Solidarity for refugees

Happiness (noun) the feeling you get when you walk into your home after a cold, wet camping trip….

You put on a wash of damp clothes (which smell like wet dogs) (leave everything else until the next day), have a hot shower, put on your PJ’s, order a takeaway, watch Netflix and crawl into your warm, comfy bed – sleep for a around 12 hours.

If you are like me, the relief, the comfort, the happiness you feel after between 2 and 7 days under canvass (very rarely is it more than this) is palpable. I am not a natural camper, but even seasoned campers agree with the fact that coming home after camping is pretty awesome – especially if the weather has been cold and wet.

If you are a camper – try to evoke these feelings and emotions, if you’re not try to imagine!!.. and hold onto the feeling

Cram (verb) what you need to do to fit all the (essential) items you need for camping into your car.

When you go camping, you must plan for every eventuality, but this can mean a very full car.

It could be hot, cold, windy, raining. So a list of ‘essentials’ may be as follows: tent; inflatable mattresses; pillows; sleeping bags; extra blankets; sheets; clothes for: sun; rain; snow, toiletries: a range, sun cream, mosquito repellent, insect bite cream, plasters, alcohol gel, cooking equipment and/or portable BBQ, pots/pans/cutlery/plates, a table, some chairs, food (a mixture of fresh / tinned/ dried), snacks, drinks (both soft and alcoholic), games for the kids (example – cards – but not electronics – we want to get away from those and into the fresh air), outdoor games: football;boules;badminton – anything similar will do.

Phew that’s a lot right.. ? Its great if you can drive the car up to your pitch and unload straight from it. Otherwise you have to walk carrying this multitude of equipment, risking damage to your back/shoulders (last summer I damaged my shoulder carrying camping equipment from the car!)

Plan B (phrase of B) don’t worry too much, if it all goes wrong – pack up and go home!

Even with all your camping paraphernalia, things can still go wrong. But that’s fine .. you can throw everything into the car and go home (see earlier definition of Happiness).

I went camping with a toddler when 6 months pregnant once (a long time ago). It rained constantly and I was cold and miserable. I was awake all night, worrying that my son would get wet or cold. Actually he was fine ! Our 3 day camping was cut short to 1 night, all the wet stuff was thrown into the car and we hurried home.

Below is photographic evidence of the camping trip described above – although it isn’t raining, maybe I remember it worse than it was !

I didn’t go camping for a while after that!

Cuddly (in this case a noun) a special toy/item which gives children comfort (especially useful when the child is in a new place, away from home).

Thank the lord for ‘cuddlies’, if you’re sleeping under canvas or not! All my 3 sons had special ‘cuddlies’ when they were young: a baby deer, a bird and an elephant (respectively, in age order). When they were away from home, it helped them to sleep – to cuddle their cuddlies!! When they were at home, the cuddlies also helped them to sleep. Invaluable items to ensure a peaceful bedtime.

God help you if they went missing !

You might have guessed though, this is not a blog simply about my camping experiences – I often think of the experiences that mothers from: Syria, Yemen, Afghanistan, Iraq the list goes on …… have when they leave their homes (never knowing if they can return) by necessity – to sleep under the stars.

I have spoken to women about that moment they leave home. I have seen photographs of them standing with their children on the doorstep of their home – every person carrying a suitably sized rucksack. I have seen photos of the homes they have left, they have told me how their children want to go home, want to play with the toys they have left behind.

I have imagined the conversations that these mothers must have with their children when packing their rucksacks. Do the children want to bring all their favourite toys? How do they choose? Can they choose? Does the mother allow them just one ‘Cuddly’ each, they have a long way to go and they have to carry everything they decide to take with them !

On the beach in Lesvos I found a ‘Cuddly’ among a pile of wet clothes and shoes – (when working with the Dirty Girls of Lesvos). It was an elephant almost exactly like my sons favourite, precious ‘Cuddly’. I thought about the owner of this lonely, wet, Cuddly. Did he/she bring this item of comfort from their home (as my son would have done), only to drop it in the chaos of disembarking in fear/relief/hope(??) from a rubber dingy on the shores of Lesvos in early 2016?

