The only word I can use to describe what the refugees experienced last night is “harrowing.” My shift started at 1:00 am and almost immediately all hell broke loose. A storm of biblical proportions began and didn’t stop its relentless wrath for about five hours. The rain was so heavy at times that it was impossible to see. The thunder sounded like an earthquake and its effect actually felt as if the earth was moving even though it was not. Someone told me we had jaw-dropping lightening but I didn’t even notice because I was so consumed with getting people to a safe place.
People who were crossing the sea during this monster storm began to arrive at the refugee camp. All weren’t wearing shoes and were soaked to the bone. Unlike previous days where people looked happy to have made it to camp, every human being who arrived looked like they were in a state of shock. While many were crying, particularly the children, others had a look on their face that was void of any emotion. Their expressions were just blank, as if the effects of the storm had wiped away their ability to feel anything. It’s a look I have only seen in news story footage or in the movies. I’ve never actually been in front of anyone who was experiencing such trauma. My system immediately kicked into overdrive and clearly so did the systems of all the other volunteers.
There is a standard protocol for routing new refugee arrivals that goes from getting them wristbands to giving them blankets and dry clothes to feeding them to officially registering them and then assigning them housing. That protocol went out the window and after they got their wristband we just needed to get people a blanket and sheltered. The rest could wait. However, the volume of refugees and the velocity at which they arrived turned even that simple task into something Herculean. There simply wasn’t enough room. I’m told the camp was meant to house roughly 400 people. On a normal day — trust me the irony of that word doesn’t escape me — we usually hover somewhere around the 2,000 mark, but last night we went over that by 1,000+ refugees and ended up with over 3,000 people.
Assigning refugees housing on a regular day is extremely complex. Certain nationalities can’t be comingled in a single space. As an example, Syrians can’t be put with Afghanis. Families need to stay together. Single men can’t be put with women or children. People who have contracted scabies need to be isolated. It’s a complete shitshow and managed by a matrix on a whiteboard that requires analytic-like brain processing. Because of the colossal storm, that processing needed to happen in a matter of minutes.
The Ikea refugee huts were meant to hold five people. In some instances, we were assigning 30+ people to a single hut. 100+ tents were also set up. Rooms that were not previously used to house refugees were leveraged. It was all-hands-on-deck and the deck was a slippery, dangerous one last night.
Because so many people were in a state of shock, often times getting people to follow you was challenging. I remember one particular moment where I saw a single mother of four children walking up the slippery hill in what could have been a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. Her son who was about four years old couldn’t keep up with her and the mother was so disoriented she didn’t even notice. I ran over and picked up the little boy to carry him up the rest of the steep slope. He didn’t have any shoes on and his wet clothes were weighing him down. Another male volunteer who was carrying the woman’s baby saw me pick up the little boy and told me he would carry him as he handed me the baby. The baby was wrapped in a heavy, grey emergency relief blanket. I couldn’t see the child’s face but rushed him up the hill as quickly as possible to the family compound area of the camp. There was a backlog of people waiting to get assigned space so we had to endure what felt like an incredibly long wait. In reality, it was probably only ten minutes, but the storm made it feel like hours. I thought I should check on the baby to make sure he was OK. When I peeled back the blanket and saw his little face, it took my breath away. He was about four months old and was completely naked aside from his diaper. Through the grace of God or Allah or whoever one worships, the child was sound asleep completely unaware of the chaos around him.
Unimaginable scenes played out throughout the rest of the night until sunrise. Pregnant women arrived. Elderly people arrived. Handicapped people arrived. And the children. Oh my goodness these poor children. I can’t imagine they will not suffer PTSD from this experience. The good news is they made it to camp and didn’t get abducted by the human traffickers who are responsible for capturing thousands of children along the refugee route.
My entire shift was a blur. I didn’t realize I hadn’t eaten or drank anything, aside from a vegan bar at the start of my shift, until one of the coordinators asked me. By the time the sun came up, the storm had temporarily subsided and we were all trying to process what the hell we just endured. Shortly after sunrise, a beautiful rainbow appeared in the sky. I pointed it out to the two teenage girls I was escorting at the time. Their faces went from expressionless to faint smiles. The first thought that popped into my head was that this was probably the only rainbow on earth where people weren’t whipping out their cell phones and taking photos. The second thought I had, as tears filled my eyes, was that I hoped this was some type of sign from the creator of the Universe that things would be OK for these refugees. I have to believe that. To think anything else is unbearable.
Please pray for the refugees. #BeKind
