My March 10th shift was my first of four straight overnight shifts (1:00 am — 9:00 am) at the refugee camp. The irony was not lost on me that in America we call this the “graveyard shift.” Given how many refugees lose their life traveling over the sea at night, I now have a new association for the term. You would think that the overnight shift would be quieter given that most refugees can’t swim and would choose not to travel on the water at night. That’s the thing though, when fleeing for their life, you don’t have choices.
The first boat in a series of refugee arrivals came in at about 4:00 am. I was told by someone directly connected to the people who rescue them from the water that there were seventy-seven people all from the same town in Syria. I was also told that seventy-seven of them arrived in a boat that was meant for a maximum of ten people. Can you imagine the fear the refugees experienced as they traveled over the sea in the pitch black knowing that if they or their children ended up in the water they would drown? On top of that, it was freezing last night. I had on a thermal long-sleeve undershirt, a tee-shirt, jeans, two layers of jackets, a scarf and a hat and I was still shivering most of the night. It was simply unimaginable to me to know how cold they were given they were experiencing the exact same temperature as I was except they were soaking wet.
Among the seventy-seven people, there were seven families with young children in the first boat that arrived. I was asked to escort them from the place where they were given dry clothes to the tea/food hut and then to the registration area where the authorities would register them. Seeing the mothers and fathers of the seven families interacting with each other and their young children stopped me in my tracks. It suddenly dawned on me that this group of friends was no different than the friends I had in the town where I raised my children when they were younger. If you are a parent you know what I am talking about. Parents of small children have a cluster of friends who have kids the same age. You do everything together. The only difference is that ISIL showed up in their town and they were forced to flee to save their lives and the lives of their young children. If you are or have been the mother or father of small children I ask that you close your eyes and imagine what it would be like if ISIL showed up in your town during that time period. This is exactly what happened to these families. Like you, they had homes, furniture, clothing, photos, toys, and other stuff that made up their world. Now all the possessions they own fit in a couple of bags that are soaking wet. Everything they had, knew, treasured and loved is gone. Their life will never be the same. The only thing they have now in their life is uncertainty. Like most parents, they would likely give their left lung to ensure the safety of their children. However, they were put in a position where that safety was at risk and they had to leave a place they loved and called home. They are now in a concrete, barb-wire facility in an unfamiliar country wearing somebody else’s clothes. Just imagine for a second what that must be like.
As I was helping these families, I noticed many of the small children had the same ridiculously adorable knitted hats on when they arrived. The hat had bear-like ears on them and a tie below the chin. I imagine the Moms of these children did the exact same thing American Moms do when they find something they love — they tell their friends who are also Moms who likely go buy the same thing. You see the thing is that these Moms may live in Syria and may belong to a different religion but they are so much like Moms in America and the one universal trait we have is an unwavering love for our children and an intense commitment to keeping them safe.
One last story for now. After I escorted what appeared to be all of the refugees down to the registration area and was walking up the very steep hill to see if anyone was left, I encountered a very elderly couple slowly navigating the steep downward slope of the hill. I noticed and thought it was unusual that the old woman was carrying four wet, heavy bags in one arm and holding the arm of her husband with her other arm. She was clearly struggling. As I approached them, I gestured with my hands to ask her if I could carry her bags and she nodded yes. I could see immediate relief on her face. As we walked, I was trying to motion them using my hands to tell them that we needed to go a little more to the left to the gated entry point of the registration area. The woman tried to speak to me and I nodded my head side to side indicating that I didn’t speak Arabic. She then waved her hands up and down in front of her eyes and pointed to her husband. It took me a few seconds and I then realized that her husband was blind. That ignited the biggest wave of emotion I was hit with since I began working at the camp. I literally had to consciously breath to make sure I didn’t cry in front of them. I nodded to her that I understood, maintained my composure and finished getting them to where they needed to be. As I turned around to walk back up the hill I began to cry silently. The thought of this elderly man making this journey while blind and the enormous courage his wife maintained was simply too much to process. I was thankful it was dark and I was basically alone so nobody could see the emotion I was experiencing.
Please pray for the refugees. #BeKind
