The dust of the cars in front sprays in your face and you pinch your eyes not to be blinded by it. You can clearly make out the distinctive taste of dust in your mouth and your lungs. And it feels at place, familliar and common.

A certain sense of security and content takes over and you are no longer afraid of the patrolling police cars with armed personnell ready to fire who pass you at high speed at semi-regular intervals.

They point at a ruin and tell you that it once was the pride and glory of your direct ancestors. And suddenly you realise that you are standing in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by nothing but sand and mountains in the distance. And still you do not feel desolate as you would imagine you should. You stand before this ruin that you could not even guess what purpose it once had if no one would tell you. You can only make out the city lights in the distance and the voice of your companions is muffled by the sandfilled wind which almost suffocates you. And yet there is no place on earth you would rather be.

You dwell in this ruin, caress every wall that has endured all the abuse but is still standing strong and proud. You let the dirt go through your fingers as you crouch on the doorstep and for a second you wish you could take everything with you. Drown yourself in this feeling one can only sum up with one word: wattan! (homeland)