Working at a refugee camp on Samos island, Greece
By Constance Kratsa, Oxford MBA 2016/17
It is not possible to explain the refugee crisis and the factors that have led to it in a few words. We constantly read about it in the press and view traumatic images; but these do not provide us with answers, instead, they raise more questions about this complex situation and its tragic consequences.
Millions of people have left their homes and fled their countries to seek a better future for themselves and their families. They have trusted strangers with their own lives. They have walked for hours or used dangerous means of transportation until they reached Turkey. They have then sought different ways to reach Europe. Many of them embarked on a boat to Greece, the gateway to the European Union. “God was with us, we had a good sea and managed to reach Greece in one go, some people attempted many times and some never managed to get there,” Saeed told me. He had decided to take the risk and travel with his children and niece.
Their stories obviously vary. Omar, for instance, swam from the Turkish coast to the island of Samos, for seven hours straight. Impossible as it may sound, this is explained by the fact that he used to be a national football player for his country and is physically very fit. When I speak with him, smartphones facilitate our conversation. Omar shows me pictures of his old football tournaments around the world, and using the refugee camp wifi he shows me YouTube videos of the goals he scored. He travelled to Belgium and Qatar, among other countries, and participated in championships around the world. Of course, back in those days, he did his travelling on planes. The conversation continues, but his English is limited and my Arabic is almost non-existent (even after three years of living in Dubai). There is only so far that body language can take us, so we start using Google Translate.
I am struck, as I have been during my whole time in this camp, at how central technology is to communication. Thanks to smartphones, refugees are able to communicate with their family members back home or with those who have already reached their desired destination. Smartphones are also a means of entertainment, especially for the late teenagers and the adults. But more importantly, they serve as a distraction from their problems and their concerns about the future. When I ask them where they want to go, the majority reply “Sweden”. Young people tell me that they want to study and work. Masema, 19, from Mali, tells me that he wants to train in something, anything. He tries to speak in English but switches to French when he is getting too frustrated and cannot remember the English words. He tells me that he fears his life will be wasted away if he just sits at the camp without using his brain for something.
The young children experience a wholly different reality in the camps. They seem to be having the time of their lives and in many ways they really are. It is summer-camp for them every day. The humanitarian organisations focus predominantly on the children, teaching them languages; apart from their mother tongue, which is usually Arabic, Farsi, Urdu, or Kurdish, they also teach them English and Greek. Games and events are organised for young children all the time.
Specially-issued “Child Passports” allow parents to claim goods out of the containers. A lady asks me for “Pampers 3! Wipes, shampoo and milk!” presenting her Child Passport. It is my first day and I am inside one of the large containers, standing behind an open window. My training ended just a few minutes ago, and she is the first lady to be served. I check her passport — which is valid — and note down what I give her. Ten minutes ago, I did not even know that Pampers came in different sizes! I am realising once again how clueless I am about babies!
“Why you not married?” I am often asked. This question typically comes from refugees in their early 20s who already have between two and five children. My English language student from Syria, Tahin, is one of them. She is 19 and has two young boys. I do not actually know how to answer this question. A young man from Afghanistan, Zabi, asks me about the whole generation of women my age in Europe who are not married. His friends in different countries have informed him that it is a pan-European phenomenon. I am glad that the question is no longer personal and I try to find ways to explain the socio-economic reasons for this: that women in my generation tend to start families later than the previous generations and that they tend to focus on their studies and careers before getting married.
This refugee crisis is a global humanitarian crisis, but it is also strongly present in my home country, Greece, on top of the severe economic crisis already affecting the country. The gravity of the refugee crisis calls for everyone’s attention and everyone’s assistance. That call is heard by many people. In the camp, I meet volunteers from all around the world: Spain, France, Switzerland, Croatia, USA, UK, Holland, Australia, Germany, Sweden, Portugal, Romania, Ireland, and other countries I may have forgotten. Each volunteer is driven by his or her own reasons, and each contributes in any way he or she can.
As for me, I took only a short holiday in the Greek islands, visiting friends and family, and then went to a neighbouring island to help. It was not all that easy to organise it, though. I had to spend months sending applications and emails before I was invited by an approved organisation and accepted to work at the refugee camp. (I am grateful to Manos, for offering me this opportunity and to Bogdan for trusting me.)
One of my main tasks was to teach English, swimming and drama games. “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes” is a popular rhyme when working with children and a useful way to gather all the kids around to start the day’s teaching. Many times, I had to patrol around the camp with Ouahiba and Jesus, the other instructors, in order to pick up all the kids (often literally). A successful class is one that starts with a small group and ends with a huge one. Word of mouth among the kids is a powerful tool.
