Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize: Auschwitzland, fun for the Whole Family

This essay was shortlisted for the Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize.

I took a Valium on the plane to Poland. I had run into an old friend at the airport and he gave it to me. I hadn’t planned on taking it, until I heard the girl next to me say to her neighbour ‘So, do you think it’ll be like, you know, like sad?’

‘I guess so. Do you like my hair like this?’ Her neighbour replied.

I recognised them both from the barbeque at the Rabbi’s house a few weeks before. It had been an opportunity for all the people going on the tour to meet and get to know one another. I had sat on my own on a plastic chair picking at a piece of chicken. The plastic fork kept bending backwards and the paper plate folding, spilling coleslaw onto my knee. Everyone seemed to know one another, and the groups of girls would squeal with delight and kiss the air around one another’s cheeks, looking over their shoulders to see who was watching.