It’s day 2. Our team has slept, and at noon we make our way back into the camp. We sign in at info, don our orange vests, and are ready to tackle the day and the world’s problems.
There isn’t much to be done at the moment, so my friends from South Carolina that are volunteering with the NGO decide to check on the family I told you about yesterday.
We walk into their hall, up to their space, but no one was home.
They offer me a more detailed tour of the camp, so we make our way to the medical level, and I meet some dentists from Seattle working there.
They also show me a hole in the fence of the back of camp that the refugees have to use because the police aren’t always guarding the gate to let the people go back to their homes on the mountain behind the camp.
We venture out through the actual gate, and gaze through the natural olive tree garden over the sea, into Turkey. We take a breath, and revel in God’s beauty through such tragedy.
For the next four hours, I make copies of refugee’s papers, their lives. They can’t do anything without those papers.
I met a young boy who spoke a little English, we became friends.
After the copy hours ended, I was placed on info, helping answer questions, and having to say no more than yes.
I can’t remember everyone I worked with, but a couple people stand out.
A family with three children, a father, and mother 7 months pregnant live in the corner of a tent not meant for more than 10 or 12 people. They have no mats, just cardboard to lay on. They are asking to be moved to a better space because the mom is so pregnant. But the camp is so full. I was able to get them more blankets, but only because they didn’t have the number they were supposed to have. While I could help in a small way, I still had to leave them and move on to the next family.
Another family was trying to fix their food card when my supervisor realized they had a one week old baby living in a tent. Y’all, the temps are dropping here at night that are extremely unsafe for a newborn. We spent the next 20 minutes or so trying to convince the father to allow the UN to move the family to a hotel until the baby was old enough. They were worried leaving the camp would mess up there asylum process, but through broken translation we tried to convince them it wouldn’t change their status at all. I’m not sure what they decided.
Then I helped a man from Brundi get registered into a space to live. To help, my friend Brian and I went to the hall where he wanted to stay. But the police were nowhere to be found to allow us to walk out the back gate to where they lived.
Remember that hole in the gate? Yeah, well, my skirt was not feeling that, but when in Rome…
So we crawl through the fence, and make our way there. We walk up on a church service.
Y’ALL IT’S A CONGOLESE CHURCH SERVICE IN THE CAMP.
Brian and I can’t believe it. We are in awe. As we walk further into the site, trash coats the ground. The men tell us that no one cleans their area, and they are trying to keep it clean, but have no tools to clean with. As we walked back to Info to relay the news, we pass the church service again. They have transitioned from worship to the sermon. Later I found out that my husband snuck back with other volunteers to listen to the sermon.
And I will leave you with what he told me the message was about.
The pastor was encouraging the refugees that God didn’t send them to Moria to abuse them or hurt them. God sent them there to share His love with the other refugees. The pastor said they never knew who they were standing line next to at the food distribution center, waiting on diapers, or asking questions.
Y’ALL.
THE PASTOR, WHO IS A REFUGEE, WAS ENCOURAGING HIS FELLOW REFUGEES TO BE EVANGELIZING AND ENCOURAGING THEIR FELLOW REFUGEES. They are LIVING it, and their hope is found in Jesus.
What are we, as a church, doing? This church is literally homeless, meeting on the side of a mountain, and still proclaiming Jesus in such darkness.
My heart was so full. There is light in this desolate place, and Jesus is bringing his sheep home.
**Photo courtesy Daily Mail**