I decided (with permission from Dirty Girls) to take this Cuddly home to my son.. his original Cuddly is called Eli .. his new Cuddly was re-named Phant!! (picture below is Alex with Eli and Phant). Alex still understands the importance of this Cuddly 2 1/2 years later.

I think about my crammed car when camping for a few days – what would I take if I had to carry it on my back for hundreds of miles, what are the ‘essential’ essentials? You would need food, water, clothes, but could you carry a tent and sleeping bags?

I think about when I was pregnant, camping with a toddler. Worrying he would catch cold, get wet from the rain, deciding – Plan B was needed to escape home. Then I remember the pregnant woman I met in Northern Greece, she arrived in the pouring rain with her toddler son and husband. No tent, no blankets, no food, nothing. She was given a festival style tent to protect her and her family from the wind and rain – I don’t know how far they had come to reach this desolate place. I wonder how much they had to carry their son during the journey. They didn’t have a pram and he was too big for a baby sling.

They were given 2 sleeping bags (no roll mats, no mattresses, no pillows….) between them – in this place at this time they were lucky to receive these items – many didn’t even have this.

The juxtaposition of our lives was stark as I sat with her in the battered, broken tent on the cold, concrete floor. We were brought together for such a short time, in such a brutal way. But I was there by choice and I had a Plan B.

I wonder what its like to have your Plan B/C/D… taken from you, when you are trying to protect your family .. but I cant – the thoughts run down my mind like rain down the windows of my Plan B house. Its too painful to put myself in her shoes completely.

The refugee crisis has not gone away – actually it is worse now than when my eyes were opened to it 3 years ago. There are families sleeping on the streets in: Athens; Paris; Brussels…the list goes on… without even a festival style tent to protect them.

The world is truly insane – I think of the grass roots organisations which claim thousands of tents from festivals (more and more each summer), discarded by people who bought the tent simply for the weekend and cant be bothered to pack it away (it’s easier to buy a new one for the next trip)….. these organisations salvage the tents and equipment and deliver them to people who literally need them to survive.

Where is the humanity … europeislost

The brightest lights cast the biggest shadows ….

…and I have been blessed to meet many bright lights from across the globe during my time volunteering. Saying farewell to these bright lights invariably casts shadows across my heart which become manageable with time but never disappear. I struggle with the fact that our cruel borders try so hard to dim these bright lights, so much effort and money to keep these lights from shining.

Below just a few open letters to a few of my blinding lights …

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To my son

It has been 2 years, 4 months since we met in a desolate place where the rain and wind cut through to bone, the only shelters were summer festival tents, the weather was relentless. The conditions were so hard for everyone, especially for the babies, disabled and pregnant women – but also so hard for you, only 24 and alone in the world.

I remember how you laughed as you showed me your ‘home’ destroyed by wind and rain, your clothes and sleeping bag wet .. this was a genuine but dark humour. I hugged you as I thought about my small warm room I would later escape to and have a hot shower; heating, running water and showers were not available to you.

I remember how excited you were asked to work as a translator, typing information from English to Arabic for a grass roots charity. You told me it was one of the best days of your life, you got to use your skills and brain. I know your mind is sharp and eager to be used. The boredom in that place was killing your spirit.

For a time you called me mum, but I haven’t spoken to you for a couple of months now…. this doesn’t mean I don’t think about you – still waiting for your asylum claim to be processed – still in limbo after these years. You don’t know this, but I tried very hard to find a legal route for you to come to England and stay with my family. But the borders are high and cruel in this country.

I know you want to study and learn, to be successful. I hope with all my heart that this happens.

Love Emma

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To my daughters,

I first met you three beautiful ladies, 9 months ago as winter approached Greece. It was a crazy evening, arriving at the tiny airport to be met by a van load of Greek Solidarity people. I was taken to the place were you were living as we were to share this place, this was my home for a time.. I didn’t know that you would be there, I had no idea. It was late, but slowly you appeared one by one, sitting on the outskirts of the room.

