[1] On the threshold of a new life. The quarantine is located in a three-storey building. Long corridors full of light. The intense odour of sulphur is struggling to get through the accumulated smell of unwashed bodies. The large classrooms of the elementary school are grey from [. . .] and human smells. The stench of unwashed bodies makes you feel sick. Wooden doors separate the “dirty” and the “clean” sections. The former receives newly arrived deportees before showering and disinfection. They enter the latter section after showering. Dirty and hungry from travel, they arrive in the quarantine, where they get a mug of coffee and bread, if there is any. Sadly, this is where our collective misery shows its face. Most newcomers still have money to buy bread for themselves, but they cannot buy it because they cannot go out. Moreover the Care Centre lacks money to buy enough bread to feed everybody or even to resell it to everybody.
[2]
[. . .]
Service [. . .]
With [. . .]
constant [. . .]
Poured [. . .]
[. . .]. After returning the child is feverish and barely conscious. We ask if they are sure that it is typhus. They say that they are not. They say so, but what difference does it make? They have been ordered to respond so, and they have to obey.
Days pass. Quickly. Terribly quickly. Time flies. Everything blends into this horrible whole through the horrifying scream of suffering and helplessness:
[3]
[. . .]
Is surprised why[. . .]
So far [. . .]
Started swinging[. . .]
Societies [. . .]
