I was born in a village that no longer exists. Neither administratively. It has been disappearing too long. That´s why I like to return there and discover among its new neighbours what is still of the village of my childhood. The Whispers. Because I learned to love the stories there, listening to my grandfather talking about Foucellas, the maqui who was not a revolutionary, or maybe yes.
I decided to become a journalist in order to be, one day, the one who can tell him those stories. I graduated from the Complutense University of Madrid. I didn´t achieve good marks, but I met McLuhan, Trotsky, Weber … and Saramago or García Márquez. The best lesson from university time is the passion for books.
As a grant holder, I started to work in Ondacero Radio and Efe news agency. It was the moment when I got the highest salary in my whole career, which underlines the precariousness that suffocates journalism. Expelled from the newsrooms, I began to travel in order to find these small people, in small places, doing small things. People who can change the world. Or maybe darken it even more. Because journalism looks into the grey scale, into the space between what we are and what we wanted to be.
Since 2013, I have been working as a freelancer in the Middle East, Southeast Asia, Central America and East Africa covering the Iraqi postwar period, the Kurdish conflict, the democratic transition in Burma, the Rohingya genocide, the refugee’s crisis in Uganda or the conflict in Somalia. Now I go through the Horn of Africa.
I write reports and chronicles. Or anything my grandfather could have called stories.