As the sun began to set and the chilling winds began to blow, the evening became rather cold at the Idomeni Refugee Camp. The view is beautiful, the Macedonian mountains come to a halt a few miles away, just past the Greek border.
The reality immediately surrounding me was not so beautiful. Trash, fencing, clothing, food, feces, all line the ground around the camp. The air is cold, smokey and dusty. Women and children are crying. As the day passes by, men lie on the ground and hang out at their tents. Human beings are escaping their native lands and are stranded at a border that won’t let them cross.
And yes, while aspects are overwhelmingly ugly, dirty and heart-wrenching, there is a special beauty and joy to be found in some the people who are not changed by their circumstances.
Just like my young friend, Hadis. She is kind, fun, generous & welcoming, and I want to tell you about her and her family.
Hadis and I hanging out at the camp after volleyball.
Hadis’ mother and I just outside their tent (the red/blue one to the right).
I headed to the water spouts to fill pales of water for an organization that is helping feed the stranded refugees.
On my way back, I noticed a group of people having fun, playing with a volleyball. I soon returned with some of my team, in hopes of joining in.
While waiting to join the game, unsure if I would be accepted or allowed, a young girl approached me and walked me into the middle of the group of men who were playing. I insisted she play with me; immediately we were thrown into the game.
The young girl and I played a few rounds and then stepped to the side, to talk near the fire.
Her name is Hadis. She is 16 years old and is traveling with her mother, father and little sister. I soon met the whole family and they were all very sweet and welcoming.
Since I do not speak Farsi, our conversation was not able to go very far, past Hadis’ limited English. But we did not need to speak. We knew we were instant friends and she stayed close to my side.
After hanging out for about an hour, with failed attempts at using a translating app on her father’s outdated phone, her family invited me to their house (and by house, I am referring to their 2-person tent that sleeps their whole family and holds all of their belongings).
On our way there, Hadis held my hand and led me to their home. As we passed other Iranian refugees, she introduced me as her friend. I loved that even though we had just met, she had unconditionally accepted me as a friend and was eager to show me off to her other friends.
When we got to their tent, Hadis’ father reached his hand in his pocket and pulled out a very small flashlight. He extended his arm towards me and presented it to me as a gift. I tried to decline this kindness, but he insisted. Out of respect and fear of dishonoring him, I happily accepted the gift and held onto it tightly.
Right after this, the mother came out from the tent and tried to hand me a plate of gifts. On this plate were two oranges and one banana. I felt horrible and could not allow myself to accept it. I shook my head and repeatedly tried to show with hand gestures that I wanted them to keep this fruit for themselves.
Again, they persisted and asked that I at least take one item, so I took the smallest orange, thanked them, and put it in my jacket pocket.
How is it that people who have so little, are so generous? Two oranges, one banana and a small flashlight might not seem like a lot, but when you are a family of four living out of a tent in a foreign country where no one speaks your language, that is extravagantly generous.
I was deeply touched. Honestly, I don’t know that I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.
Upon broken conversation, I learned that Hadis’ youngest sister was sick with the flu. With harsh winds, temperatures below freezing, and no real protection from these conditions, I knew I needed to pray for her.
As I’ve become accustomed to doing, I used hand motions to signal to the parents that I was asking for permission to pray for their daughter.
They happily obliged.
I knelt down, held her petite, glove-enveloped hand, and prayed.
I cannot wait to go back to the camp and see these familiar faces. I hope to find a special gift to give Hadis so she can remember me and have hope. Though, even in my desire to see them, I know if they are gone, it will be for the better. It will mean that they have been able to move on with their lives. It will mean that they are on their way towards Germany, in pursuit of security and a future for their children.
I hope this experience can be a lesson to anyone who finds themselves reading this blog. That no matter what your circumstances may look like, there is always room for friendship and generosity.
For myself, I hope that I can let this sink in and take root in my life, so that I can give away the same goodness and affection I received from strangers in crisis.
This was truly one of those moments where my intentions were to serve and be a blessing to others, but was blessed in return.
