Moria.
A time of my life I will never forget. A piece of my heart will always reside here. A place where a “bad day” or “good day” in the states pale in comparison to here. A joyful time. A reality check. A heart wrecker. A life changer.
(All paintings are by refugees on the island. I visited an art studio with a refugee friend and he showed me all of the work in the studio including his.)
When you pray for new experiences, be ready for your world to be rocked. I prayed for new levels of trust, deeper understanding of the refugee crisis, and just for things I’ve never seen or witnessed. Let’s just say the Lord delivered. (WARNING: this blog will contain stories that may be difficult to read but need to be shared for you to fully understand this place.)
I’m not going to sugarcoat what my time was like here. I’m not going to say that I stayed on a Greek island and loved every minute of it. I do, however, want to share why I haven’t written a blog in my time here. I have been overly intentional with being present at this camp. I didn’t want to write a blog with biased opinions or a misunderstanding of details, so that’s why I waited to experience it all and then put it on paper.
We arrived to our town, Mytilene, five weeks ago. It is a beautiful harbor town but not with all the white buildings that you imagine a Greek island having. This island, Lesvos, is just off the western coast of Dikili, Turkey. We were blessed enough to stay in an apartment above a church and have a cost related to our lodging budget. The first full day we were here, we attended a training at the camp. We were briefed on rules, daily activities, and then shown the entire camp. Two days later we were off, and what a ride it was.
Broken.
Shattered hearts and uncertain futures. The people that arrive at this camp are hurting. Some of them are running from war. Some are leaving amazing and wealthy lives. They are crammed into a “boat” (pictured above in the bottom right) and pointed in the direction of the lights coming from this island. They are told, “there is Europe!” Someone is given control of the boat and they are released. It is highly illegal but happens at night when the coast guard can’t see. If a boat does make it out of Turkish waters, Greece decides to accept them. These people arrive thinking they made it. But little do they know, Moria is not a dream come true.
(This painting resembles the brokenness that some feel.)
This camp has enough space for 2000 people, but houses around 6000 right now and an expected 10000 this summer. People go from sleeping in their own homes to sleeping in a tent on wood pallets or a trailer with multiple families. I’m talking a 6ft by 6ft space. Sometimes for 5-6 people. A camp with fences and barb wires big enough to make you feel like you’re at a high security prison. As you can imagine, it’s hard for a person to believe they “made it” to Europe.
(A painting that resembles how some feel about “making it” to Europe.)
I witnessed many stories and circumstances where I felt this brokenness. What did you worry about or fear when you were 16? Was it math homework? Was it that one girl or boy who just wouldn’t talk to you? Maybe something more serious, like finally getting your license so you could have some freedom? How about watching your father have a gun held under his chin and being shot through his head right in front of you? How about crying on the kitchen floor at 10 years old while you watch your mother clean it up? One of my dear friends, a 16 year old boy told me this one night. Why can’t he be worrying about a school test instead of running for his life with no family here? What do you say to a kid that looks at you with tears in his eyes when he doesn’t want you to leave? “Everyone leaves me. My dad left me. Now you all are leaving me. Everything good always ends or gets taken from me.”
Ready for another heart breaker? Evening shifts are usually slower here. I worked all 3 shifts every week. My weeks consisted of a morning shift, a few evening shifts and a night shift or two. On evening shift, there is a lot more gate guarding and talking to the kids. No boats cross during the day. They always arrive early in the morning and it’s a first shift job to get them processed and housed. Well not one day. A boat made a desperate cross during the day in a storm. It capsized as soon as it hit Greek waters. The coast guard saved everyone they could. We were working from 4pm-12am and that’s when 7pm came around. A group of 51 people who all looked like they saw a ghost arrived. I began to distribute clothes and food and blankets to these freezing cold people. I had to hand hard boiled eggs and sandwiches over to a family who had just watched their daughter drown. We couldn’t house them that night because our office was closed so they had to sleep in the entry courtyard surrounded by tarps. I had to try and tell them it was going to be okay. How? How do you look a father in his eyes in that moment and tell him it’s going to be okay? How can you make a man feel any better who thinks it’s his fault his daughter drowned? How do you lovingly hand people blankets, who don’t speak your language, who just witnessed or escaped death, while telling them this is where they are sleeping?
My last day I was waiting on the bus to head to camp. I saw a man with a wheelchair and an arm brace. I started talking to him and he mentioned he broke his elbow. Before I looked down to his leg, I asked what happened there as well. Once I looked, I realized he had a prosthetic left leg below his knee. “I’m from Iraq. Plane fly over, boom. Obama and Taliban fight, I get in cross fire.” This man experienced what we see on the news. This man was an innocent person caught in the cross fire. What was amazing to me is he didn’t hate me or America for anything. This was not about politics, war or no war, he just said he was unlucky. Along with losing limbs of his body, he lost children. A bomb dropped and blew up his home. He told me he crawled to his baby with one leg and had to witness the unthinkable, no breath coming from his newborn. Again, what do you say? All I could get out was, “I. Am. So. Sorry.”
