I have a thing for people in uniform. It’s a magnetic feeling, I am just drawn to them. So when I had the chance to talk to a Macedonia police officer I took it. Of course this was after I tried crossing the border, helping a family carry bags. Tried being the key-word. After I was rejected at the border, I struck up a conversation with this gentleman in a green uniform. I asked the obligatory questions, like “How are you?” “What’s your name?”.
The topic of conversation eventually turned to the riot that happened just a couple hours ago. I asked him what his thoughts were. I wasn’t prepared for the answer. The hatred for the Iranian people blew me away. He kept repeating how gorgeous Macedonia is, and how bad these refugees are. He didn’t want them crossing the border, he didn’t want these ‘horrible’ men to cross the border. It didn’t matter that none of these refugees were staying in Macedonia. They want Germany, and Macedonia is just a means of getting on a train to head to their freedom. The police officer even admitted to none of the refugees staying. But the hatred was still there. He, unfortunately represents a lot of people in the world, not just Macedonia.
I have a thing for people who like to dance. It’s a magnetic feeling. I just can’t look away. So when I was invited to have a mini dance party with a group of 200 Moroccan men, I have to say yes. Later some of these guys helped in the food tent, translating or being an extra hand. One of the guys, Abidine, showed me around the camp. I saw where he slept the past several nights, on the rocks with no covering. He introduced me to his family, one woman was pregnant, all crammed into three 2 person tents.
Redwine, another gentlemen who I met at the dance party, told me about life back home for most of the Moroccan people. They are educated, some with many jobs back home. They have families back home, or in Germany. They are smart savvy business men, who just need a country to let them work. They don’t need government assistance in financial ways, but just the means to cross the border. I saw the faces of boys, young men, crying in a helplessness state. They left their families, left their homes, left the lives they know. Only to get to a country’s border to be told no, no passage. They can’t go back home, they will be murdered, or put into prison, which isn’t much better than being killed. I didn’t understand the severity of everything going on around me. They said, with no hesitation, they will either cross the border, or die at the border, waiting. They have nothing left, but to die at the border. Redwine and Abidine, unfortunately represent most of the refugees’ mindsets when it comes to listening to everyone else, telling them to go back. Cross the border or die.
I have a thing for intimate relationships with my friends. It’s a magnetic feeling. I just charm the socks off people sometimes. Just kidding. Since the race, I am enthralled with people. Any person. I love my team, but now I have a relationship with them that I won’t have with anyone else. I have embraced a teammate while concussion grenades were going off in the near distance. I have cried on a bench outside an old rundown train station with my teammates. Haley and I also got married to 2 refugees, proposed to more times to count. Haley and I also had an impromptu dance party, bringing several countries together. I played in the mud with little kids, and taught a little boy the ‘Cup’ song. I had an inside look into a refugee camp.
I also had a Facebook full of negative comments towards refugees. I was torn. I was interviewed by a journalist from Sweden, asking what people back home in America thought. I was disgusted to say the media has been horrible. People not understanding the whole situation. I don’t even begin to grasp the whole situation, and I am inside a refugee camp.
But this I know. The relationships that I built with the refugees exceed any expectation. My expectation of refugees were the ones you see in the media; rioting, throwing rocks at the border, and sewing their mouths shut. Instead I found the most protective, caring, passionate people. I couldn’t walk 5 feet into the camp without a giant “HELLO” or a hug from one of the refugees. I realized these people aren’t what the media portrays. I found some great men and woman from all over the world. These refugees watched out for me, they became what I looked forward to each day. I, unfortunately, am one of select few that were able to work with the refugees, and my mindset is a small portion of the world’s opinion.
There’s no black or white. I don’t even think there is a gray scale in this situation. Each side has a valid reason for how they are feeling. And there is no happy ending. Not in this story.
