LESBOS - Days 15 - 28

The pattern over the past week or so has been no boats for a couple of days, so everyone relaxes and starts doing other stuff, like cleaning the beaches and sorting through donated medication, and then a flurry of boats that take everyone by surprise.  Then quiet for a few days again......
Meanwhile we continue to hear of 'capsizing boats' in Turkish waters and the helicopters buzz overhead looking for people in the water and then we read of the drownings. We also hear that Greece has formed an agreement that recognises Turkey as a 'safe country'. This means that the refugees that arrive in Lesbos, provided they didn't originate in Turkey but only passed through it, can be simply returned there. A torturous and tortuous 'solution' that merely sweeps the problem out of Europe and under Turkey's carpet. More recently we hear of NATO sending ships and we wonder whether Lesbos will see any more refugee boats. Or maybe the NATO ships have nothing to do with refugees and everything to do with Russia. We also wonder what will become of the ever increasing number of refugees accumulating in Turkey like a time bomb.

A group of five volunteers from Lighthouse decided to go to Idomeni on the Greek-Macedonia border where there is a bottleneck of refugees who are apparently cold and hungry and in need of support, particularly during the periods when the border is closed.  Lighthouse let them take their van, which they will fill with supplies and deliver to the refugees.  Shortly afterwards Lighthouse sent a small medical team to Idomeni to do a reccy and assess the medical need.

Grace and I found a room in Skala and moved across from Molyvos ten days ago.  It's a huge relief not to have to drive either of those treacherous roads everyday and it's great to be in Skala - so close to camp. Downside is shared bathrooms - but the five rooms are occupied by eleven Lighthouse volunteers, so we're all in it together and it's like being a student again, complete with vodka parties on the kitchen floor. And shared bathrooms are frankly a massive improvement on the camp Portaloos (boak).

The evening before we moved over to Skala there was a 'last night' celebration for a couple of people who were leaving.  We had a stupendous feast in a restaurant in the harbour then popped into the local café Goji for 'just one more drink'.  Unfortunately that drink turned out to be Ouzo....and the rest, as they say, is history.  The next minute it was 4am and we were dancing to Stevie Wonder. I have no idea how that happened. As Grace and I had nowhere to stay some of the night-shift volunteers had offered their beds and poor Marcy - the sweetest, smiliest 19 year old Californian girl - arrived back, shattered, after her nightshift and is far too lovely to kick the unconscious middle-aged snoring woman out of her bed, so sat patiently in the kitchen reading a book until I emerged, staggering, like some sort of bleary-eyed and much less attractive Patsy, from Ab Fab.

Unfortunately, a few days later (but entirely unrelated),  I succumbed to what we're calling 'Syrian Flu' - chills, sweat and rigors followed by (in my case) an episode of profuse vomiting, and morphing into an unpleasant and painful bronchitis. Although that might have something to do with the fact that I've been smoking since I've been here. Which is very bad. But in my defence so has everyone else.  It's almost impossible not to.  And I promise promise promise I won't smoke when I get home.  It's a temporary aberration associated with being transported into an insane topsy-turvy world full of uncertainty, stress, loitering, sociability, anxiety, sadness, anticipation, confusion, misery, comradery and reflection.

 *lights another fag*

We had a day off and took a drive down to Moria, the big camp in the south where all refugees are required to register. The main part is in a former prison and we're not allowed in.  Double barbed wire topped boundaries keep us out and the refugees in. There's a big military presence.  Adjacent is another camp called 'Afghan Hill', a camp created and run entirely by volunteers to accommodate refugees who are awaiting registration or have registration and are awaiting the opportunity to catch the ferry to Athens. Prior to the evolution of the camp they were sleeping in the open.

The past few days have been spent looking after George, the new abandoned deaf lamb who's been adopted by camp, dolphin-watching and hanging out in Goji cafe, speculating about what's actually going on on the stretch of water between us and Turkey, and what the future will hold for Lesbos, the volunteers and the refugees, whilst Dimitri, a local cross-dresser, parades along the quay-side in his latest risqué ensemble. The three medics (myself, Jenny and Killian) have been juggling the on-call medics phone between us and Grace did a night shift in camp during which she had a little kip in the warming tent and got into a furious strop when she woke to find that she'd missed Ai Weiwei, who'd come to have a look around camp.

