give me your hand.
” Dad! Dad look. It’s the ocean!”
I have been back on the island of lesvos for two weeks now. My heart, while heavy, is so full. I imagined myself writing about my days as they passed but unfortunately that hasn’t happened. I have been unable to unravel the thoughts and make complete sentences about what is going on here. I have wondered if me writing anything at all would make a difference. Would it be looked at as harsh or judgmental? Would people not understand? Would I be sharing too much? Even with these worries I am reminded each day that these people matter. And if an uncomfortable blog about what I am doing is what it takes for people to see what is still happening here on the island, then so be it.
“Dad! Dad look. It’s the ocean! ”
On my plane ride to Greece I was blessed with a window seat. As I stared out the window of the airplane all I could hear was the excitement of a little boy. When the plane came up from the ground the young boy yelled out “dad! dad! I can see the ocean!” I peered out the window realizing that it actually wasn’t the ocean, but just a small lake.
Fast forward to last night. My teammate and I were driving home from shift around midnight. We drove through town with the dark yet calm sea to our left. We saw nothing. As we approached our teammates, who were patrolling and watching the sea for boats, we realized quickly that we wouldn’t be going home any time soon.
In front of me I see men, children and women carrying babies in front of my eyes. A boat had landed on the shore and my heart fell to the floor of the car. With no time to stop, I opened the car door and my teammates explained there had been a boat and I saw people to my right approaching from the side of a steep hill. Their hands clenched to the rope as they climbed up carrying their belongings. I looked to my left and see women and children needing blankets and water. My hands shook as I unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around a child. I looked down and a mother had placed her baby on the ground and I quickly unraveled another emergency blanket. As I stared down at the baby my heart sank a little deeper.
Should I get more blankets or get more water. I should help the other people up the hill. ‘ Hold my hand, you are okay.’ We need the medical team. Is there more people?
As I reached for the cold hands of people climbing up the hill I noticed the relief in their faces. They were calm, happy even. They believed that they finally reached safety. They got on the boat and looked at Greece like the little boy on the plane looked at the lake. With excitement and joy believing they were free. They safely fled their home countries and made it across the sea but they unknowingly have reached what some call Hell. Sadly, the volunteers and I all know that what is to come is not a happy place or freedom. Instead Moria Refugee Camp has been described as an overcrowded prison.
The people on this particular night optimistically looked at Greece thinking it was an ocean when it actually was just an overcrowded, disgusting lake.
Each night we listen to the radios, peer out of the binoculars and listen for the sounds of a boat engine. Some nights we drive up and down the shore and see nothing. For seven hours we are responsible for being the first people as the boat arrives to the shore.
I am tired. My teammates and the medical volunteers are tired. But I have started to watch the sea more closely. I have started to hear the soft humming sound of an engine as I sleep. We go on shift but it doesn’t seem to end. Each morning as the sun comes up I am filled with relief that I can go home, get some rest and be ready to go again in fifteen hours. That relief also comes with sadness and worry for the people who continue to make the journey across the sea just to make it here.
Prayer requests: Rest and proper healing of my ankle which I may or may not have sprained. For my teammates and volunteers who have gone back home. For the people of Moria and Kara Tepe and all of the other people who are on this island. For the people who are going to be making the short journey across the sea. For my friends in camp and friends on the island who have been here for over a year. For funding and for provision here and for January with FAI. Thank you. With love, Ashleigh