The conversation around the table was in Greek, with some translation on occasion, but I felt very welcomed and safe. When the Greek people left, we sat with your brothers at the huge dining table. I was tired and you were maybe a little apprehensive, I had 2 words of Arabic and no Kurdish and your English was in its infancy… but we communicated with our eyes, smiles and (of course) google translate.

The next morning, I came downstairs and it was like we had known each other for years. From then, we shopped, cooked, cleaned, laughed, played, cried and worked together.. we were together every day.

I remember the time you found a blouse in the warehouse which was exactly like your mum’s. You broke down, you were devastated, we sat and talked and hugged, you cried, you were shaken to the core. You returned to work .. but some damage had been done to your heart. Some deep emotions, buried, had been dragged from within you and you struggled to manage them. That evening you fainted and we couldn’t wake you, we lay you on the floor and made sure you were comfortable. We called the doctor .. he said .. these things happen .. its trauma.. he said you would recover, you would wake up eventually. You slowly woke, confused and lost – I was also lost and unsure how best to help you.

I remember you asking me to help your friend, she was so traumatised that she couldn’t stop vomiting. She had cut off her beautiful hair and she was now drifting in and out of consciousness, dehydrated an devastated. I am not sure I was much help, but I was there with you. After the doctor had left and your friend gone home, I lay on your bed with you, stroking your hair until you stopped crying. The next day whilst I was out, to thank me, you cleaned my room and picked a beautiful rose – placing it carefully next to my bed. I never told you, but this gesture made my cry with emotion, it was such a beautiful action and one that I will never forget.

I remember so much your laugh and sense of fun. It was contagious. You didn’t speak much English back in November but we communicated so well. I saw you again just a few weeks ago, you walked into the house we had once shared in the middle of a meeting – with many people. I saw you and jumped up .. running across the room to hug you. You looked the same, yet different. I could see you had grown in confidence. I didn’t care that we disrupted the meeting, my joy at seeing you again was intense and unstoppable. Now you translate as your English has improved so much, I am so so proud of you. You are strong and intelligent and an inspiration to me.

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To my sister,

When I first met you, I could feel you were a force of nature – changing the landscape in ways others did not think possible. It was my first volunteering trip, I was alone and very unsure of how to help. I guess I wanted to hang onto your coat tails for a while, learn from you.

I think I had the energy and naivety of an annoying child, you had been working on Lesvos for months. But due to the intensity of that time, in reality the days were weeks and the months were years. You were patient with me though.

My first day working at the Hope Centre (the renovation of an abandoned hotel in Northern Lesvos) and I decided to investigate the waste water system. I remember how delighted you were that my background was in sewage treatment – random skills!! All of a sudden I felt like I could contribute something of value, 20 years working with shit was finally going to pay off!

Do you remember that I approached this task with the enthusiasm of a yappy puppy? How I worked, looking for the best solution so the Centre could have flushing toilets and showers. The treatment plant was beyond reasonable repair within a reasonable time scale. The electrics sat battered, laying out on the sand, the pipework rusted and damaged and the treatment plant itself was full of holes and in a very bad condition. But I had another solution for the short term – cheap and doable.

With enthusiasm I presented my solution to the man who had given his life to this cause, oh how he was angry with me, he shouted, he was angry. He wanted the plant repaired and was livid that I suggested this may not be practical. I was tactless and he was super passionate (and maybe unrealistic) about his project – the combination not a match made in heaven.

My confidence crashed, but you were there with kind words (and numerous obscenities). I remember sitting in front of the fire at Hope Centre until late that evening – a group of us. Drinking rose wine, on a freezing cold night, you told me about your experiences on Lesvos over the last 6 months. The deaths and human suffering you had seen, the people you had helped, the failure on all fronts of our so called leaders – Governments, NGO’s and big charities alike had all failed humanity on an enormous scale. I wondered how this would affect you long term, the trauma and the frustration and the intense fatigue.

After I had gone home, you stayed in Greece – moving around where the need was most. I volunteered a few more times, but managed to just miss you each time, until we met in Kavala. I guess you hadn’t changed much, the exterior of fierceness, determination and ability to get shit done on a huge scale, coupled with uncertainty and anxiety inside – hidden most of the time.

