Changes

Lesvos is a paradox; the only thing that never changes is that everything changes, yet somehow everything feels the same.  If one was to come to the island, one will see the same faces yet they will be different each day.  Volunteers and refugees come and go, only to be replaced by fresh initiative and more seeking shelter.  The “rules” of the island seem to be constantly in flux.  Moria is open.  Moria is closed.  Moria is semi-open.  Moria has all but officially given up monitoring all its refugees.  Boats are coming.  Boats are not coming.  Some people died trying to reach Greece’s shores.  The deal struck by the EU and Turkey, which was hastily implemented upon its signing, has lost steam.  Hundreds of refugees that were boarded onto ferries for deportation at the beginning of the deal have trickled to only tens of refugees taken back to Turkey discreetly via airplane.  Resettlement of Syrians in Turkey to European countries has been even slower.

As the June deadline for the enactment of visa-free travel for Turkish citizens approaches, so does the concern that if the EU fails to deliver on it, Turkey will open the floodgates again just as the harsh winter and spring conditions have given way to much calmer summer weather.  The presence of NGOs and volunteers has shifted towards the mainland, camps deconstructed and moved elsewhere.  The facilities and infrastructure that once existed here in the height of the crisis have mostly left.  If the proverbial faucet were to be turned back on, the island would almost immediately return to its conditions in the fall of last year.  Organizations will be left with decisions to make; stay the course on the mainland where most of the pre-March 20th refugees have been taken or leave the mainland to once again return to Lesvos to rebuild the former organization and infrastructure.

Perhaps what is most difficult for me is that there is no way I can properly explain to you, the reader, life here.  I read the blogs of current and former volunteers on Lesvos and I undoubtedly disagree with them internally to some extent.  The crisis has the same changing face but we seem to all react and analyze it differently.  We cope with emotions differently.  We solve problems differently.  Some are subtle in their words while others are dramatic or grandiose.  We help each other without hesitance with aid while at the same time we are almost competing for those very same resources.  Yet we’ve all come here to do, ideally, the same humanitarian work.  “Of course everyone handles problems and the crisis differently and of course not everyone will get along”, one would say.  And I think ultimately that’s my point.  It’s different in a way I could never fully communicate.

Communication isn’t immune to the paradox of Lesvos.  Sometimes rumor and fact form an amalgam that becomes the basis for decision-making.  Volunteers collectively think they have communicated with one another but there are still communication breakdowns.  Hell, I would be foolish to consider myself immune and think that I’ve communicated effectively with everyone here that I’ve interacted or worked with.  Plans change, roles change, communication changes.

Some thought the high-profile visit of Pope Francis, Patriarch Bartholomew, Archbishop Ieronymos, and Greek Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras on April 16th would finally give the world a real glimpse into the crisis on the island that has been glossed over in favor of reports about the mass of humanity huddled on the Greek side of the Greek-Macedonian border in Eidomeni.  Some thought that this would finally be the sign of change former, current, and future volunteers were looking for.  A saving grace, almost literally, to finally take the crisis seriously and provide some amount of real care to those confined in fences and borders.  Instead of the crisis being highlighted, what we received were news stories praising the Pope for taking twelve refugees with him.  No coverage of the conditions, no coverage of the ugly reality of it all. 

The island changed, oh so briefly, with that glimmer of hope that maybe it was our collective day to be seen by the world.  Instead what we received were hastily whitewashed walls.

Even my own plans have potentially changed.  In the beginning, I thought that this would be a three-month long journey to help those in dire need.  I saved enough to be abroad for exactly three months and fundraised to be able to donate whatever and wherever I could until the money was gone during that period.  And now, one week until I leave the island, donation money spent on food, clothes, charitable gifts for projects, and camp resources and with enough personal money for the week, I find myself in a position to potentially return to Pikpa with a visa extension provided by the University of the Aegean and facilitated by Pikpa to continue working.  My role at camp has changed so dramatically since I first came here.  As I wrote in a prior blog, I worked in the kitchens when I first came, also cutting lifejackets, cleaning, and just overall general work.  Then after March 20th, I moved to “Plan B” planning (preparation for a possible eviction from Pikpa’s current site and preparing a new site), helping move and log excess stock at camp to its warehouse, deconstructing unused tents and storing them, along with general work.  In my last few weeks, I moved to a position that is far more natural to me: Tech Support.  Along with more glamorous tasks like managing the camp’s Wi-Fi network, office computers, and monitoring the camp’s social media, I help volunteers and residents with cell phone and computer issues.  Along with general labor, I now help drafting plans and proposals. 

In these last weeks, I’ve been counted on for English lessons from the residents, who cheerfully approach me in the morning wondering what time we can sit down and learn.  What is beautiful about this is that it isn’t a one-way street; these same residents have made it their mission to teach me Farsi, sometimes willingly, sometimes kicking and screaming.  They see my determination and friendship and they exceed it with me.  Since I live here at camp, one night over tea I was asked why I came here to volunteer by a man who barely speaks English, who is illiterate, and who has a heart of gold.  I told him about how my family came long ago to America and faced discrimination and how I felt it was my duty to help him on his journey.  I told him never to thank me because I only do for him what I would like others to do for me.  I told him that I am him and he is me.  And he responded in broken English, “You are in my heart.”

Powerful.

With the summer coming, with uncertainty in lockstep, I feel it is important for me to continue here.  I mentioned coming here with patience and flexibility in mind in my first blog post.  It’s that patience and flexibility that allowed me to thrive in this environment.  I cannot predict whether I’ll have a visa in time or whether the Pikpa I know now will even exist by the time I can return when my tourist visa resets in August.

What I do know is that everything changes.  What I know is that everything stays the same.  What I know is that I don’t know.

I’m comfortable with that.