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After our final school exams in 1989, my friends and I went on a vacation. Not to a Greek island to enjoy house and beach life, but instead to the remotest place our Interrail tickets would take us: Alta, Norway…
There’s a picture on my father-in-law’s Facebook profile. It features my body, covered by a paper gown, my tiny son Luca, naked except a diaper and a knitted hat, and the smiling face of my partner. It is a snapshot…
One of my earliest memories of Morocco concerns my great-aunt Fatima. I must have been aged four or five, but I can still see her fragile, wrinkly face as she stood in front of my sister and me in the…
