“Give me your eyes for just one second; Give me your eyes so I can see; Everything that I keep missing; give me your love for humanity; Give me your arms for the broken-hearted; the ones that are far beyond my reach; Give me your heart for the ones forgotten; Give me your eyes so I can see.”
– Give Me Your Eyes by Brandon Heath
From the first time I heard this song it spoke to me. As I prepared for the race the lyrics of this song shaped my prayers. I wanted this race to be an eye opening experience. I knew that even as travelled as I am and as much as I kept up on news and current events I still saw the world from a bubble. While I still often view people from within my bubble I have had moments this month that just break my heart. Moments where God shows me what he sees when He looks at the world. This is the story of 11 those moments.
The first day at Idomeni Refugee Camp I was walking along the railroad tracks and I saw a single winter bootie that would have belonged to a baby. It struck me that there was only one. I know children lose booties all the time but it was very cold and it made me wonder about this child with a missing bootie and their family. Maybe it was absently dropped or maybe they were in such a hurry to get across the border before it was shut down that they didn’t have time to stop and pick it up. Either way this poor little child was without a shoe to keep his foot warm. Back home if that had happened we would have just gone and bought another pair of shoes. But people here don’t have that luxury. Often they have the clothes on their backs and are lucky if they have an extra bag with them. It made me think of the millions of people fleeing in terror often in the middle of the night and how it is very likely they too dropped shoes or hats or mittens never having the ability to turn back and pick them up.
Something about that shoe stuck with me. Maybe it is that I am teacher and I know the challenges these children will face being away for any sort of formal schooling for so long. I know there is so many things above education in the priority list of what these children and families need but I was sad knowing that not only have these children suffered back in their homelands, suffered on the journey to the border, and are now suffering at the border while staring at freedom on the other side of fence that was fit for a prison, but that when they finally did get to where they wanted to go and education was finally back up there on the priority list that they would again have to suffer. It just didn’t seem fair. I looked at all the past, present, and future struggles all these people faced and worried that it may have robbed these children of the innocence that is so characteristic of childhood. I was very glad to see that it had not yet done that. I was filled with joy to watch children colour and draw, play patty cake, and push each other around for wild rides on strollers. I finally felt like there was hope and something to be joyful about.
You may be wondering why these children and their families only got to stare at freedom beyond the razored fence rather than crossing through it. At present only refugees from three countries are being allowed through the bordered. Afghanis, Syrians, and Iraqis are the only people being allowed through at the moment. When you walk through the camp you see signs of the frustrations people have towards being denied freedom. People spray paint slogans like “Borders Kill” or “Borders are Illegal”, they protest and demonstrate at the border in a standoff with riot police, they staked their claim to the camp with signs like “You Can’t Evict a Movement” and writing the names of their various countries under a sign that says “United”. Children write letters to leaders of countries asking if they love the other three kinds of children more than them; asking if their lives are worth less because of where they are from.
The first few days we were at the camp we had the opportunity to get to interact and get to know the adults living at the camp. One of the first things they would tell you was usually that they were not terrorist. Normally when you meet someone you introduce yourself with your name and a few distinguishing facts about you. “Hi, I’m Lisa from Winnipeg. I am a teacher” For these people an important distinguishing fact they wanted everyone to know was that they were not terrorists. It hit me that if it was important for them that we know this then they must have had experiences were people automatically assumed they were because of where they were from. It makes me angry that people stereotype and generalize in that way. I was embarrassed to realize that I was guilty of that too. I wasn’t sitting there thinking that they were terrorists but I like many other back home worried what accepting 25,000 refugees in the next 3 months would do to our federal budget and Canadian economy.
I have had the privilege to witness humanity in the midst of such an inhuman situation. Those first few days we were helping with feeding the 3,000+ people living at the camp. Numerous men and women live at the camp, without being asked, came over and started helping us cut vegetables and even insisted on taking over for some of us when there were no longer extra knives available for them to cut with. When we were done they organized and looked after the cleanup of the stuff. When a fight broke out in the food line the residents of the camp broke it up themselves eventually convincing those who took part in the fight to make amends with an apology and a hug. They didn’t push their way through the food lines or try to take more than we were handing out rather they wanted to make sure others got. When a resident asked one of the volunteers where to get some gloves and the volunteers offered up his own as we had no gloves left to give the resident absolutely refused to take his gloves. Now that we are helping with clothing distribution I see many people going without jackets even though we have because they are warm enough and don’t want to take from others who need it more.
One thing I witness almost daily is tears. Sometimes tears because the papers they had were no good and now were being turned away from the border only to have to get back on the same bus they got off and make the 6hr drive back to Athens to apply for the right papers this time. Sometimes tears because we don’t have shoes in their size to give them. While watching men sob because they and their family are rejected at the border is hard. Watching people cry because you can’t help them is heartbreaking. I know that is not just because of the shoes that they are crying and rather it is the lack of shoes that was the last straw and now they had no way of holding back the pain and frustration and fear they had carried up until this point. It gets even more heartbreaking with as soon as that person leaves with the same broken down, two sizes too small shoes on their feet that they came with, you get a delivery of donations that contains shoes in her size knowing that it’s too late and that you are no longer able to bring a person joy through sometime as small as a pair of shoes.
