I’d like to share a little about a family at Idomeni that has become near and dear to my heart. This is how our friendship began.
Esther and I had been on our way to check out the volunteer situation at the places we had been asked to help out when we ran into our squad mates Talia and Alexis. They had their backpacks stuffed with baby items, bottles, baby wipes, diapers, etc. They asked if we wanted to help distribute them. We divided up the goods and went to work.
While doing so we met a young family. What grabbed my attention was that they had a stunningly beautiful baby girl with red hair, an uncommon sight at Idomeni.
While spending some time with this family the father, ‘M’ offered to show us around to distribute the rest of our supplies. He speaks English well and we welcomed the opportunity for a translator. M showed us to a few other tents that had babies living in them. While Esther and I were walking with him, it was clear he knew the camp well and knew several people in the area around his tent. He and his family had been in Idomeni a little over two months.
We asked if we could bring anything else for them the next time, they asked for cotton swabs, lots of people asked for cotton swabs.
We were able to find some for them and returned the next day with some more loot for them. This set us up for daily visits with them. M and his wife are adorably in love and they both are head over heels for their daughter. They are both smart, witty, kind, generous and hilarious. I was continually surprised at the amount of joy we shared in such a hopeless place. Each day we got to hear a little more of their story. When I asked M if I could write a blog about them he said “Yes, but there are others here with a more interesting story” I agreed that there probably are but theirs is the one I wanted to share. I asked if it would be OK to use their names or photos. He said his name was fine but not those of his wife and daughter and no photos on the internet (we do have some for ourselves). I decided to be overly cautious and just use his first initial.
As we grew to be better friends M shared more and more details of how they came to Idomeni. He had fled to Turkey when several members of his family decided to leave the city they called home in Syria. First they went to a small village but then the village was bombed. M has scars from the shrapnel that went through his thigh and the two surgeries he’s endured to recover. He will need another surgery at some point as well. This injury makes standing for long periods of time difficult for him, unfortunate, especially due to the long lines needed to stand in to receive food, clothing and other supplies.
While his family was staying at a refugee camp in Turkey, his mother knew of a young lady and thought he should meet her. Her aunt had told her of a young man in the camp she should meet. They followed customs and were married shortly. They joke now of their wedding in Turkey and their honeymoon in Europe. Their entire marriage has been spent trying to get to a safe home.
They had set out from Turkey with their infant daughter to one of the Greek islands in hopes of getting into Europe. He told us that the night they took a raft to the island the water was like glass, the voyage took about 3 hours. No doubt you’ve seen or heard news stories about people who haven’t all made it safely to shore. M was well aware that his family was lucky. Of course, getting to the island isn’t the end goal. We discussed that many times over the three weeks we were at Idomeni. Where do you want to go? Is it safe to go back to Turkey, to make that trek with a one year old and a pregnant wife? Would a government run camp in Greece be better? Will they ever open the border to Macedonia? Would it be worth it to try to get to his brother in Belgium, how long would that process take? So many things to consider. M wants a safe, clean place for his wife to have a baby, he wants to let his daughter take a nap without bugs crawling on her, he wants her to learn to walk somewhere clean. They want to give their daughter a bath in a tub, instead of a stock pot. They want to shower in a home without several thousand people right outside the door (in the event there is a door). They want to eat schwarma and falafels. They want to cook their food in a kitchen instead of wait for a daily delivery of firewood, of which they may not get any. They want to eat at a table instead of a cardboard box they’ve broken down so it can be folded and put inside of their tent. He wants to help, he speaks Arabic, Turkish and his English is getting better everyday. Perfect for a translator.
I spent most of my time at Idomeni on a blanket between two tents with this sweet family living in the middle of this horrendous situation. There was just one afternoon when M voiced his frustrations. He knew I was a Christian, something we had been told to not flaunt, we were there for humanitarian aid, not to share the gospel (at least as far as the government was concerned). M had seen my cross tattoo, knew the people I came to camp with each day. Most of the volunteers there were Christian so his assumption was correct. He asked me if I thought the border would remain closed. If the 10,000+ people waiting there were Christian instead of Muslim would this situation have escalated to this point? My answer was a resounding no. We discussed the fear that must be in the hearts of the leaders in position to make such decisions. He brought up people who had claimed to be Christians whose actions proved otherwise. He spoke of how America and the UK are the big players and he feels as though his people are pawns in a chess game. It saddened me to see M like this. I understood that somehow this would have to come out eventually, I am glad that for M it came out in a conversation with me instead of some of the ways I had seen others behave under that stress.
The next day M told me that on his way to the village for groceries he and his wife had stopped to sit in the shade and some Christians had come up to them, shown them a video on their phone and given them a booklet. He showed the booklet to me. We were able to discuss some similarities and differences between Islam and Christianity from our points of view, neither of us are scholars in this area. I wasn’t able to read this booklet due to it being written in Arabic. He translated some of the questions and we discussed them, then he would translate the answers written in the booklet, we would discuss those as well. I told him that I could bring a New Testament to him that was written in English and Arabic. He let me in on the secret that he hadn’t read the whole Quran. I shared the same secret about myself and the Bible. We agreed that to understand each other better we should each read both.
Our last day spent at the refugee camp was bittersweet. It appeared as though an organization thought they could get M and his family to Belgium to be with his brother. We were trying to fit everything into a few hours. How do you express all you want to express to a family you may very well never hear from again, let alone see? I was so grateful when Alexis offered to trade my seat in the early van back to Thessaloniki so I could stay for a few more hours. Their daughter had a sweet nap but that meant less time for us to play with her. I knew we were going to be leaving without knowing what the future holds for their family. M didn’t have his own phone at that time and the wifi at the camp is extremely slow. Would we be able to keep up with them on Facebook? Would they even be able to post any new information? I can’t count the times I thought about staying there, meeting up with the rest of the squad at some mystical later date when I knew this family was safe.
We shared the Coke Esther had brought. We left baklava for them to share the next day as it would be the baby’s first birthday. M asked us what was next for us, if we would be working with refugees again on our journey. I was able to leave the New Testament with him, he read the first page right away. I have been reading it wishing I was able to chat with him about it. I left a note for them and asked if he would translate it for his wife. When it was time to go, I hugged his wife and shook his hand with tears in my eyes. I thought about how difficult it is for me to do this time and time again, how much more difficult it is for them to see volunteers come and go, to build relationships only to have them end so quickly. This has been their life for over 4 years. Somehow they are still going. I admire their perseverance, persistence and gigantic hearts.
I learned so much about myself this month in Greece. I was blessed beyond measure by people who had very little in the physical to offer. We exchanged language (raisins in Arabic are Zebeb), shared many laughs, concerns, tea, apples and on our last day Coca Cola (M had mentioned several times his fondness for it). I am deeply saddened that these lovely people are in the situation they are currently in. The things they want out of life don’t seem like they should be too difficult to accomplish. Though I know the road is long and winding.
I won’t pretend to understand the politics behind it all. I won’t pretend to understand the frustration, fear and anger of the people fleeing their homeland with larger risks than I can fathom for the hope of a safer, happier life.
I can only share my experience with M and his family.
I know now that M and his family are in Turkey. They are at a government run facility and able to be with their extended families.
Please pray for my friends and others in similar situations. This week began a 10 day plan to clear our Idomeni, please cover this area in prayer.
