Years ago I worked in one of the churches here in Trondheim. There was a refuge camp situated not far from the church, and as a deacon it was my duty and my pleasure to visit the camp, to talk with the families living there, to see what our church could do for them. To meet people, to share stories.
I made friends with several of the Serbian women. Not able to really understand what they had gone through, fleeing war and a life threatening life back in the country they looked upon as their own, all I could do was to listen to their stories. Stories of a life so similar to mine. Stories of a life so completely different from mine.
Easter came, and the women told me about their traditions, about their cooking, about their egg dying. Soon we decided that a few of the women would come over to my Friday night youth club in church to teach the kids to dye eggs.
Every year I dye a few eggs and my thoughts wander to my Serbian sisters. Some of them are still in Norway, most of them were sent back. Back to a country where they had lost everything.
Photos: the eggs Marta, Ingrid and I dyed this Easter
