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*
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*
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