There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people
I learnt a great deal from having K in my life. The presence in the house of someone who made a 2,000-mile journey to safety was humbling, and a constant reminder of how lucky we are. We learned that refugees are not “other” or different but exactly like us.
I’ve always hoped my stories would be read as explorations of human dignity in those who, for whatever reason, lack a shared language. In my novel Hello, My Name is May I write about a mute stroke victim. In my next book, there’s a young girl trafficked within the UK.
I’d advise anyone to be a host with Refugees at Home. The charity places students, doctors, women with tiny babies, all from different walks of life and different parts of the world but with one thing in common – they have no choices left. Looking back, sharing my home with K was easy. After all, if it was a member of your family who was destitute, alone and scared, would you not hope that someone would offer a welcome?