We have collaborated over the years a few times, but only met in person a couple of times – however, I know that one day we will share a rose wine (or tequila) together. Its the law my sister !!

Emma

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To my best friend,

You are like no friend I have ever had. So shy, so reserved, so calm, so thoughtful – but still waters run deep. You are like the deep ocean, whereas, I am more like the chaotic waves crashing on the shore.

Your situation is so hard that I find it too hard to describe. Of course, I don’t know most of it, because you keep your hardships to yourself, refusing to tell anyone how bad it really is. I know only the surface, only small amounts that I managed to get you to talk about. But, I know there’s more.

I know you struggle to keep motivated and hopeful about your future. The authorities try so hard to dim your bright light: like torture they reject your asylum; like torture they make you wait for who knows how long; like torture they take away your choices and your freedom; like torture they take away your privacy and try to kill your dignity. Even though some days you may feel you want to give up to their tortuous techniques – you never do.

With all this and more, you retain your humanity and your belief in equality. You keep your thirst for the accumulation of knowledge, wisdom and understanding. I don’t know how you do this – really I am in awe.

One day you will have the freedom to choose and to determine your own future. I will be watching, because you are sure to be a huge success,

Emma

“You do have a choice, you can make this world full of peace and love..”

Following the fighting at Vial camp a couple of days ago, I think about this sentence .. which was said to me in earnest by a young Syrian man; Samer on Chios.

He has little sympathy for the people fighting in Vial, he cant understand why they would make this journey (presumably to find peace) – and continue the violence of their home countries on European soil. I understand his point, but also I can understand the behaviour of the young men involved in the fighting. Samer says they have a choice and they chose to fight.

I have always said I have never felt threatened when on camp, and I stand by this 100%. However, I have seen fighting, usually very brief, the pressure building and exploding, then dissipating almost as quickly as it came. It could be: the wrong word said at the wrong time; a thoughtless action; a distribution gone wrong or just pent up frustrations among different cultures.

Vial is a place of intense heat, dust and eternal waiting, waiting, waiting. People are hungry and thirsty (given only 1.5 litre of drinking water per day), temperatures can reach over 35 degrees, some sleep outside, some sleep in excruciatingly hot tents, some have injuries, some have illnesses of the body or the mind (or both).. but all are waiting. Waiting for: their interview; their numbers to come up; their papers; their cartier; their passport; their appeal. They don’t know when any of these will be granted to them, they don’t know if they will be rejected and deported, their lives are in the hands of people far removed from their lives. The days and nights in Vial must be very long, and people are there for months and months.

I think I would go completely crazy in this situation, maybe I would fight (although I’ve never had a fight so I would probably lose drastically), maybe I would shout in the distribution line that my son needs shoes, maybe I would feel that the world was against me because of my; religion/my lack of religion/my skin colour/my nationality/my inability to communicate/ … maybe, probably, definitely all these words apply, how can I know really.

Now there are many young men in the prison, many people in the hospital, many people traumatised by what they have seen. An African man I know on the camp told me, it was like a movie and everyone was so scared, he said he has never ever seen anything like it in his life. He is a huge bear of a man, maybe 6ft 3inches, with a calm, understanding demeanor which tells you straight away… I can trust this man. He was worried about the families in the tents and those sleeping outside, they are so vulnerable with little protection from the violence. Many found it hard to sleep on Saturday night, trauma added to existing trauma.

The police eventually stopped the violence, and arrested people, the ambulances came for the injured. People involved in the violence will likely be kept in prison for a very long time.

Monday morning, around 30 hours after the fighting, I got a message from Samer, he had bought 100 roses, taken to Vial and given them to the staff there: the Police, the UN, the medical and legal staff .. one rose each. I was shocked, why would a Syrian refugee, who had been sent to prison for 3 months for simply being on the island after 2 asylum rejections. A man who was unsure whether the next action from the authorities would be to deport him .. why would he spend the little money he had on such an extravagant gesture. It made no sense to me.

