Facebook profile, right?) Well I call ENOUGH! I think it's about time we stop thinking like that. Maybe we could start by acknowledging them. Paying attention to their stories, listening to their versions and asking ourselves what their words mean to us whatever language they might be in… why are they travel stories so different from ours? Is there anything we could do to help?. From the eyes of an “illegal immigrant” or a “refugee” the people they meet in their way are not always friendly nor welcoming. The culture and places are strangers to them and treat them like such in return. They don’t feel like they are becoming any richer; if anything, they leave everything they had behind and some are even forced to pay large amounts of money for others to take them and their families somewhere safe. They don’t know how to swim, yet they ride boats that only god knows if they’ll make it to the other side. They don’t eat for days at the time and if given any food it’s usually the canned stuff that one leaves for the last days of the month before another paycheck comes in. Most of them are obliged to hide their identity. They don’t have any “paper” that tells their name, their origin; or maybe they do but little does it matter because in order for them to have their picture taken and get a passport or an ID with a name of a country that is not theirs, they’ll probably have to wait for years. The pictures others do take of them are used as media content or news covers but their names never come up. I'd like for us to accept the idea that travel is not always fun and amazing. That the psychological, physical and mental charge that comes with having to leave everything behind as well as the uncertainty of the future ahead is heavy and painful. That all these people have names and dreams and plans. We must look our privilege in the eyes, recognize it, accept it and then act on it. That not all of us have the same idea of what a "leap into the unknown is" but using words might help us understand.