Goodbye was harder than I expected.
Something we heard on a daily basis was “Moria no good” or “EuroRelief no good.”
While Moria does provide housing, food, clothes, shoes, doctors, electricity, and money to thousands of people fleeing from war, it’s not as pretty as it sounds.
Fifteen people live in a space the size of a dorm room made for two. They eat the same small portions of food for months on end. They aren’t always given clothes that fit. Sometimes they get mismatched shoes that already have holes in them, someone has to constantly be waiting at the house if they want to receive their doctor ticket, and the electricity doesn’t always work.
I thought, “Well it’s better than nothing? Right?”
Worn out shoes with holes are better than no shoes?
Maybe? I don’t know?
By the end of my time at camp, I caught myself saying these things daily:
Moria. No good.
EuroRelief. No good.
Me. No good.
Only God good.
I don’t even know where to start.
How do I share what I’ve experienced?
What do I share?
I could share about the one time I asked a guy where he was from. He said Iraq then he asked me where I was from. Once I said America it’s like he lost all respect for me. Keep in mind we are there to help them. He said, “America, no good. America bomb Iraq, innocent people get hurt. America no good”. It’s like I was wearing the American label and whatever people thought about America, that’s what I was. But how do I tell him I’m not the one who bombed his people and that I’m not an enemy? It made me realize that some Americans do the same exact thing. If an American met someone from Iraq or a Muslim or someone wearing a head covering different than they are used to seeing, they could easily stereotype them as a terrorist. People do it all the time. Even subconsciously. I am American, but I am not America. This man really drove home the lesson that every single person has their own story, their own heart, and you can’t just generalize someone you don’t know.
Speaking of stories…
I could share countless about the teenage boys in the camp. I got to know quite a few of them while guarding the gate where they stay.
A lot of them have trauma from their war torn country.
I hear things like, “When I was 13, I watched my dad get shot in the head. Then I watched my mom sweep up the blood.”
Or
“All my family is dead and it wasn’t safe for me to stay. I had to leave and I can’t go back.”
Or
“No alcohol, no sleep. Alcohol, sleep. Police took alcohol so no sleep. What do I do.” From a 14 year old boy who is only here with a younger brother. It breaks my heart.
Or
Or hearing from a teammate after she was helping people who had just arrived on the island, “The woman showed me a picture of her daughter with a bullet hole in her forehead put there by the Taliban. Then she shows me a video of the water when they were arriving here and another one of her daughters drowned because the boat capsized. So this family just lost two daughters.”
Or I could share about the day that started with a young boy coming up throwing punches saying, “EuroRelief no good. Give me my mommy back. EuroRelief took my mommy.” There was an altercation, and it did lead to his mom being in the hospital. But there’s nothing you can do but love on the kid. This actually turned out to be one of my most favorite days.
There are good stories too.
Hopeful stories.
I guess the others stick out more because you don’t exactly hear them everyday.
So why was it so hard to say goodbye?
Because I love these people and it hurts my heart that this was the life they were dealt.
And God is still good.
For perspectives and other stories, check out blogs from my other teammates (who have written them):
My First Blog : Moria Question and Answer
