“If you’ve ever sought refuge in the Lord, then you have been a refugee.”-Volunteer orientation for working in Moria, April 2016
It seems like everyone that has worked in a refugee camp has that one person, that one family, that one child that they connected with. Sometimes it leads to a bond that lasts longer than the short time we get to work face to face. Emails are exchanged; friends are added on Facebook, pictures taken together. Other times the connection ends when you step out of the family’s tent and put your shoes on.
My one story is that of the second kind. I got up with my teammate, put my tennis shoes on, and walked away.
I walked away from the tent of an Afghan man and his pregnant wife. He had just spent the last half an hour explaining to us the different things that got him to a detention facility on Lesvos in Greece. I can’t get his story out of my head.
When my teammate, Heather and I, first found the tent in question, we fully expected to play the broken English-charades that so often comes with trying to carry out a tasks at Moria. (Actually, it’s a game you play any time you’re trying to converse with anyone who doesn’t speak English… not surprisingly that’s most of the world.) We “knocked” on the side of the tent to carry out our task of relocating this family to a different tent. Another thing you should know is that we had just spent the past half hour trying to convince another Afghan family to allow this family of four to move in with them and the other family already living in their big semi-permanent tent. So when this man popped his head out of his tent in perfect English and asked us to sit with him and his pregnant wife, it’s safe to say that it was a pleasant surprise.
Luckily, my teammate saw the opportunity at present to form a relationship with this family and she agreed to sit down for a while. Their tent was small. There was barely enough room for the man, his wife, and the two of us to fit with all of their belongings neatly stored in backpacks in the corner.
As we settled in, he began to tell his story. He was from Afghanistan. During the American occupation of Afghanistan, he worked for the U.S. army translating. He did this for ten years. After translating for the U.S. army, he spent time abroad working and building a career but when things continued to get dangerous in Afghanistan he returned for his family. He and his wife and their two children then started the journey towards safety leaving their home and traveling towards Europe.
He told us his hope is to end up in the U. S. He told us about people he met while working for the U.S. army and how he hopes to see them in the States. I hope that for him too.
But that day was filled with expectation of another kind. When we told him he had to move, he politely informed us that he wanted to stay there. The space was small but at least it was their own little area. With as much respect as we could muster, we told him that he had to move. Again, he politely disagreed. His wife stood up and asked to see where they were to live and talk to the people. So we took her. When the three of us came back to their tent, it was clear that her mind was made up. Staying true to his wife, honoring her request, he told us that it simply wasn’t possible. Heather and I went back to the command tent to see what we could do. They told us to continue trying to persuade the man. So we did.
Not once, not twice, but three times we went back to tell him that he had to move. He had to move today. He had to move now. Each time he politely refused, explaining that it wasn’t best for his family.
What can you do when a strong man who is looking out for his family and love them well tells you no politely? What can you do when all his reasons are right and valid? What can you do when your heart breaks for them, and you know that if he doesn’t change for you he will be forced to change by someone who doesn’t know his story?
In the end, we did nothing. We left the camp that day and his tent was still there. When we returned several days later, it was gone. I don’t know what happened to him and the questions haunt me at times. Was he forced to move? Did they get sent to the other nicer family camp? Will they get asylum?
I would love to have this blog end neatly with a happy ending. But that doesn’t exist. All I can do is pray for this man and his family. All I can do is believe that the God that created the universe loves them and cares about them like he does me. All I can do tell their story and hope to educate people on how this crisis is affecting people. Hope they can see that by letting people into our country and hearts is not a danger but rather a responsibility we should feel.
And so that’s what I’ll do. I love them like Jesus and pray that people who know that kind of love too surround them. Please take a moment and pray with me for this situation. It’s been three weeks since we left Lesvos and in a week we’ll be moving on to Albania. The refugee crisis isn’t going away even when the media ceases to report on it. Ask God for a revelation of what you can do. How can you love these people from miles and miles away? I will too.
“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me… And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me’” (Matthew 25: 35-36, 40 NLT)
