We have arrived safely in Johannesburg, South Africa (finally!) and I have had time to reflect on the work I’ve done with the refugee camp in Greece. It is strange to now be so far away, especially after crossing the Macedonian border when the refugees I’ve been ministering to for weeks still have no idea when they’ll be able to do the same.
Saying goodbye on our last day at the Eidomeni refugee camp was much different than on the island. On Lesvos, we had built relationships with the other volunteers. In Eidomeni, because the borders were closed, we saw the same refugees every day and built close friendships with them. We fed and clothed them, but we also heard their stories, met their families, were taught things about their home countries, danced with them, sat in on their protests, and genuinely did life with them for 2 and a half weeks.
During our first week at the camp, I became friends with a man named MD from Morocco. He remembered me from the island and gave me a huge hug when he saw me at the food tent. The next day, he walked me around the camp, introducing me to his friends and explained what it’s like to live there every day.
Later, we met up with my teammates Haley and Molly and he took us to a Moroccan rally. Hundreds of men sat in a group while MD and a few other men spoke to them about their desperation for freedom. They came together in frustration, confusion, sadness, and unrest. They missed their families and they wanted nothing more than to move on and have an opportunity for a better life. They chanted, saying “help us please! Where is human rights?” The men got very emotional and I could see the pain in their eyes.
All the Moroccans at the camp really trusted and respected MD, so he became sort of a peaceful leader amongst them. On our off-day, we saw a news article online and he was featured in the photographs. He was shown at the border pleading with a police officer, tears running down his unwashed face. I didn’t like not knowing if he was okay, and I couldn’t get ahold of him on Facebook. The next day, he was nowhere to be seen. My heart sank and my head went to a place it didn’t need to be.
I knew there was something radical within him waiting to come out, and I was worried it would happen at the wrong place and wrong time. I wouldn’t be able to stop my mind from creating the day time nightmares until I saw him again. I spent the majority of our last day looking for him throughout the camp, showing his picture to other refugees asking if they’d seen him anywhere. Eventually, I found his best friend and he told me that MD was in the medical tent.
That morning, things had gotten very tense at the border. These people have been stuck at this camp for over a week with nowhere to go. They’d had enough. Several men stood at the border and took to throwing rocks at the riot police as they braced themselves, holding up their bullet-proof shields. I spoke to an Iranian man who was nearby in the somewhat safe zone. We were close enough to see what was going on, but strategically placed so we could get out of the way quickly and easily if things escalated to a dangerous level. He told me that all of the Iranian people were standing back. They saw no point in attacking the border police because they aren’t the problem, “the big man is the problem.”
While we were talking, I heard a loud blast followed by “okay we’re leaving.” Kyle and Jack grabbed my arms and led me away from the chaos. In that moment, I didn’t know what I had just heard. Of course, my first thought was gunfire, but I’ve never heard one in person – at least not close enough to recognize the sound. As I was running down the tracks away from the border and towards the main camp, more blasts echoed behind me. The fact that I didn’t hear screams or sounds of pain gave me hope, but I still wasn’t sure. I turned to look back and saw a mother calling after her son to join her – he was too close to the danger for her comfort. As I saw others running towards me, I noticed them holding their sleeves and scarves up to their mouths. I took a deep breath and took in something that brought a strange tingle to the inside of my nose and my eyes felt suddenly dry.
Tear gas.
The blasts I’d heard earlier were from these small tear gas cans exploding as the riot police threw them at the refugees. More blasts came, and even though I knew they weren’t gun shots, they made me jump in fear.
I wanted to get far away. I walked to the fence at the edge of the food tent – the closest I could get to a moment alone. A young American girl amongst men, women, and children from war-torn countries. I cried for the first time for these people. Before then, I’d felt numbness as I moved through the day-to-day motions, but that day was different. I had a glimpse into what it was like to be in a country with bomb blasts going off all day every day and I hated it.
My mind went back to MD. Part of me knew he’d been at the border and I had a too-real feeling that he had gotten hurt.
His friend led me to the medical tent where he was sitting with his leg wrapped and propped up on a bench. He had been shot below the knee at the border. When he heard the blasts from the tear gas explosions, he ran closer to the border to see what had happened and if his friends were okay. I can’t know for sure, but I can only guess that he either intercepted a bullet meant for someone else, or the police saw him and assumed he was trying to cross the border so they shot him to stop that from happening.
I sat with my friend in that medical tent until his ambulance came. We shared a lunch, listened to Jack Johnson, he asked me about my studies back home, and we shared each others faith. When it was time to go, we held each other and cried. He asked my teammates to take care of me and he gave me a note telling me he would miss me.
I may never see him again, but I can pray for his safety. I can think of him and his friends as they continue on this seemingly unending journey.
It’s so strange to have this new perspective of the refugee crisis. Because now, I have friends involved. People who want a chance at a better life, and there’s nothing much I can do to help them. I am so thankful for the time I got to spend with them over those two and a half weeks, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Peace be with these refugees, and may God change the hearts of the men creating tragedies in their home countries.
All my love,
Aubrey