On the day before we left we went for a long hike along the coast to the lighthouse at Korakas, on the most easterly point of the north shore, where we met up with a team from Lighthouse Relief who were beach cleaning and boat cutting (the abandoned rubber dinghies that have been washing about in the surf and rocks need cutting into sections in order to remove them). On the way back, Jenny and Grace went for a swim in the icy Aegean sea.  Not me though.  Obviously.

The day after a brilliant Last Supper we left the island and started our comfortable journey back across Europe to our comfortable homes and our comfortable lives. It's been a privilege to have been able to spend some time in Lesbos, helping to welcome Syrians, Afghans and Iraqis to Europe and offer them a tiny bit of comfort after the terrible ordeal they've been through. Shame  on us all that the love and respect and compassion shown to them on the beaches of Lesbos will likely not be echoed throughout their uncomfortable and treacherous journey through Europe, but I hope that they will at least stay safe and will eventually find some sort of secure lives for themselves and their families, and that the scars of the losses they suffered along the way will eventually heal. And I hope they manage to avoid those nasty little pockets of ignorant fear and bigotry that fester throughout society.

It's been an odd month. I've intentionally avoided sentimentality whilst writing this blog (far too British), despite the heart-breaking tales that punctuate every day spent on Lesbos. But it's not all been tragic. The best thing about the whole experience is the people.  They are completely and utterly brilliant. That includes the Greek locals and the diverse groups of volunteers from all over the world, from all walks of life, and from all age groups.  Everyone smiles at each other. Everyone helps each other. Everyone is kind to each other, regardless of race, age, nationality, gender or social background. No-one is paid and no-one is in charge and yet everyone works together and pulls together and co-operates with each other to create an effective and efficient response to the crisis of thousands of cold ,wet and distraught refugees washing up on the beaches of the northern shore. It has literally restored my faith in humanity. It's wonderfully heartening to find yourself surrounded by people who share your view of the world, rather than having to seek them out, which I find gets harder as I get older for some reason, I know not why. It's this, rather than the horrors of why we're all here, that has touched me most and has shifted my perception of the world.  Perhaps love will conquer evil after all - who knows? Lesbos has at least given me hope.

(Sorry about the sentimentality.)

*burps*

*farts*

LESVOS - Days 11,12,13 & 14

Funny old days. Having braced ourselves for a camp full of resident refugees, nothing happened. The shit missed the fan.  The next day no boats came.  Nor the next day. We heard that the Turks were escorting refugee boats to Greek waters and that Greek naval ships were picking them up and taking them to Mytilene to register and then straight onto ferries to Athens. Or in other words, doing what they should have been doing all along. 

The sun shone and there was a mood of cautious optimism (with undertones of suspicion) on the shore. We watched the patrolling ships and marvelled at the beauty of the deadly sea.  A meeting was called.  It was decided that we would use the lull as an opportunity to improve things - e.g.  build a bigger women and children’s changing area,  cut up boats, etc  I set about reorganising and making an inventory of the medical unit. Jenny started work on an induction package for future medics. Grace went beach cleaning.

One evening we went to a slightly grotty-looking and remote  taverna/hotel where Proactiva (voluntary Spanish lifeguards) are based and had the most fabulous traditional Greek food (including a whole fried squid) to celebrate Milou’s last night.  Milou is a very lovely young Dutch girl, whose Paediatrician father was here too, last week.

The next evening we climbed up into a derelict hotel on the cliff behind the camp and watched dolphins leapfrogging across the pink sea then stayed up late drinking with Flo, a Swiss retired lawyer who insisted on paying for all the wine as it was his last night.

