Personal Narrative On The Syrian Border

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Somehow my mum had illegally made a trade with some smugglers at camp, to get us through the border. Just one hour later: We were lying face down in a big white truck. We were buried under about 50 sacks of potatoes. It was not a comfy ride. I managed to peep through a little hole on the side of the truck, I saw big sand dunes towering into the sky, they were the size of big hills, and the sand was old and dried up. We were approaching the border, to me it looked like a big prison, it had 4-meter-high walls with barbed wire at the top. I spotted 20 figures that looked like soldiers, my body was shaking with fear. As we got closer I recognized the distinctive Syrian uniform that the men were wearing, helmets covered their heads, and they
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