I realize this blog post isn't exactly a first-impression post (nor, in fact, maybe "initial"), but at the moment, it feels like the best I can do. Two weeks in to our stay here, this is about as far as I've been able to process. [Note: it has now been 4 weeks since we got here - sorry for the delay, I was waiting for approval to post this entry from the NGOs media personnel]
- Our little town, Molyvos, smells very pleasant. Pine, thyme, sun-dried grass, hints of lavender, sea-water, roses, olive trees, and some kind of flower bush that looks like rhododendrons but isn't are the scents that swirl around on the breeze. In fact, I'd say it's the most consistently pleasant smelling place we've been since we left the evergreen forests of Washington. Chiang Mai smelled like exhaust fumes, Burma smelled like forest fires, Venice smelled like sea water - not stinky and unpleasant, just sea water - Rome smelled like dog turds, and Athens smelled like urine. Lesvos smells wonderful.
- The craft of cobblestone laying is still alive and well here. And my stabilizer muscles in my feet and ankles have developed their strength.
- It's still hard to wrap my head around the refugee situation. For some reason, I thought being here would help me get a better idea of what this journey is really like for people.
Here's what I've figured out:
Turkey is literally visible from this town. On a walk this evening at sunset, we could see half a dozen little clusters of light across the water from Lesvos which are little villages and communities in Turkey.
It costs these refugees €1200 paid to smugglers to travel by leaky, overcrowded boat the 6 miles of water to get here, according to one report I heard from a local volunteer. By comparison, I can purchase a ticket on a ferry back to Athens (11 hours away and on the other side of Agean) for €10.
The teenage boys I've met (working at camp where unaccompanied children are living after recently being removed from a detention center here on the island) are just like many teenage boys I've encountered - playing card games, hanging out with friends, video chatting or calling their family back in their home countries, trying to learn about something they're interested in, sleeping in late, and talking passionately about food are all daily occurrences.
The refugees literally are given the clothes on their back, the beds they sleep on, the blankets they sleep in, the shoes they wear, and the bags they carry their stuff in. When they come off the boats wet and cold, sometimes they are taken straight to the island's detention center, or (if they're lucky) they are given a change of clothes, their old clothes go into a recycle or throw-away bin, and they walk out of the changing tent at the camp in a stranger's hand-me-down clothes. They are housed in a camp sleeping in cots with wool blankets (when available - some refugees are not provided with even an "official" place to sleep) and they are eligible to go get more/new clothes if they trade in old clothes as needed.
The living situation for these boys (at least at this one camp whe we've been) is both better and worse than I imagined - the tents are large, bright, and clean. The toilets are pit squatties, but they don't stink too bad. They have access to wifi and a tv to watch movies and books and games. They are free to come and go from the camp, but some shop keepers in the town won't serve them. And they wash themselves and their clothes out of a facet outside - no private showers here.
Here's what I don't know:
How did these unaccompanied minors get enough money to take that boat ride? To survive all the way from their home me countries?
What must they have endured to get here?
What will they still have to endure?
What must their mothers and fathers feel - what was it like to send your teenage (or younger!) son to make this perilous, dangerous journey with the realization that you might realistically never seem them again?
What do they think of this new culture they find themselves in - a culture that is a temporary hodge-podge of migrants from the East and volunteers primarily from the West?
What do they hope their futures will look like?
Do they ever feel like they can let their guard down and be at peace?
What do the sibling pairs talk about when it's just the two of them?
What where they thinking on that boat crossing from Turkey to Greece?
For today, sometimes sitting down to play cards or drawing my family tree and teaching the English words for all the different family relationships in English class at the camp seem like about all I can do.
I only hope that the laughs with the boys, the friendly coaching they gave me on which cards to play, and the arm of a teenager slung over my shoulder as I walked toward the reception area to check out and say my goodbyes indicate that those actions somehow communicate what I wish I could say clearly: "I don't know what to do to make this a better experience for you - to make this life better for you - and I feel so inadequately capable of doing anything! But I want you to know that you are important to me, you are loved by me, and I'm trying to understand what this journey has been like for you so you don't have to feel alone."
