Leros, the island I call home! A ray of hope for thousands of refugees, some are Syrians a bigger number are not. I was there, I saw it, I spoke to some. Inspired by the latest BBC piece about my home island http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-34275168 my account of when my Hospitality was tested to its limit at a time of grief and personal battle.I arrived on the island on August the 5th escorting my mother from Athens and her latest chemotherapy session. I was glad to step on the land my soul is bound to, but was soon to discover a changed island.
Within a few days on the island we took my mother to the only hospital. This had become one of the central points where refugees are congregating. With nothing more than one chemical toilet near the port-police headquarters, the refugees were trying to find the best place that had running water and some basic facilities they can use. The hospital was as good place as any.
During the first day at the hospital I sensed the frustration of the Lerians, they were willing to help but with no assistance from Athens or Europe this tiny island is stretched to its limit. The refugees were arriving in their hundreds each day creating a bottleneck of around 2,500 on an island of 8,000 inhabitants. It takes a couple of days for the local portpolice to clear each refugee paperwork. To add insult to injury, the ferry boat was only coming every other day and had limited capacity, August is the busiest month of the year for tourism.
Still, this is the island that has been given many a challenges in its history, a leper colony, a political prison, a badly run psychiatric ward in the 80s and a drug addict recovery unit attempt more recently. More importantly the Greeks as a people have (very recently in our history) been refugees ourselves. My forefathers are from Smirni, and even as early as today my friends are escaping an "economy war" that we are badly loosing. I was the lucky one, I fell in love with the opportunities the UK gave me almost 20 years ago. Mine was an act of choice not desperation.
And here I was seeing desperate people all around me, and I needed to focus on my mother. That was the task I was given but my heart was breaking. At night time children were sleeping on the streets, young people were trying to use a locked toilet at the hospital ... I got the night guards to unlock it for them but my intervention was a drop in the ocean. The chief of port police is a friend, a good man so I asked what can I do, can I bring food? Water? he explained the reality of the situation, 20% are Syrians the rest God knows what, and some are not very nice people. When fruit were given they would snatch most of it denying it even from families with young children.
Still I persevered, in my limited time I sought out the true Syrians, after a while when my eyes got used to tiny differences and my ears could pick a slight difference of tone in the language it was not too hard to tell them apart. Many would almost look like any European tourist. They were the ones that found a place that they could shower at. They would buy new clothes and dress up and feel like normal humans again. Some were trying to find a way to charge their mobiles. I became an interpreter of body language and broken English and helped, another drop in an ocean.
One morning I spot a colony of ants moving their nest. I was always fascinated by ants, they are a magnificent miracle of life. And so was Sherine, a young Syrian-Kurdish lady that could speak very good English and was helping her people as a translator at the hospital. I had seen her help during the first day I was at the hospital. "Look!" she said "Aren't they amazing?" I stupidly explained they were moving their nest. I say stupidly because I later found out she was a Biomechanical engineer escaping death, hoping to reach Germany, dreaming of a Masters degree and a life without snipers.
I asked and she answered, I found out that they fled a war against an invisible enemy, she described people been slaughtered with no understanding of who slaughtered them, friends losing their lives whilst walking home from work. She said "I had enough of seeing my friends die..." so she took the risk of a probable death in a small inflatable dinghy across the Aegean.
Two days later I saw her again, we spoke some more and at some point I told her I was going to pray at a church near by. She asked if she could join me, I said yes. Here we were, a Christian orthodox and a Muslim in a house dedicated to God, asking why had God forsaken us... each for our own reasons.
A day or so later I saw her again, and by now I am totally helpless to do much but I am hopeful that the moment my Mum gets better I can do something. Anything, even buy a few bananas for those kids I saw on the street. In my desperation to help, I cowardly ask Sherine if she needs money, she responds "no I am ok thank you". I feel so small with the thought that I may have offended her I bid her farewell and wish her for her dreams to come true. She wished me the best for my Mum, I never saw her again. I hope she reached Germany by now and I hope she manages to get her little brothers to join her. More importantly I hope she gains her Masters and return to a peaceful Syria one day.
My mother did not make it, we lost her on the 13th of August. My grief turned to management and I took on the funeral organisation and the battle with the monster of bureaucracy that exists in Greece. The Syrian situation was blurred, I never managed to seek the volunteers on the island, I never managed to buy those bananas for those kids, I did so very little whilst I was there...
I came back home to my family in September, exhausted and still grieving but somehow also full of energy. Positive that we must live life to the fullest because we never know when this part of our journey on this earth ends. I tried to help a little more with the only way I knew how. Transfer a few funds to organisations that really help the refugees in Greece. Is that enough? Or is it merely a bribe to forget that when my spirit of hospitality was truly tested I came out short?
I guess it doesn't matter, what matters is what I plan to do for the future, and I hope that this blogpost is part of the plan. I hope that by spreading a more accurate account of the situation people will be more willing to take action. And by action I do not mean a simple like on a facebook page.
I plan to return to Leros in 2016 and help in whatever way I can. It is not only the refugees that are suffering but also the locals. Sure some are making good money out of the situation but many are suffering from a lack of understanding and the absence of real help from the state.
We can all help, next time you are thinking of a holiday think of a working holiday in Leros, seek out the volunteers there and help in any way you can. I know many European friends who have already done this. Their spirit of hospitality was tested and they were full of Philoxenia ! Are you?
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