He had managed to get to Vial early in the morning with the 100 roses of various shades, all handpicked with care. He had this planned for a while, and had already negotiated prices with the florist. Whilst at Vial, he went to all the staff and gave them each 1 rose. I do wonder what their reaction was when presented which such a unique gift, what there thoughts and reflections were afterward. I know all were surprised or even shocked, some with happiness, others with undisguised irritation. One guard told him – “go away Malaka” (wanker), but that was just 1 guard.

I spoke to Samer whilst he was still at Vial, unable to get back to the city in the sweltering heat, as his money had been spent on the roses.

I asked him why he had decided to do this. He told me that he wanted to change the mentality of people towards refugees, he wanted the staff at Vial to be given a small bit of love and he was captivated by the idea of his 100 roses adorning the drab, soul less buildings of Vial.

He told me, if only 1 person was touched and moved by his gesture, then he was happy. In many ways this is the same philosophy that I use, I know the work I do is literally a drop in the ocean when face with the enormity of the suffering in Vial and beyond – but I hope the ripples will spread.

I asked Samer how much he had spent on the roses, and how he would manage for the coming month, how he would buy food and phone credit. He told me he wouldn’t talk with me about money, and the conversation was finished abruptly.

He made his choice, that choice was and is love and peace, even in his life of intense uncertainty. I hope that the ripples of peace and love will have a positive affect on the pressure cooker that is Vial and beyond.

Look into my eyes whilst you tell me no……

Part of volunteering is saying “no” to people, this is undoubtedly the hardest part. Sometimes you feel justified in saying “no”, and sometimes your decision to stick to “no” haunts you, maybe forever… I don’t know.

At the last distribution, Area C (mainly tented area hosting a majority of African families) was missed. As I wrote in an earlier blog, the distribution did not go according to plan, it is so difficult to know who has what, and who lives where, as the police will not allow volunteers into the camp. The people in the tents have an even harder time than those in the containers, at the mercy of the weather – torrential rain which soaks their belongings followed by scorching heat, these families have a tough time.

 

So yesterday, my last full day on Chios, we planned another distribution to Area C. We learnt from our previous mistakes: parked away from the FEOX van – to avoid confusion and split the teams, gave vests for the team of 5 to wear – so people knew they were distributing and used the African residents from Area C as the team (as Africans would be the main recipients).

This second distribution was much improved, there was considerably less tension, but there were still problems. One man in particular, stood by the car demanding to be given a bag. This man is well known for this behaviour, I felt quite confident in smiling, being polite and telling him firmly that he got a bag last week, this distribution was for the people who received nothing. I looked in his eyes and told him clearly and firmly .. “no”.

My reasons for saying “no” were translated by my good friend and ‘adopted son’; (let’s call him Joe), but he was not deterred. The man shouted and pointed, making Joe quite angry, it seems he was saying some quite threatening things about me and about damaging the car. I can say with complete honesty that at no point was I worried about this man. I knew it was a show, he had no intention of carrying out any threats, he wanted to cause trouble and was prepared to get the police to stop the distribution if he didn’t get the bag he wanted.  I felt safe with the other residents of the camp, there to tell the man to be quiet and go away.  Joe however did not share my calm, he is young and has had an incredibly tough life, living in Vial does not help a person develop a relaxed outlook.

With Joe translating, a tall, stately man from Syria apologised for the man’s behaviour. He thanked us over and over again for our help. The angry man was then frog marched away by a couple of Arabic men, apologising for him as they went. I can understand that Vial can make a person crazy.

A few other people came asking for bags, I explained through Joe that, “no” bags would given from the car, and only given today to Area C. Mostly, this was OK with a few grumblings. I understand this, the food in Vial is truly terrible, so fresh vegetables, spices, tea and dried foods are in much demand.

