Kuto’s life no. 984

The sun had been beating down mercilessly on Kuto all day. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, making his grey shirt stick to his skin. His light grey hair was plastered to his forehead and he had long since given up trying to keep the red beanie hat on his head. It lay in the sand next to him, a forlorn reminder of how miserable he was.

Kuto knew that he shouldn't be out in the open like this. If the Moroccan soldiers saw him, they would kill him without hesitation. He was a Sahrawi, one of the indigenous people of Western Sahara, and since Morocco annexed the territory in 1975, life had been nothing but fear for him and his family.

He remembered when he was younger, before the occupation began. Life had been hard then too, but at least there had been hope. Hope that one day they would be free from Spanish rule and be able to govern themselves again. But that hope had died when Morocco invaded and took control of their land.
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