A few night’s ago, a determined nine-year-old Syrian refugee girl emerged in front of our volunteer hut at the refugee camp. There were no Arabic translators around at the time, but through lots of hand gestures we figured out she was looking for a hut with a heater for her family. Sadly, only a very small number of huts have heaters and it is frigidly cold at the camp, especially in the evening. All the housing assignments had been made for the night, so we communicated that there were no heated huts available. With unwavering determination, the little girl grabbed my hand and brought me to an empty hut with a heater. The other volunteer and I were so confused. The housing assignment board indicated that there was a Syrian family in that hut, but they must have left for the ferry to Athens without anyone knowing. We gestured to the girl that her family could have the hut. She excitedly sprinted off to her family’s current hut and woke her sleeping mother to let her know. I followed the little girl to make sure she got back to the hut safely, as it was the middle of the night and pitch black outside. The happiness in the proud little girl’s face was instantly wiped away when her mother said in Arabic that they didn’t want to move. I appreciate why a family of ten sleeping people, mostly children, wouldn’t want to pack up their stuff in the middle of a freezing night to move into another hut, but my heart ached over the disappointment this little girl felt. She was simply deflated by her mother’s response.
Last night the same little girl emerged at our volunteer hut with two intellectually disabled siblings who were both barefoot and without jackets on this exceptionally chilly night. One sibling was a seven-year-old boy and the other was a six-year-old girl. I knew the boy because I had seen him wandering around alone previously with no shoes on his feet. He is non-verbal so finding his mother at the time was challenging. Thankfully, a child from another hut figured out without words what I was trying to do and lead me to the mother of the boy. I think the mother has a limited cognitive capacity as well, but certainly has higher abilities than her son who appears to wander aimlessly and unattended throughout the camp. At the time, I got the boy warm wool socks and a pair of shoes and left him with his mother, expecting she would take over caring for him. I was so sad to see him barefoot again and simply heartbroken to see his sister without shoes and obviously just as cognitively challenged, as well as non-verbal. I fought back the tears and brought the three children into our volunteer hut.
While I wrapped the three children in blankets, another young Muslim female volunteer from Italy, named Elena, sat the two siblings in a chair and began carefully cleaning their feet. When I told her to be aware that the children had scabies, she didn’t skip a beat or alter her care. She nodded at me and continued to attentively wash each of the two children’s feet with her bare hands and baby wipes. After she was done cleaning the children’s feet, Elena found them socks and shoes. As usual the shoes didn’t fit and she had a difficult time getting them on the children’s feet. Since both children were intellectually challenged, they could not be directed to assist by pushing their feet into the shoes. At this moment, a young Syrian man in his early twenties — the most feared demographic on earth — who was dressed in head-to-toe black and someone who didn’t know these children, knelt down without being asked to help Elena get shoes on the children’s feet. When she was done, Elena went to the back of the hut and dug out two donated little toys for the children. The children smiled through a look of confusion and the nine-year-old girl — who was clearly the primary caregiver of her siblings — nodded her head in gratitude.
My friend from home, Paula Kavoulis, founded a respite center for intellectually disabled people. Through her experience I know how physically and emotionally draining having one intellectually disabled child can be in a normal environment where there is a home and a parent who is committed to the child’s care. It’s simply unimaginable and makes my heart bleed to think about what it must be like to have two intellectually disabled children while being homeless and on a journey of uncertainty. Amplifying that challenge is that the mother is often absent, so the care for these two disabled children is being provided by a nine-year-old sibling. In reality, this nine-year-old girl still needs her mommy but has abandoned her own needs for those of her siblings. God/Allah bless all these children and God/Allah bless the volunteers like Elena who compassionately provide them care.
Please pray for the refugees. #BeKind
