People had been labelling him all his life. What a little cutie! He’s such a chatterbox. Don’t be a tattletale!

He revelled on a cloud of names. They rolled off his shoulders like that football he kicked around.

One day his home shattered and his neighbourhood scattered and a group of eyes gave him another name. A name that crawled under his skin.

Huddled on some greyed station floor, he asked, “Mamma, what’s refugee?”

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This story was prompted by this BBC article, specifically by a photo that features in it. Thank you for reading.