Day 11
Today 6 people have died after their boats sank on their way here. All of them were children. The youngest was one year old.
Nearly 100 children have now died since that image of Alan Kurdi face down in the sand spread around the world.
It’s been a long 24 hours of contrasts. It began in a gorgeous part of the island in the north in warm sunshine. It ended in a wet, muddy and miserable camp.
After making the hour-and-a-half trip back across the island to Moria camp for 21:00, I set to work straight away trying to get new arrivals out of their soaking wet clothes and into something dry. It might be ill-fitting and unfashionable, but thanks to what has been donated, at least they weren’t going to suffer from hypothermia.
I had a new chum with me for most of the night. I’ll call him Adil (the situation is so dangerous for his family that I’m not even going to risk using his real name). He was just 17-years old and from Afghanistan. A tall, handsome chap with a dark woolly hat down to his eyebrows.
He speaks Farsi, Dari, Pashto, Urdu and good English. This meant he was invaluable for translating all the requests for clothes that were coming from the people who patiently queued behind some simple red and white tape in front of the volunteers area. We just have 8 tents full of clothes, tents, blankets and other supplies. There’s one generator to power a couple of lights. This voluntary group, called Better Days for Moria, is the biggest support the refugees have here.
Adil had no reason to be with us, other than he wanted to help (the kind of thing I keep on saying about the refugees I’ve encountered). I didn’t ask him to, but while we worked, he was eager to tell me his story and it’s no fairytale. He was eager for me to share it.
On the 4th November, he had no intention of travelling to Europe. Afghanistan was his home. He’d never been abroad before and he had no reason to leave his country.
While we were walking through the camp, past the wired fences and concrete compounds, I asked him if he was here alone or whether he was with family. He said he was here with his aunty and uncle and one of his five brothers. He said his parents weren’t with him “because we’ve lost them”.
Three of Adil’s brothers used to work for foreign troops during the so-called war on terror. That makes them top targets for the Taliban and ISIS who terrorise the country. On the 5th November he found out that his parents and little sister had gone missing from home. He was told in no uncertain terms that he had to leave as soon as possible. They hurriedly managed to sell some possessions to gather some cash. Without the opportunity to go home, they had to leave without saying goodbye to those closest to them, leaving behind Adil’s mum, dad and sister.
I asked him who he thought had taken them. He said “it was probably the Taliban. If I’d gone back home they probably would’ve killed me” Suddenly he was fleeing his country. He had to go via Pakistan, Iran and then Turkey. It’s an organised route and they pay different smugglers to take them from one area of the country to the next. They were completely under their control, constantly worrying that they’d be caught and delivered to the Taliban/ISIS. They weren’t the only threat though.
They were kept hidden by these smugglers and had little freedom. “I sometimes had to go two days without eating. Just drinking water. There were some kind people though who felt sorry for us and gave us some food”.
He was explaining his journey to me in instalments because at regular intervals we had to break off to go and help somebody who had wet or broken clothes, or put up a tent for a family. At one point though, he asked if I were on Facebook. I said yes and that he could write down the details. We had no pen or paper to hand so I asked if he had a phone to write it on. “No. I have nothing. I don’t have anything.” “Why?” “Thieves stole everything I had in Iran — money, clothes, everything. We have one old phone between the four of us to try and find out about my parents and sister” …at this point, after everything else he’d told me he’d been through, I could feel my lip trembling. I didn’t want to show it though because he appeared so stoic.
After three weeks of fleeing, he arrived on the Turkish coast. They were about to board a dinghy to make the trip across when Turkish police spotted them. After everything they’d endured to get there, it looked like they were going to be thwarted at the very last moment. The police were duty-bound to not let them go, but Adil says they were lucky. There were lots of children among their group and so they were persuaded to turn a blind eye.