There are so many things that are broken in this place. A land and economy that used to thrive off of its 13 million olive trees. Everywhere you look are mountains of olive trees. Plopped into the middle of it is a gateway to freedom. A very tough road leading to the gateway. A road that involves a lot of fights, theft, pain, hunger and desperation. The story here is one these people will never forget. How walking around camp, you don’t know if you’re walking in mud or human feces. Where sex trafficking and prostitution is present but almost unstoppable. Where minor boys get drunk every day and want to fight older men with families for fun.
(A painting that perfectly describes the gateway to freedom from this camp.)
Happiness.
Believe it or not, it’s here. Small children run around without a worry in the world. Sunny days are stunning here. Most of these families wake up with the greatest optimism. They know there is suffering now but it will pass. If you are unfamiliar with the Middle Eastern culture, they take hospitality to another level, plus some. Around 80% of the people here are from Afghanistan. There are others from Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, Syria, Sierra Leone, Somalia, Congo, Ghana, Cameroon, and many more. How can you cram people into a camp and keep the amount of fights low? With love and happiness, that’s how. The majority of the time, these people live in peace and worldly issues only exist in small talk and not action. I love loud music and there’s plenty of it! Dancing is always included. Men who are best friends hold hands in these cultures. There have been countless of times where I have danced or walked hand in hand with another man. This means they accept and approve of you. This means love exists. This means there is happiness in every step.
As we work crazy hours at this camp, we can get extremely exhausted from the hard work, spiritual warfare, and many other struggles. These people notice our work and invite us into their small tents or trailer sections for food and tea all the time. They have nothing but give everything. A family invited me in and gave me a whole meal of theirs that they just received from the food line. The two 20 year old children split a meal just for me. When it’s cold at night, the young kids are always running up to us asking if we want hot tea. There is no shortage of being loved on or fed by these people here.
(A painting that showed me that we can be given beautiful things from the most unexpected sources.)
Our last night, Charles and I got pulled into the minor boys “play room”. These teens are here all alone and can get into some major trouble because of their decisions. We try to be a male role model to them and keep them from stealing, drinking, and just doing things that cause people around the camp to want to kill them. That’s not an exaggeration. But these boys need light. We were able to experience so much light our last night. We danced. A lot. They made us go into the hottest room in the camp and dance for an hour. We played music that you could probably hear from the states and we danced the night away. The smiles and enjoyment I saw from these kids will never leave my heart or mind. After all they’ve been through, a simple goofy dance night can solve everything. People ask me why I love music so much, it’s because of times like these. Music can be a band aid for the heart. And when you add a sprinkle of Jesus’ love into that, it’s a recipe for an amazing time.
(A dancing painting by my good friend. I purchased his painting the morning before my last shift for the cost of how much he gets a month from the Greek government. That last shift we danced the night away together. That’s God for you.)
Perspective.
America needs more of it. It’s true and it needs to be brought up. What does a bad day really look like? What does unfortunate really mean to you? Is it running out of gas in the morning and now your day is ruined? Is it having to pay a lot back in taxes? I’ve been guilty of not realizing how lucky we have it in the states. Many people will say it’s not our fault there’s no war in our streets. It’s not our fault we live here and not in another part of the world. Well that’s true, but I think we need to shift our focus to how bad it actually is in some parts of the world. We need to remember what it could be like. I know bad things happen in the states. I’ve been robbed at gunpoint before. I’ve never had my house and family members blown up by a bomb though. I’ve never run for my life, as a teen, half way around the world. When something seems like it’s falling apart, just remember how lucky you are. That’s all I ask. And when you’re in that moment, smile and just let someone know how thankful you are.
Jesus.
He is here. He’s working in the hearts of these people. Many of the minor boys are searching and even wear crosses. One had a cross with words in Spanish and asked me to translate. It was the Lord’s Prayer and I was able to explain to him what that means. We had to be very careful talking about Jesus due to Greek laws, but these kids opened doors for us to explain things all the time. I had the coolest feeling during our last night. My heart felt that these people will be taken care of. It was assurance from God that He’s got this. As the kids said goodbye to us and started tearing up as we left at midnight, they kept saying we already miss you. I’m so thankful for the patient and loving hearts we had at this camp to create such a bond. I know where that comes from. They aren’t so sure yet. So I told them, you don’t miss me, you miss Jesus.
