This story joins a paths that refugees take in their exodus and migration into Europe in hope of finding safety and sanctuary. Throughout 2015 and 2016 I travelled with refugees and visited refugee camps, needing to experience with my own heart and witness with my own eyes what it was to arrive as a refugee today.
The summer of 2015 began with the largest influx of refugees into Europe in European history. War, terror and poverty throughout the Middle East and Africa caused millions to flee. Within one year, more than 1 million refugees arrived by sea to European shores and almost 35,000 by land, most fleeing war in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan. While some countries welcomed refugees with open arms, reception was varied, with regular reports of beatings and arrests and even refugee centres and camps being burnt to the ground. Throughout the world, people gasped in horror at the terror inflicted upon the population through war in Syria and Iraq and by groups such as ISIS whilst nation states erected fencing along borders and created policy to prevent those in dire need of entering and finding safety. The impact on Europe has been vast, with an ever increasing political divide and no coherent response.
This migration together with its risks continues today.
Ashes of War
From the island shoreline the coast of Turkey rests gently on the horizon, faded by the morning haze. The road I have followed is nothing but a dirt track that weaves its way through the hillsides before snaking along the coast. The sea front is littered with the remains of dinghies, broken boats and fluorescent orange life vests, ghosts of drama from yesterdays. Aside to the maritime litter I am surrounded by tranquility, gentle waves and soothing sun; it is hard to imagine what has been happening here. I stand and stare out to sea through my binoculars, wondering if at any moment I, or one of the lifeguards, medics or charity volunteers will spot a boat heading towards these shores.
The sun sets over a temporary reception camp set up by the International Rescue Committee.
Red Cross volunteers scan the horizon in anticipation of boats and dinghies making the crossing from Turkey to Greece.
On the horizon, bobbing up and beneath a rougher sea, appears to be a dinghy. People around me splatter their way into the water, signalling to the boat in the hope of somehow coercing the clearly struggling and overloaded rudderless dinghy to a safer landing. It’s occupants desperately battle the current to make shore. Then all other sounds give way to relentless splashing as more people enter from the shore and passengers desperately try to disembark the feeble craft. The dinghy makes ground followed by roars of elation by some and anxious tears from others. The next moments are frantic as the refugees of this unworthy vessel try to escape its confine and volunteers plea for calm to avoid any common accidents such as the boat overturning.
Amongst the passengers are women and children but mostly men and one who is disabled, paralysed from the waist down, having made it here with his wheelchair. The young try to clamber in front of the less able but on this occasion the plea for calm steadies the mood and the new arrivals await instructions. One by one the refugees, all Syrian, are helped from the dinghy to make a few desperate wet steps to dry land.
Refugees make their way on foot towards one of the first refugee camps.
Now safely on land, some of the refugees find themselves in luck and are driven by bus for around an hour to one of the first of Europes major refugee camps. Others begin the walk that will be at least a day for the most able bodied. Upon arrival to the refugee camp the mood changes as the refugees realise things are not as they had expected. Nestled amongst the olive groves outside a village called Moria, the camp is nothing but makeshift. There is no reception for new arrivals and no management or security in the camp. Originally built for 2,000 people, the camp has swollen well beyond its original boundary, reaching an occupancy estimated to be in excess of 16,000.
The refugees disembark from the bus and precariously make their way into the camp. Conversations strike up with current residents and the new arrivals soon discover it is up to them to build a shelter for themselves. With a little guidance from those they meet the new arrivals start to forage for wood from the olive trees or find pallets from local businesses and use litter in the form of bags or sheets to make cover.
Moria Refugee Camp, hidden amongst the Olive Groves of Lesvos, north of the islands main city, Mytilene.
The next realisation is the availability of food, or lack of it. In the absence of any proper organised relief and with only a few small charities working within the camp, food is scarce. The latest residents are told they will be fed the same food for every meal every day and that is if they can get to the front of the queue before food runs out. The queue can extend beyond 2,000 people, many start queuing immediately after their last meal for the next serving several hours later. A pre-packed croissant for breakfast, butter beans with rice at lunch and no evening meal. Tasteless and always the same. Many refugees have taken to walking a few miles to a local Lidl supermarket to spend any money they have been able to bring with them and take to cooking beside their makeshift home.
(The majority of refugees throughout 2015 and 2016 would waste little time in Moria. There was neither the capacity or security to manage the thousands that would arrive. On they would go in anticipation of catching a ferry to the mainland to make their way north further into Europe. After borders began to tighten across Europe, refugees arriving from late 2016 would be forced to spend months and even years at Moria Refugee Camp.)
We take a ferry to the mainland and then travel north by bus to the Greek border with Macedonia. This is the next major notable stop, another makeshift camp known as Idomeni Refugee Camp. The population here is estimated to be in excess of 20,000 people. Again, people make home where ever they can. Conditions are no better but food appears to be in slightly greater supply. Small charities have managed to make more tents available which is necessary given the landscape is quite barren and has no obvious material to make shelter. The ambition here is to make it across the border into Macedonia as soon as possible, then north into Serbia and then Hungary.
Checks continue as we progress north and contend with Europes new borders, countless barbed wire fences aimed to prevent refugees from reaching their destination or finding sanctuary.
Throughout Europe, fences have been erected by governments to prevent refugees from making their journey further north into Europe. Serbia - Hungary border.
Many go on to Germany or even further north but we take the route to the ‘Jungle Refugee’ Camp in Calais, France. Walking into the camp your senses are met with hope and anticipation, but then confusion and dread at the conditions and overcrowding. The Jungle had grown to an estimated population of 20,000, with only small local NGO’s present. Here many wait in hope of making the crossing to England. Many nationalities have made this place their temporary home, Afghans, Syrians and Iraqis, but also refugees from other countries too fraught with war and unrest less frequently in the headlines such as Somalia and Sudan.
It is here I leave the trail and the people I have met, soon to return to the ‘Jungle’ and witness what next would become of these lost but hopeful souls.