Today was what one might call baptism by fire. In complete contrast to yesterday I was thrust into action working in the main refugee camp at Moria. I'm back in my freezing hotel room, showered, but the smells of the camp linger. My thoughts are so scattered trying to process all that I saw and experienced. The most important thing I learned today is in fact that there is little I know, little any of us know.
As with the life of a refugee life at a refugee camp is pretty much a chaotic mess. If you asked me what I did all day I couldn't summarise it in one or two sentences, or even a paragraph. The tasks were so varied, and so rapidly changing. I felt like a pinball being tossed from one thing to the next.
People come here from all over the middle east, arriving freezing, haggard, wet, exhausted, and scared. At Moria they register with the government, a process that is extremely unpleasant that includes hours in queues in freezing temperatures, dealing with often abusive police. Their journey from countries all over the middle east (Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Lebanon, Palestine, Yemen--just to name a few) has already been long and arduous. They arrive here, and in many I see a glimmer of hope that they have finally arrived at a place where they will be able to rest and get real help. The sad truth is Moria is not that place. My heart breaks to see that glimmer snuffed out when they realise there is no place to sleep here for most, the queues will be long, we've run out of dry clothes and worst of all that no one has any answers for them.
Today I felt as if I was back in the middle east. Mostly Arabic surrounded me, and I found myself wishing I knew more than the handful of Arabic words I've picked up from my travels. The people I met today were just like you and me. After today I feel like I have more questions than I have answers, but I can say with certainty of heart that these people are my brothers and sisters. In the small moments of helping people get dry clothes, find a doctor, holding a mother's baby when her arms grew too tired, find a warm place for a family to sit while they wait for their their turn in the queues, help a girl find water, help confused people get their registration tickets, play games with the children in the queue, I saw mothers, fathers, children, grandparents, families . . . and I catch glimpse of the real people behind the plight. Their identities as "refugees" melt.
The worst part of being a refugee volunteer is not having answers for people, or being able to help them (as is often the case, mostly due to the high volume of people coming through). The best part is when you are able, even if just in the moment, even just with something small, to actually help. And in that moment it's all worth it. I held a baby in the queues for over an hour. My back was aching from standing and running around all day. As we stood in the queue to try to find the single mom a place in the family camp, she fell asleep. She had no idea really who was holding her baby. She was too exhausted to care. But for a brief window she found relief. It will take 1000 more moments like that for her to get where she can rebuild her life and a life for those children, but we do each make a difference. It is not with one grand act that humanity is brought to pass, but a thousand tiny ones.
I didn't take that many photos working the camp today. It mostly doesn't feel right. This is not voluntourism. I did spend a half-hour at the end of the day snapping a few to share. #IWasAStranger
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