“La, la, la” says Halla when I ask her to do something. “La” means “no” in Arabic and she says it in such a way that you understand it, despite the language barrier. She is a strong and stubborn girl with a lot of pride. She is the middle child in a family of 11 and she mainly has brothers. She has to survive and stand out among her siblings, but she also fights with her friends a lot. The first time I met Halla, I had to punish her because she was hitting one of the other girls. I am still not clear if she started that fight or not, but I know I gained her respect. The following day, she knew she could not push her luck with me and we ended up in a happier place, playing with a balloon (the international game where the balloon must not touch the ground). This time, Halla was giggling and smiling. I did not expect this strong, tough-minded girl to have such a sweet smile. That image will stay with me forever.
These children have gone through a big adventure, and they will continue to go through a lot. But they are still kids, and for now, nothing gets in the way of having fun. In fact, that was one thing that struck me as odd: it wasn’t just Halla and the other children: everybody smiled. Kids, teenagers, and parents were always greeting us with a smile. It was not a forced smile, it was genuine. And I never knew how to interpret it. Were they happy? Were they optimistic? Were they strong? Were they grateful about life? Were they all of the above?
I was also struck by their generosity. These families live in UNHCR containers or tents and they look after them as their homes. After some days there, many of them had become our friends and invited us to their homes. Some have created an outdoors majlis (like a living room) where they play cards and smoke shisha with their friends. Almost every home has colourful decorations inspired by the family’s national culture and drawings by their children.
We are sitting at Meriem’s home. The Greek army has just distributed food to everyone. She eats and feeds her children. As the baby quietens down, Meriem wants to speak with us. She insists that we sit on the beds and she sits on the floor. While she talks to us and my friend Ouahiba translates for me, Meriem cuts up a peach she has received from the army. She offers it to us. We refuse, of course, but we are then immediately mortified as we realise what bad manners this is in the Arab culture. What to do? Offend them by refusing, or eat their limited food? As she continues to insist, we decide to take a piece each.
I live in Oxford today, and in my flat I keep a special stuffed animal. It is a reindeer, and it was a gift from one of the kids in the camp. On our last day, Tareq, 8 years old, came and gave me and Ouahiba a toy each. A reindeer for me, and a lion for her (and he was quite specific about who got what). We looked at each other in shock. We could not accept this. He had hardly any toys, and yet he was giving them to us? We tried to return them, but he would not take them back. We had another ‘peach’ moment, and this time it was with a child! We went straight to see his mother, but she would not have them back either. “This is his choice”, she told us and she said that he would be very sad if we returned them. I realise how the children appreciated our love and attention and always gave it back tenfold.
Working with children can be very different from working with adults, although both can be equally rewarding. In the mornings I was teaching English to Tahin. The morning classes were for women and the evening ones were for men. Women typically came with their children and an extra volunteer was there to take care of the kids. Our classroom was a living room in a shelter, where kids would run, scream, laugh, and often try to get the attention of their “Mama, mama!”
Tahin came to her English classes every morning with great enthusiasm. Her toddler was constantly trying to climb on her or to steal our pens and papers. Nonetheless, Tahin was a diligent student. She always did her homework, she focused during class, and even if at first she did not comprehend why she needed to know certain details, she made an effort to learn. Tahin’s English was very basic and she did not understand why she needed to learn the English alphabet; it seemed to her too theoretical and ultimately a waste of time. After a few days of her obvious frustration, I realised that Tahin did not know how to read, and so did not understand the value of the alphabet. After I explained to her that she would need to read English during her stay in Europe, she trusted me and made an effort. Suddenly, when she read her first words, she grasped the purpose and gained a sparkle in her eyes. She saw the importance of the alphabet and how this could serve her and her family for as long as she stayed in Europe.
My time in the camp was made up of a chain of stories and emotions. Giving mothers a bit of personal time by taking them to the beach and teaching them how to swim. Leading theatre improvisation for a group of willing adults, who did not even speak a common language. Translating at the health clinic and assisting with Greek bureaucratic documents. Sorting out the warehouse to prepare the camp for the winter, with a great group of international volunteers and Manu Chao playing in the background.
Since I have returned to my normal life, many people have asked me how they, too, can contribute. There are so many ways to help. You can join different groups of volunteers in the camps around Europe, even if briefly. You can contribute in-kind gifts or money to an aid organisation. We can all devote some time to learn more about the refugee situation and the many challenges it represents in order to get involved and support.
Compared to the scale of this humanitarian crisis, my short time and input in the camp were very small. I can only hope I provided a little relief for the refugees who were carving their slice of humanity out of an unbearable crisis. The reality, in the end, is that I took more from the camp than I gave. Today, the island of Samos is a gateway to the European Union for thousands of refugees, but for families seeking peace, it is also a home. And for a brief period of time, I had the privilege of being invited in.
