By: Michelle Turner
Wavel Camp

Nour walks through the door to the home Amélie and I have just rented for the Wavel volunteers, mop, broom and dustpan in hand.

A couple of 10-year-old boys from the neighbourhood stand in the doorway asking us what team Amélie and I support in the worldcup. Italia? Brasil? Allemania?

The apartment is bare. Nour looks at us, then looks at the boys. “La,” she says. And she closes the door in front of them. “Much better.” She smiles and thrusts the dustpan into my hands, and begins to sweep, bent over, forming a pile in the centre of the concrete floor. “Yalla.” She instructs me to put the dustpan in its place. The home is being transformed. “La, Amélie. The towels must be folded like this.” She places them on the metal shelves that we have just covered with newspaper to hide the rust underneath. “La, Michelle. The garbage bin goes over here.” “At night, you must close this.” She points to the little window in the kitchen with the broken screen. “Michelle, the carpet.” We move the carpet so the mattresses line up with the carpet’s edge. Just right. Nour smiles at her accomplishments. “Adey Ahmrik?” I ask.

“Ten years old,” Mama replies.By: Michelle Turner
Wavel Camp

Nour walks through the door to the home Amélie and I have just rented for the Wavel volunteers, mop, broom and dustpan in hand.

A couple of 10-year-old boys from the neighbourhood stand in the doorway asking us what team Amélie and I support in the worldcup. Italia? Brasil? Allemania?

The apartment is bare. Nour looks at us, then looks at the boys. “La,” she says. And she closes the door in front of them. “Much better.” She smiles and thrusts the dustpan into my hands, and begins to sweep, bent over, forming a pile in the centre of the concrete floor. “Yalla.” She instructs me to put the dustpan in its place. The home is being transformed. “La, Amélie. The towels must be folded like this.” She places them on the metal shelves that we have just covered with newspaper to hide the rust underneath. “La, Michelle. The garbage bin goes over here.” “At night, you must close this.” She points to the little window in the kitchen with the broken screen. “Michelle, the carpet.” We move the carpet so the mattresses line up with the carpet’s edge. Just right. Nour smiles at her accomplishments. “Adey Ahmrik?” I ask.

“Ten years old,” Mama replies.

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