I often get asked, both from volunteers and those try to cross the border, where I am from. When people hear Canada they are often amazed and ask why I came all this way to help. I feel a little guilty explaining that I am on an 11 month mission that takes me to a different country every month to serve in. While I am so grateful for the opportunity to serve the people here I unlike other volunteers I have met, who I am constantly amazed by when I hear their stories, have not taken time off work and spent my own money for the only purpose of coming to Greece and help. I get put on a pedestal because of where I was born, whereas the people I am here to serve have to suffer because of where they happened to be born.
Yesterday was a day I don’t think I will ever forget or shake. It was a normal day and nothing monumental happened it was more that the immensity of the situation here in Greece and around the world sunk deep into my heart. We were handing out clothes to those that needed it as we do every other day. All of a sudden I saw a little boy walking with no jacket carrying the bags of food he was just given. I grabbed a jacket and ran to catch up to him and his family. This boy as so little that he wasn’t 100% steady on his feet and I don’t think he was even talking yet. I crouched down and took the bag out of his hand and held the jacket up for him to put his arm through. We didn’t need any word or to speak the same language even. Suddenly a smile spread across his face and as I did his jacket up for him he jumped up and down with joy at the fact that he now had a jacket.
Later on in the day I saw a boy no older than 8 years old, the age of the students I teach back home, come into our clothing tent with his younger brother and start asking us for things for his brother. He made sure his brother got everything he needed and that everything fit properly letting us know that the first jacket we handed them didn’t actually fit and was too big. Some might look at a situation like that and say stop being picky, better to big than too small or even nothing at all. I looked at it and wondered where their parents were. Wondered why at such a young age this boy had such a huge responsibility.
A story that is not my own but one a fellow squadmate who is working Lesvos island shared on facebook yesterday touched me in a powerful way. The night before during her shift a raft had come in and she had the opportunity to meet and talk with one of the men who was on the raft. He said that half way across to shore the raft started to sink and people started screaming and crying afraid they were going to die. He told her how much he thanked God that he was alive, and how much he thanked God for her and the other volunteers. I would have thought the interaction ended there but no. This man was so thankful to my squadmate and so joyful to be alive that right then and there he facetimed his family back home telling them he was alive and showing off his newly found friend/my squadmate. I can’t explain it but the fact that he was so thankful for her just being there meant that he wanted to include her in such a special moment with his family back home.
And lastly something that broke my heart today was the ending of a series Humans of New York did on their facebook page. If you have never heard of Humans of New York it is a facebook page ran by a man named Brandon Stanton. Its premise is that he meets strangers on the streets, strikes up a conversation, and asks to take their picture. Overtime he began adding quotes from their conversations to telling full stories to in the last year or so going abroad and telling the stories of people there. I have followed him online for a while and have seen other series he has done overseas on stories of refugees. For the month of December he was telling the stories of individuals and families who had just found out they were granted residency in the United States. If you have never read any of the stories he stares I encourage you to check it out! I will allow you to read the stories he shares for yourself but things like “I ran out the door to see my friend and neighbour missing the lower half of their body” or “I wasn’t home when the bomb blew apart our house. My son had to carry pieces of his mother and sister outside from upstairs. He has never been the same since.” These are things I don’t think I will ever be able to understand or makes sense of. The reason I share this is not just to direct you to more stories that will give you a very real glimpse of what people in this world are going through but because Brandon’s post today broke my heart. He said that he was thrilled at the overwhelmingly positive comments his series was getting on the facebook page (with past stories this hasn’t always been the case) but as his series has gotten shared beyond the Humans of New York community on facebook many of the remarks have turned discriminatory and judgemental and he wondered if sharing the stories was doing more harm than good. I understand ignorance. I understand stereotypes. But what I will never understand is how someone can read the stories of the things these people have endured through no fault of their own and not feel something other than hate or judgement. https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork
This blog has been long and emotionally draining to write and also possibly to read. I am not sure how to end it other than to say don’t be discouraged. You may wonder how I can say that after all that I have told you about. It isn’t easy, there is so much to get discouraged about. But remember there are good people out there, there is even humanity in the most inhuman situations. There many individuals, both here and at home, who care deeply about the situation here and are trying to help in any way they can whether it is through volunteering at home with settlement of the incoming refugees, financial support of agencies on the ground here, dropping off food and clothing donations at the camp here, volunteering at the camp on weekends, or quitting their jobs to come here and help until they can no longer afford to stay. If you would like to read some of the stories of the volunteers I have met check out my facebook page inspired by Humans of New York called Wanderers of the World https://www.facebook.com/wanderersoftheworld2015
Here are some more pictures I have taken at the camp.
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