Greece. Best month. Hardest month. As I sat down and tried to write about one of the most transformative months of my life, I couldn’t decide which angle to take. I could tell you about the countless stories from the refugees. I could tell you about the living conditions in Moria. I could tell you about the organization we partnered with and the amazing volunteers we met. Then I decided, instead of trying to accomplish all of these things at once, I’m going to tell you about one aspect in this blog: the refugees.
The first three nights from 12am to 9 am, my team The Fource (Casey, Elva, and Sam) and Thad guarded the gates. L1 was the gate I guarded, the section with single African men primarily from the Congo, Guinea, Somalia, and a few from Ghana. L2 and L3 were single men from Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and Pakistan; Sam guarded that gate. Casey and Elva were in charge of the Ric gate, where the most vulnerable refugees were: families, single women, and unaccompanied minors under the age of 18. Thad was the shift leader, making his way throughout the night, checking that everything was calm and honestly keeping us awake.
On L1, the guys spoke either French, English, or a native tongue. Most of my shifts guarding the gates were filled with French lessons from my friend Nesta or random guys that decided to sit with me and tell me how they ended up at Moria. I decided after hearing Nesta’s story that first night, that I was going to keep track of all the stories I heard. People in America think of Greece and imagine blue roofs, white walls, and clear beaches. However to those in Moria, Greece means prison, hardship, and constant struggle. Below are a few short stories that I heard from the refugees from the Level 1 gate.
Nesta • Guinea
His father was Muslim and his mother was catholic. His father had three wives. He and his mother were rejected by his father because she was Catholic. His mother died in childbirth. Nesta came to Moria to escape the harsh rule of the government.
Christian • Congo
His mother and father are both Christians. He has 6 siblings but hasn’t seen any of his family since he left the Congo 2 months ago. He has no idea where they are. He wants to be a lawyer to stand up for people in the Congo and the injustice that continues to rule there.
Anonymous • Afghanistan
18 years old. He tried to defend his girl cousin from border patrols but instead was forced to watch her get raped. When he tried to protect her, they told him not to worry, it’s just a part of this process. He saw many other people killed.
Arshxam • Iraq
Been in Moria for 1 year and 4 months. His family was bombed by ISIS while he and his brother were at school when he was 9 years old. Later in his life he was in the war, serving as a helicopter shooter with a 57. He and his four best friends were bombed and though they all survived, his leg was severely damaged. He needed a total of 6 surgeries, one which costed him 2,500 USD; he still has 2 more to go. Now he and his brother are translators in Moria.
Anonymous • Turkey
The week before we got to Moria, 40 people died falling off the boat from Turkey to Greece.
Bini • Ethiopia
All his family died due to the hands of the government. In the Ethiopian prison, he was beaten everyday for one month for protesting the government. He lived in Sudan for one month and then sold all his mother’s belongings so he could afford the plane ticket to Turkey. He then traveled from Turkey to Greece by boat, and said it was a very hard journey. One of his friends, Jordan, watched his sister fall off the boat from Turkey to Greece. He watched her drown and couldn’t do anything about it.
Simba • Congo
Every time I opened the gate, he greeted me with a huge smile! We never talked for any length of time, but he got so excited about me speaking French and would imitate a lion whenever he saw me, making sure I didn’t forget that his name was Simba.
Fletch • Iraq
There aren’t enough words, or emotions to describe the impact Fletch had on The Fource during our time in Moria. Though I will keep the details of his life private, his story and the trials he overcame for his family deserve a Medal of Honor. He is a man filled with honesty, humility, and drive to do what it is right by all people regardless of their nationality. He translated for us many times, helping others despite the fact that his family was suffering from illness and hadn’t been housed yet. I will never forget his kindness.
The last story I would like to tell is one that happened to me during my time in Moria. I was working the new arrivals cage, where we had just received 150 refugees in a space that comfortably fits probably 50. After handing out dinner, a concerned husband came to the window and said his wife was in pain and 3 months pregnant; he wanted to see the doctors. In Moria, the only reason you see the doctor is if you are literally dying. Hannah (one of the other volunteers) went to check her out, and determined the situation was pretty serious; we radioed the doctors to come down. Thirty minutes passed, and the husband came to the window and frustratedly asked about the doctor again.
I told him I would personally go up and get the doctor, and that we would make sure his wife would be ok. I started walking up the hill and suddenly heard screaming and saw people running down. As I reached the information center, there was a woman was crying with a bloody face who looked like she was having an asthma attack.
“Fight! Fight!” People were screaming and running to see what all the commotion was about.
In my head, I knew I couldn’t panic, but everything in me was freaking out. I saw a child running around parent-less. I grabbed her as she was crying and stayed inside the gate. One of the translators looked at me very seriously and said, “Stay here with the child. Do not leave this gate.”
My mind began to fly in a million directions: where was Casey, what about the pregnant woman, what was going to happen to this child I was holding, were her parents in the fight?
“Dyer, grab your stuff and radio everyone to be on standby,” Thad said in a very calm but serious tone.
I stayed in the gate with the child while some of the translators, Paul (a volunteer), and Thad went to manage the fight. The child’s mother finally came and she stopped crying. I knew there was no chance of getting to the doctors because the fight was blocking the only pathway to New Arrivals. What was going to happen to these people?
Fifteen minutes passed and the fight finally calmed down. A few bloody people began to make their way down the hill to the police station. Turns out the fight was about a woman walking down the stairs which apparently offended a man sitting on the stairs who was from a different country.
After a couple of hours, the doctors finally made it down and took the woman to the hospital. The woman lost her baby that night.
There are more stories to be told. These stories are just a few that I gathered during my time there. The refugees in Moria honestly are in desperate need of hope. Every day they wake up with no purpose, no security, and no ownership. Their food comes from an NGO, which yes that is nice, but because it isn’t what they are accustomed to, they usually don’t like it. Their bedding is minimal, they usually have one set of clothes and no financial means to get more. They sleep with strangers and wake up and find the little they own stolen. The most heartbreaking thing is watching children that are born in Moria, because their first memories are going to be a white person telling them they can’t go outside because it’s not safe.
These refugees need prayer, and this refugee camp needs help. If you feel called to serve, whether it’s your spring break or time off work, please consider Moria in Lesbos, Greece.
Something as simple as a smile brings hope to a place filled with darkness.