- Dani
- Our little town, Molyvos, smells very pleasant. Pine, thyme, sun-dried grass, hints of lavender, sea-water, roses, olive trees, and some kind of flower bush that looks like rhododendrons but isn't are the scents that swirl around on the breeze. In fact, I'd say it's the most consistently pleasant smelling place we've been since we left the evergreen forests of Washington. Chiang Mai smelled like exhaust fumes, Burma smelled like forest fires, Venice smelled like sea water - not stinky and unpleasant, just sea water - Rome smelled like dog turds, and Athens smelled like urine. Lesvos smells wonderful.
- The craft of cobblestone laying is still alive and well here. And my stabilizer muscles in my feet and ankles have developed their strength.
- It's still hard to wrap my head around the refugee situation. For some reason, I thought being here would help me get a better idea of what this journey is really like for people.
Here's what I've figured out:
Turkey is literally visible from this town. On a walk this evening at sunset, we could see half a dozen little clusters of light across the water from Lesvos which are little villages and communities in Turkey.
It costs these refugees €1200 paid to smugglers to travel by leaky, overcrowded boat the 6 miles of water to get here, according to one report I heard from a local volunteer. By comparison, I can purchase a ticket on a ferry back to Athens (11 hours away and on the other side of Agean) for €10.
The teenage boys I've met (working at camp where unaccompanied children are living after recently being removed from a detention center here on the island) are just like many teenage boys I've encountered - playing card games, hanging out with friends, video chatting or calling their family back in their home countries, trying to learn about something they're interested in, sleeping in late, and talking passionately about food are all daily occurrences.
The refugees literally are given the clothes on their back, the beds they sleep on, the blankets they sleep in, the shoes they wear, and the bags they carry their stuff in. When they come off the boats wet and cold, sometimes they are taken straight to the island's detention center, or (if they're lucky) they are given a change of clothes, their old clothes go into a recycle or throw-away bin, and they walk out of the changing tent at the camp in a stranger's hand-me-down clothes. They are housed in a camp sleeping in cots with wool blankets (when available - some refugees are not provided with even an "official" place to sleep) and they are eligible to go get more/new clothes if they trade in old clothes as needed.
The living situation for these boys (at least at this one camp whe we've been) is both better and worse than I imagined - the tents are large, bright, and clean. The toilets are pit squatties, but they don't stink too bad. They have access to wifi and a tv to watch movies and books and games. They are free to come and go from the camp, but some shop keepers in the town won't serve them. And they wash themselves and their clothes out of a facet outside - no private showers here.
Here's what I don't know:
How did these unaccompanied minors get enough money to take that boat ride? To survive all the way from their home me countries?
What must they have endured to get here?
What will they still have to endure?
What must their mothers and fathers feel - what was it like to send your teenage (or younger!) son to make this perilous, dangerous journey with the realization that you might realistically never seem them again?
What do they think of this new culture they find themselves in - a culture that is a temporary hodge-podge of migrants from the East and volunteers primarily from the West?
What do they hope their futures will look like?
Do they ever feel like they can let their guard down and be at peace?
What do the sibling pairs talk about when it's just the two of them?
What where they thinking on that boat crossing from Turkey to Greece?
For today, sometimes sitting down to play cards or drawing my family tree and teaching the English words for all the different family relationships in English class at the camp seem like about all I can do.
I only hope that the laughs with the boys, the friendly coaching they gave me on which cards to play, and the arm of a teenager slung over my shoulder as I walked toward the reception area to check out and say my goodbyes indicate that those actions somehow communicate what I wish I could say clearly: "I don't know what to do to make this a better experience for you - to make this life better for you - and I feel so inadequately capable of doing anything! But I want you to know that you are important to me, you are loved by me, and I'm trying to understand what this journey has been like for you so you don't have to feel alone."
- Dani
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