During the times when the Team were away delivering, women would come to the car and ask me to write their needs for clothes. I had to say “no”, I knew that the next day I and other volunteers were leaving. Already there were around 50 bags for distribution the next day. I could n’t take orders when I was leaving and unable to fulfill promises. The FEOX team already had work to catch up on. I am now haunted by one woman I said “no” to, I regret it so much. She asked to register I clothes, I was busy with the shouting man and getting the food out. I said I couldn’t take her order today as today was food and clothes distribution. Tomorrow FEOX would take orders. She looked and me, I can see the desperation and quiet pleading now, clearer than I did at the time. She told me her belongings had got wet in the rain, she was living in a tent with her family. I looked into her eyes as I told her “no”, now this decision to say “no” haunts me and I will never forget her eyes, why didn’t I just take the order, I could of done that.

The police came along to see what was happening, luckily they did not stop the distribution, but they asked us to make it quick. The men in the distribution had to walk quite a long way in the heat, carrying heavy bags. They were tired and sweating, back and forth to the car.

 

 

Eventually, there were only about 5 bags left. Then the police came over and told us we had to leave – time was up. They said either give the bags to some families waiting around the car or take them away. Obviously, we didn’t want to take them away, these families had tiny babies with them and young children.

Before the Team got back, I moved the car away to the car park as instructed by the police. We readied to leave when one of the Team came to car. With a look of devastation, he said, “my family didn’t get any food, are there any bags left”. I was shocked, “no” I said, “I am so sorry”. I looked into his eyes as he said “sorry, really??”. I told him I leave for England tomorrow, so I couldn’t promise anything (I never promise). He quietly accepted this and shook my hand, saying goodbye.

Actually, all of the men in the distribution did not take a pack for themselves and their families. They had worked so hard to complete the food distribution, sweating in the heat, thirsty and hot. This compassion, empathy and work had now resulted in their families losing out on a food pack. I wondered what their wives would say, them returning with nothing.

I couldn’t sleep, thinking about this “no”, how unfair, how could the members of the Team help with such selflessness and enthusiasm again if their families suffered as a result ? I knew I had to make time the next morning to get to Lidl and buy some food for the Team. I bought the food and it in black trash bags and parked at Vial further down the road, this way the food could be taken in without people noticing.

I got the food to the Team, this was one “no” that needn’t haunt me

Solidarity X

Yes ….. you can choose.

For displaced people here on the island of Chios, and all around the world – one thing which is taken from them is choice.  Their choices on so limited.  Where they live, what they eat and what time they eat it, whether their children can go to school, whether they can work … the list is endless.

Life choices are something I guess many (including me) take for granted.  From something as simple as what you buy for dinner, to a change of career later in life (as I have done).

I have just returned from Vial camp, it had been raining and the ground was full of water and mud.  We had a few deliveries to make and had paper and a few pens for the kids to draw some pictures.  All went well, we put down the plastic tarpaulin, the children came.  They sat in a circle (well kind of) and had 1 piece of paper each.  In the middle a box of colouring pens, I told them they could have 1 pen each and when they wanted another they changed it, putting the other pen back in box. .. and this worked most of the time.  They shared and created pictures, we talked about what they had drawn.

To be honest, I was amazed how well they shared together, OK a few fights, but thats to be expected.

What was poignant for me was when I brought out a selection of small stickers: stars, animals, smiley faces etc.  At first they all went crazy, shouting “me my friend, me, me”.  I told them to stand in a line (one of the first English words these kids learn), and they lined up for 1 sticker – then to the back of the line for another.  I took the time to let them choose which sticker they wanted and where they wanted to put it, I could see in their faces how they relished this choice.  Such a small choice, but it was theirs to make.

At the end a girl of around 10 years old gave me the box with the pens in (this was really a special moment) and I saw that she had put all the tops back on, plus she had used her stickers to decorate the box.  I thanked her, what a truly beautiful gesture.

 

You can judge a society by how its treats the most vulnerable

This is an amended quote from Ghandi and if we think this is true then Europe must be judged very harshly.

I met a man in Vial camp last week, he is one of the most vulnerable people I have ever met. From Syria, he lost his family during an air strike and was very badly injured. Somehow, he and his cousin managed to make it to Greece. I find it hard to imagine how they suffered on the way, not even taking into account how their lives were marred by war and persecution before they got here.

