When we arrived at the border there were hundreds of Egyptians sitting on their baggage, waiting behind the border. Borders are funny, in a way you expect something more grandiose than a 5 x 1 meter high steel gate with only a handful of soldiers guarding it. Although exhausted, the refugees seemed resigned to their eternal wait, and this would be the case with the Bangladeshis the following day. I enjoyed the mix of cultures that came through those steel bars, a mélange of men who’s countries of origin had failed them in some way, so much so that they had gone to great lengths to immigrate into a country, which in the case of the sub-Saharan Africans saw them treated like dogs. They came with all of their belongings on their heads, those that had made it without being robbed along the roadside. They were fleeing the war in Libya and in the case of the Somalis, finding themselves as refugees of war once again.