I just got back from Paris. A seminar by the France Amerique Latine through Grundtvig programme, gave me the chance to meet so many interesting people and broaden my horisons. La place des migrants dans l Union Europeenne was the theme, and i will talk more about it. Still, one image familar to me remains and is like a symbol of the seminar, a reminder of what this world is: a place were lights and darkness mix. And Paris, the city of lights is no exception.
A romanian gipsy boy, a migrant making ashtrades from aluminum boxes so that his family can eat. A street full of tourists going up to the Montmartre , and this little gipsy boy on the side walk. I asked him were he is from, he told me that he is from Husi and arrived in Paris five days ago. I made a predictible thing and gave him 2 euro s for his ashtrade, and left him there like i paid my feeling of guilt.
And now i think of him, of migrants, of people leaving what they have to survive, i think of children beeing exploited, i think of me enjoying the lights and glamour of Paris, of people sleeping in the subways, people enjoying life, beautiful theathers and terases, travelling, Eiffel, the treasures from the Louvre.
And i ask myself why some of us enjoy the lights, and others only stay in the dark ?