So they arrive on a rubber dinghy and are taken to Vial, the man (I will call him Paul) is taken to Vial camp. There a doctor sees him and sends him to the hospital, soon after, the hospital discharges him back to Vial.

He lives in a small green tent out of sight at the back of the camp, outside the main camp due to lack of space. He can only eat pureed food and so his cousin tries to keep him alive by mashing up food for him. To eat, he needs to lie on his back and the food poured into his mouth, he has very little of jaw left and maybe even no tongue. Paul’s cousin is finding is harder and harder to feed him. Psychologically they are both traumatised.

The next morning I contacted the Doctor in Vial (just by luck another volunteer knew him) and made an appointment before the afternoon surgery started. A member of Chios Solidarity is also pressurising UNHCR. The same morning, I took some baby food, juice and water (with sports caps) – small things, but I hoped it would give Paul some nutrition before he saw the doctor, and help his cousin to care for him. When he was given the food and cried with gratitude. Let that sink in for a minute.. this is how we treat the traumatised and vulnerable.

The doctor has put through an urgent appeal to have Paul moved into an apartment, along with his cousin. They may not be able to treat Paul’s extensive injuries on Chios – so I pray for an urgent transfer to Athens for treatment.

#whereisthehumanity #vial

Love and solidarity

Emma

Sometimes you simply can’t make order from chaos. #vial

After much planning and preparation, today was the day we did the food distribution at Vial Camp. Many, many people had collaborated to fund-raise, shop and the pack the food. One dry food pack (rice, pasta, tomato sauce, sugar, mushroom sauce, tin opener, cooking oil, dates) and one fresh food pack (potatoes, courgette, lemon, onion, stock cube, spice, biscuits) for each container / tent, not a lot of food – but enough to prepare a few meals. Sounds simple yeah?

 

I

I knew it would be difficult, but we had a plan…

Tent to tent distribution is usually most efficient, so we thought this would be the best way. As we are not allowed into camp, we had 2 teams of camp residents who would come to the cars and take the bags into the camp – tent to tent or container to container. Also, we had many people who could translate to explain the system.

Things did not go according to plan for a number of reasons, there are definitely lessons to be learnt, for instance: the people in the distribution team should have been given hi-vis vests to show they were conducting the distribution (visually it seemed that we were giving aid from the van – it confused things) and it would have helped if we given written information (translated into the different languages) the day before explaining how the distribution would work. At times tensions ran quite high with people frustrated at the system and the people running it.

I don’t know how to make order from chaos when it comes to Vial, there are too many people crowded into a camp which is equipped for survival only and not for living. This makes helping in a fair way nearly impossible. Now I sit and think of the people who missed out today and didn’t receive a food pack because the plan fell apart. I also think though that the people in Vial have 440 more food packs than they did yesterday.

Solidarity

Emma

Art for Survival … of the body and mind

I arrived yesterday – and as is the ultra strange time paradox that is volunteering – already feel I have been here a couple of weeks.

I am always amazed at the grass roots networks which function by people working together to get things done. At midnight at Athens airport, I met with a young displaced guy from Syria named Salim living in Athens. With him he had a suitcase full of art canvasses and paints, for me to take to Chios. These were on behalf of a project run from America by a tireless lady – Kayra. She sends out the equipment for refugee artists (both trained and untrained) to paint canvasses. Then she sells them and sends the money back to displaced people to help with rent and living costs. This is her group Love Without Borders.

So yesterday, I met with one of these artists (I will call him Hamid as he doesnt want to be named), to drop off the canvasses, paints and rent.

Hamid, from Syria really does have the heart of an artist. He tells me how loves to paint, it helps him to express emotions and he feels great when painting and proud when he finishes a painting. He doesn’t however have much space to paint, as shares a small 1 room flat with 3 other people.

Hamid tells me how he was arrested on Chios and held in custody for 2 months, his crime.. he had an asylum rejection. He told me that the police were kind to him though, laughing and joking – helping the days pass. He speaks with very good English, learnt through interacting with volunteers over the past year.