The smuggler told them it’d take about 45 minutes to get across. Two-and-a-half hours later, as they were making the 6.5km trip across the sea to the north of Lesvos, the dinghy began to take on water. They were sinking. Fortunately, the Greek or Spanish coastguards spotted them (the Spanish are doing unbelievable work, volunteering their time to save countless refugee lives) and were able to rescue them. For the first time while telling me his story, Adil smiled as he recalled what he felt “When those people came towards us to help us, I finally felt safe”.
The positive feeling was quickly drained away when he arrived at Moria camp. Within hours, a thunderstorm lashed the island with torrential rain (see my earlier video in the car). There was no shelter for them. Adil and his aunty, uncle and brother had to spend the whole night outside getting completely drenched. They managed to find a little bit of shelter, squashed like sardines in a tin, but for most of the night he sat in the gutter and mud against a wall. Welcome to Europe.
Because he’d had all his belongings taken by thieves, he took some of the donated, dry clothes that we were supplying. There were no tents left. By the time I arrived the following day, he’d thankfully been able to get hold of one.
If it were me by now, I’m sure I would’ve been an exhausted and broken man. Instead, there he was, spending almost the entire night in the intermittent rain, helping me help other people. He was actually more helpful than me, to be fair! Previously, I’d not had anything to give these special people to say thank you, but this time I did. Earlier, the chef who has been cooking hot meals, brought some Spanish omelettes to keep the volunteers going. I handed one to Adil and given how hungry he was, he wasn’t going to politely refuse. He was very grateful so I gave him more to take to his family.
He thanked me, but it wasn’t me he needed to thank. It was you — all of you who have donated. The cooking equipment used to make the omelette was transported from the warehouses in the car you’d paid for and then delivered by the chef whose car you also paid for. Your money is also going towards some of the ingredients he uses. I hope you realise how special it is that your few mouse clicks are helping literally thousands of hungry people like Adil receive a hot meal. Again, THANK YOU!
After Adil had eaten, his uncle shouted for him. They rushed up the steep, muddy, rocky hill in the dark to the queue of people waiting to enter the registration camp. They all have numbered tickets and when their number comes up, they can sign the official documents, which will permit them to leave the island.
That was the last I saw of him. I expected him to return because he was away for a few hours before I went looking for him at the end of my shift this morning. Their few belongings were still in their tent as well so they also expected to be back sooner, I’m sure. I didn’t get chance to say goodbye, which I regret. That’s not to say he’ll definitely be gone by tonight though. This morning I recognised someone I saw living in the same squalid conditions a week ago.
In any case, he’s hopefully past the most dangerous part. That’s little comfort when he’s still heard no news at all about his parents and sister. I didn’t want to ask him what he thought had happened to them. You’ll understand why.
When things finally quietened down at around 5:00am, it gave me the chance to clean up. The litter and wastage is colossal. I could only make a tiny improvement. I spent two hours picking litter up and it still looked like a tornado had ripped through the place.
By 6:30am, if the camp hadn’t been woken up by the cockerels and the dogs barking nearby then they certainly were by the man being violently sick somewhere amongst the tents packed tightly, rubbing against each other. The other volunteer, Sonia, who stuck it out through the night couldn’t find him when going to offer him water.
After driving her home (she’d just finished an 18-hour shift) I picked up Zak from the other camp down the road and we dived straight into bed. Now we’ve got up and we’re getting ready to do it all again. He’s got a cold and, yes, we’re both tired, yet we’re feeling very very lucky and hungrier than ever to do whatever we can to support these people. After meeting Adil and waking up to the news about those six children, how couldn’t we be? It’s just started chucking it down and it’s forecast to continue all night. Very bad news for everybody.
***Donation update***
With offline donations included, the total has surpassed £2500. I’ve run out of ways to express how amazed and sincerely thankful I am. That’s 10 times as much as I was originally aiming for. You’re all spectacular people.
After so many of the clothes we were going to hand out to wet people got soaked through in the rain, I’m going to be investing in around a hundred waterproof boxes so we can continue handing out thousands of dry garments.
Thank you.
