Before embarking on this 11-month journey, I watched promotional videos, read blogs, and talked with previous Racers about their experiences. I heard about child labor, sex-trafficking, unimaginable living conditions, governmental corruption, oppression, terrorism, starvation, war, prostitution, and rampant disease all amidst abject poverty. The stories and images wove themselves into a bleak picture of the world I was setting out to help. Problems abound, but solutions are lacking.
I have been dissatisfied at various points throughout the Race regarding effectiveness. What is the best way to mobilize a bunch of Christian twenty-somethings to aid several different cultures in spurts of time? I am a micro-thinker. Give me a task and I’ll complete it to the best of my ability. It’s difficult for me to think of the big picture ideas like long-term impact and intentional influence.
Due to these potential hindrances, we are often held back from intense, dirt-clad, long-hour involvement in pervasive issues. A soft “What can we even do?” hisses through the air. However, for one day during our time in Thessaloniki, Greece, I finally got to fulfill my pre-Race expectations of the work I thought I would be doing this year.
Our ministry host’s daughter, Kali, told my team that we were permitted access for one day into a refugee camp. We were reminded to maintain vigilance, stamina, and shrewdness. I tried not to focus on the factors that disqualified me from working with this population: young, white, female, blonde, American, Christian. Gulp.
The camp is called Softex after a toilet paper company that had previously operated there. About 1100 people reside there, primarily of Arabic and Kurdish origin. Many feel stuck in a state of limbo. They were forced to flee their home countries and now plan to start new lives in other countries. Greece is only a transitory space for many of them while waiting for answers and asylum approval.
Donned in electric yellow vests, we partnered with Al-Khair Foundation, a United Kingdom-based, Muslim NGO providing humanitarian aid worldwide. It was definitely interesting to hear London accents from the mouths of dark-skinned, bearded men. They were incredible to work with as they were organized, dedicated, and encouraging.
I was directed to a warehouse where we would be leading a carnival event for the hundreds of kids who were pulled out of their schools and homes to escape violence. The area was filled with huge inflatables and tables with stickers, balloons, snacks, and toys. I helped with painting faces and painting nails. The atmosphere made me feel alive: hot, dusty, foggy, loud, crowded chaos.
It felt like any carnival I had helped out with before, but subtle cultural influences intrigued me. The hijab-clad woman sitting next to me did henna tattoos. When I offered to paint one girl’s nails she said, “No, Mom hit me,” and slapped herself on the cheek. Instead of a princess castle, one of the inflatables resembled a mosque or a palace, with multiple domes. Music with intense rhythms and microtones filled the air. In exchange for the colored bands we handed out as bracelets, one girl gave me a golden bangle. I met Alis, Mohammads, and Hammouds. Kids constantly tried to capture my attention by calling, “My friend! My friend! Look! I want! For me!”
The carnival stopped multiple times for prayer. The men took off their shoes and began a series of rituals on top of a large ornate rug. Cycles included bowing, standing up, mouthing prayers, placing foreheads on the ground, turning heads side to side, all while facing Mecca. Their intensity and devotion was impressive. Religion is central to their daily lives.
After cleaning up the carnival hours later, I entered the actual camp along with two other teammates. We passed a truck of volunteers, who were distributing food in two lines separated by men and women with children. People were ravenous and eager to eat during the day, since Ramadan had just finished. I muttered prayers while walking across the field and traipsing along rows of light green tents. Men yelled, “My friend! Cigarettes! Food!”
An older woman with striking green eyes invited us into her tent. She introduced us to her daughter and two grandchildren. Her daughter’s husband was in Germany, and they were planning on meeting him there. Over their offering of chewing gum and baklava, we chatted as much as we were able and played with the kids. The woman asked if I was married by pointing to her ring finger. When I said that I was not, she raised her hands to the sky, looked up, and said, “Allah kareem!” The phrase roughly translates to “The Most Generous!” We giggled together.
My brief albeit powerful experience in the Softex camp reminds me of this quote by photographer Dorothea Lange: “What I am trying to say is that I believe this inner compulsion to be the vital ingredient in our work; that if our work is to carry force and meaning to our view we must be willing to go all-out.”
Clearly, the refugee crisis begs further investigation than what I can provide in a blog. Check out the video below by my teammate, which includes some of the sweet moments we had while working with refugees in a local park. Also, please read these articles if you are interested in more information:
New Greek camps overburdened with refugees
A volunteer’s perspective from the refugee camps in Northern Greece
