Nov 20, 2015 at 09:31 am

Lesbos Debreif

Update posted by Sam Mitchell

Oxy transit camp at sunset

Dear Backers,

I am home in London, safe and sound! Its been an experience I will never forget and I’m sure has changed me profoundly in ways I do not completely understand yet. But allow me to try and give you some idea of the situation on Lesbos and the part I played during the five weeks I was there.

The refugees arrive on the northern shores of the Island as illegal immigrants, crossing the narrow, but often dangerous waters bordering Turkey. Each person pays a fee of around two thousand euros to local smugglers for a place amongst fifty or more others on a rubber dingy built for no more than twenty passengers. Some travel on larger fishing vessels; also overloaded and often dilapidated.

If the people arrive safely, they are met by volunteers and small NGOs on the beaches who provide dry clothes, food, medical care and transport in the form of small cars and vans as well as coaches paid for by the International Rescue Committee and UNHCR. In the area around Molyvos where I was working, arrivals from the beaches were taken to Oxy Transit Camp, so named after the VIP night club, in the cark park of which, it is sited. The camp provides food, clothes, medical care, information and shelter to two thousand people on an average day, although we peaked at six thousand whilst I was there. Further buses are organised to the capital, Mitilini where one can register and apply for asylum.

Boats that get into trouble are picked up by the Greek and European coast guards and volunteer life guards and taken to Molyvos harbour where they are again cared for by volunteers and loaded on to buses directly to Mitilini, since they are technically under arrest. It is on the harbour that the most tragic scenes are played out when people have been in the water for too long.

There are two main camps outside Lesbos’ capital city – Moria and Kara Tepe. When people arrive at Oxy Camp we are asked to separate them in to Syrian and Non-Syrian buses. Syrians go to Kara Tepe and non-Syrians go to Moria. Syria is officially recognised as a war zone and Syrians have a better chance of being accepted as refugees and are better treated. Countries such as Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Somalia are apparently not war zones and as such non-Syrian nationals have a harder time being granted asylum. Their conditions are much worse. Moria, where we must send all our non-Syrian arrivals is notorious for malnutrition, lack of shelter and medical care, little to no sanitation and bouts of police brutality. Why large organisations such as UNHCR, Save the Children and the Red Cross, which are supposed to be responsible for these camps, allow this to happen is beyond me.

The UNHCR provide us with a decent supply of blankets as well as some tents and a few buses. The IRC make a critical contribution of buses and professional staff to help organise them. There is the odd Red Cross personnel helping out. The overstretched local coastguard and ambulance services do the best they can. There are smaller NGOs doing critical working in specialist fields such as medicine. But the overwhelming majority of manpower, supplies, logistics and care being given on Lesbos, indeed across Europe is volunteered or donated. Ordinary individuals from across the continent and the world have freely given their time, money and emotional energy to provide what is at least a semblance of a welcome and safe right of passage to those seeking refuge. No matter how dire the situation ever got while I was on Lesbos, I was reminded of this fact daily and it gave me strength.

For most of my time on Lesbos I worked with Starfish, one of the largest volunteer organisations in the north of the island. Established by a local, British born restaurant owner who began giving out sandwiches to some desperate people who arrived in the harbour one day, the project has since snowballed and Starfish now runs Oxy Camp, as well as operations at the harbour and Eftalou Beach. I worked on an 8 hour, night-and-day shift system distributing food, clothes and blankets, cleaning the sites, running the ticket system and loading buses. Later in my trip I managed to get some time off schedule to build a new door, shelves and tables for the men’s clothing tent and storage houses.

The refugees I met were in approximately equal numbers from Syria and Afghanistan but there where others from Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Palestine, Eritrea, Somalia, Libya, Tunisia, Morocco and Nigeria. The majority travelled in family groups of two or three to twenty or more with members of all ages; babies, small children, teenagers, young men and women, parents and grandparents. There where groups of young men and individuals. Single mothers would often band together. I cannot say there was a particular mood of the refugees. Their outlook was as varied as they’re origins, background and situations; As varied as humanity. I saw moments of intense joy and optimism for what a future in Europe might mean as well as moments of despair at what the journey had cost. But without fail all the people I meet where always courteous and thankful.

I would like to convey a message to you from an anonymous Syrian mother. She was wrestling to keep her place in a line for some dry clothes for her three children. A line I was trying and failing to hold. Upon realising my desperation, she looked up at me and said gently, as a mother would: “We are proud of you.” I think she meant it to all of us.

It was very difficult to leave Lesbos and it feels strange now I am back in London. I have every intension of returning soon.

Thank you all for your generous contributions that have made this opportunity possible.

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