 

There are volunteers here from all corners of the globe and all walks of life. Eric, the 55year old Alaskan paramedic. Karen and Colin, the middle-aged British couple. Justine and Julie, Swiss students. Marie, Spanish nurse.  Lots of Catalonians. Stefan, German film-maker. Curtis, 19year old EMT from Portland. Cath, Australian nurse.  Mustafa, Swedish doctor of Pakistan origin. And Lasse, 74year old Swede who works tirelessly, chopping wood and cleaning out dustbins. What a guy. The joy of being surrounded by people with the same view of the world. And ZERO bigotry. That’s definitely the best bit.

Newer volunteers wondered whether Lesvos had seen its last refugee boat. Long term volunteers were more skeptical; there had been a similar hiatus in November.There were speculations about the reasons - is it a result of pressure from the EU? Or is it because of the presence on the island of visiting dignitaries? Or is it because the Greek football team staged a sit down protest about the latest tragic drownings?

We started hearing various rumours and detected an air of anxiety amongst the NGOs.  The camp had a visit from officials who said we were no longer permitted to cook food for refugees or volunteers.  We worry about the fate Carolina, the camp black lamb who likes to sleep in the kitchen, so a barrier was built to keep her out of that particular tent. She’s very upset. We have been asked to throw out all out-of-date medication and all codeine, opiates and benzodiazepines have been taken away as they are illegal.  It looks like we will have to get rid of all non-Greek medication too (basically all of it) and restock, somehow, with Greek meds. Marie, a Spanish nurse, returned from a visit to the Hope Centre where she had found a sombre mood - they had had a visit from Greek officials who had declared their operation illegal.  They had no licence and were not permitted to house refugees, even on a temporary basis. All volunteers, independent or attached to NGOs are going to be required to register at the Ministry of the Aegean or risk arrest. Everyone is a bit twitchy.  Except Platanos, the anarchists, who don’t give a fuck about rules and regulations and won’t be told what to do by anyone.  Go Platanos, you brilliant people.

 

It feels as if there are moves afoot to criminalise NGOs and discourage volunteers from coming to Lesvos. A local Swedish nurse, who is married to a Greek and has lived in Skala for 26 years (and works every day at Lighthouse), tells us that some local factions feel that by welcoming refugees on the beaches the NGOs are encouraging them to come.  I sympathise with local Greeks - not only is their economy crippled but they have lost their income from tourism because of this crisis. But there is NO WAY a mother or father would put their children in a flimsy rubber dinghy on icy seas in the pitch black, with full knowledge of the thousands of previous drownings, unless they were fleeing death or a life not worth living.  No way. They certainly wouldn’t be encouraged to do so by the promise of a dry pair of socks and a cup of sweet tea.

Having been lulled into a false sense of security, yesterday the boats started arriving again. Marit (the Swedish nurse) lives in a house on the beach and last night in the early hours she was woken by shouting. A refugee boat had made it to shore.  It wasn’t a dinghy, but some sort of speedboat, with 27 refugees on board.  It was hotly pursued by a Frontex boat (Frontex is the European border agency) and the police on board threatened the refugees with guns, forcing them to sit down on the beach or they would be shot. Four or five refugees tried to escape but were captured, and all the refugees were then taken on board the Frontex boat, which took them off, presumably to Mytilene. Marit has never known this to happen before. 

At camp the next morning I received a call on the medical phone from Greenpeace to say two boats were headed to Skala.  This took everyone by surprise and there was a bit of confusion (there are organised channels of communication regarding news of refugee boats, which Greenpeace don’t seem to be entirely familiar with), but the boats arrived safely and everyone was OK.  Except one man, who could speak no English, and handed me his mobile phone. A friend of his told me in English that this man had lost his family - they had been separated in Turkey - and wanted to know how he could find them. I had absolutely no idea. He was given the number of the Red Cross who are working to reunite families. I hope they are alive and that he finds them.  He looked utterly bereft.

One of the Proactiva lifeguards said that the Greek coastguards have a brand new boat, and there was a big inauguration ceremony yesterday, hence the absence of the coastguard on the water and the ‘slipping through the net’ of refugee boats.  But that’s just speculation.  There’s a lot of speculation.

In the meantime we shall wait, with baited breath, dry clothes and a welcoming smile.