I just wanted to share a cool thing about myself and this month:
From the Greek name Αλεξις (Alexis), which means “helper” or “defender”, derived from Greek αλεξω (alexo) “to defend, to help”.
What am I doing this month?
Fighting for refugees in Greece.
Coincidence?
No, I really don’t think so.
After nearly two weeks at camp, I have more stories than you probably want to know. I’ve done everything from sort clothes in piles that reach all the way up to the ceiling, to leveling out the ground to squeeze one more tent in for a family of six. I’ve seen the widest variety of reactions I’ll probably see for the rest of my life. I’ve eaten food out of a wok, community style (shout out to training camp) in the camp office with translators and long-term volunteers. Basically, the only way to describe it is crazy unpredictable.
A lot of times fighting for these people looks like equaling out the pushback they give. Sometimes it’s running all over camp for a couple hours trying to figure out the situation through a tough language barrier. On the first day, the person that trained us said we need to fight for the people in new arrivals.
(Side note: New arrivals is where the refugees go first one they are off the bus. They get paper work and food and sometimes clothes. I’m not totally sure everything they do – it’s a lot. The thing about it is they can’t leave the eighteen-foot-tall prison fence and they don’t have tents. They kind of just sleep on the ground or under a big tarp/tent type contraption, if they can.)
Today I got to do that a lot. My teammate Mac and I got assigned to move a family of three from new arrivals to an actual somewhat private space. Mac stood outside of the gate with a couple of the family’s friends while I went to find the family. I walked in a tremendously congested area of people emotionally on edge. I found the dad of the family, and I tell him I can take him and the other two in the family to their new space. Then bam – there’s actually five of them. At this point, I’m speaking to a translator and the translator is speaking to another translator and that translator is speaking to the dad. I explain to him I must go talk to the office for the paper work of the other two people. We make the trek back, get the OK, and go straight back to our family. I walk up to the gate alone; the family is waiting for me pressed against that gate. The police officer unlocks the gate, and magically there are now seven members in the family. I try to explain, through a series of charades and no translator, that seven of them will not fit in the space we have. It starts getting chaotic and two of the officers are getting super frustrated. Yelling starts coming from the family and the officers so I tell them I’ll be back later. I trek back to the office, tell them what’s up, and they agree only five can move. On the third trip to new arrivals, I picked up an incredible translator. He puts on one of the neon vests that distinguishes us from the refugees, and we speed walk back down. He firmly and efficiently explains the situation while a dozen other refugees are pounding him with questions. Out of nowhere he gives a thumbs up and starts picking up their bags to leave. We walk them to their new “home” and head back to the office to tell them the housing was successful.
*This is a short version of a 2.5-hour long process*
I feel like I’m in this place to be the best voice I can to get these people a couple steps closer to a safe place. A lot of days it feels like you take a step forward and six or seven steps back, but then you get cool moments of celebration. Like when some of the single woman get their stamps to leave camp, and they erupt in excitement like you’ve never heard. My prayer for the rest of the month is to live out my name – to be the best defender and helper I can.
Here’s to being halfway done with month three,
Alexis Sills