After 2 rejections from the asylum process, he is waiting to see if he will be deported back to Turkey. During the appeal process he is not entitled to money or accommodation. I ask him why he has been rejected, he is from Syria, surely this means he is an eligible candidate to claim asylum. However, as he is a single male, he is bottom of the list, it is viewed that he could live anywhere, so the authorities deem it acceptable to refuse his application.

He wants to work and above all Hamid wants to help. He wants to help with the children in Vial, maybe painting, maybe teaching. He has the quiet, kind depth of a highly intelligent man with compassion and drive to succeed. Among many things, we talked about gender equality and the need for women to have equal status within Arab societies. He has so much to offer and yet all he do is wait and hope. I ask him what will happen if his appeal is rejected and he is sent to Turkey, he looked at me with large hazel eyes and told me, no .. he wont be going back to Turkey – he would die first, on the island of Chios.

Kids, Solidarity and Chios

So tomorrow I travel to Athens followed by a night at the airport and then the 5.30am fight to Chios.

As ever, emotions are mixed, infact so mixed it’s hard to distinguish them.

I know some of my Yazidi family are still on the island after over 12 months. I am excited to see them, but so sad they have been waiting so long to be reunited with their families.

As well I am looking forward to catching up with the Greek Solidarity groups. But I know they are stressed after trying to provide some humanity for so many years with no respite. . And coping with diminishing hope of an end to the man made suffering. .. this is without even starting on Vial.

Solidarity is so important, as is informing people as to the situation?, the media has to some extent lost interest and the politicians frankly don’t seem to care.

Yesterday I gave a short talk to some 10 /11 year olds and asked them to write some Eid cards for me to take to Vial camp. Here’s a selection..

As well as this I have beautiful Eid decorations produced by children across Leicestershire.. and it’s well worth the weight in my case ..

I have to say .. some of the messages brought tears to my eyes .. kids give me hope .

I also have a beautiful selection of summer scarves.. packed tightly into an extra case.

So tomorrow I embark on my sixth trip .. with around 3k of donations from the community and friends..

Solidarity rules . We are one human race

Emma xxx

She had beautiful dreams

Just a couple of days ago a boat ‘went down’ , now we all know what this means – little explanation needed.

A flimsy boat, crossing the open sea carrying precious cargo – humans escaping war – sunk before reaching its destination. It does not register on the main news (I mean, come on, a cray fish escaped a cooking pot in China – much more newsworthy).

Humans who have paid probably 20 x the amount it would cost to travel safely on the ferry, gathered thousands of euros and holding their children’s hands took the journey which was to be their last.

I cant comprehend this situation – a situation where this is allowed to happen..

… people forced to leave their homes, to escape war – have to pay smugglers thousands of euros for the privilege of attempting to cross a small stretch of open sea to seek safety for their families.

I love my family and would protect them with my life, as Muneera Ebo (above) loved her daughters and would protect them with her life, now they become another 3 drowned refugees – numbers, UNHCR statistics. Muneera however, was no number, she was a woman, a mother with dreams – these dreams became dreams of need not want … dreams of necessity and survival…a Syrian, from Afrin, – her home became a place of war and danger, a place she was forced to leave seeking refuge for herself and her children.

Being forced to leave your home is a concept hard to imagine. Being a refugee is a concept hard to imagine – to be without a home, papers, the means to provide for your family.. without rights..

I recently met a beautiful Iraqi poet in Leicester, her name Malka. She has: energy, spirit, talent and intelligence. She has written poetry about her exile from her homeland.

“My home is gone

My heart is broken

My tears said:

write a book.”

Malka al-Haddad

If you read her book “Birds without Sky” you can gain a tiny insight of the pain of leaving your home – of becoming a refugee .. written so beautifully and heart wrenching…extract below from “I’m Human”.

“I had beautiful dreams

I had friends, brothers, sisters, sweet parents and pink hopes

I had green gardens, tall palms and olive trees

I had warm winter

Blue rivers

Red flowers

I was born on land before the crossing of swords on the body

Turned it into a banquet table ”

Malka al-Haddad

You can buy the book from Amazon – link below;

Birds Without Sky; Malka al-Haddad