Smuggling — An Act of Resistance
The third in a series of blogs on my 44-day journey along the migration trail to Europe
More than twenty days had passed since the start of their long journey to Europe, but not one went by without Somar and his sisters daydreaming about their parents following them to Germany. This was well before they made it there themselves.
Their failure to mobilize international support (through the Edirne demonstration, read Part II) to grant them safe and legal entry to Europe had accentuated their nostalgia for home. A frustrated and overburdened Somar began attaching a degree of legitimacy to the idea of getting smuggled.
After all, most countries affected by the Syrian crisis had in some way blatantly broken international humanitarian law: Somar’s village in Syria was (and still is) under siege for months on end, and most neighboring countries have shut their borders to Syrians on the run. The last of these anti-refugee responses was demonstrated in Turkey’s probing of Syrians to take to the sea route while turning a blind eye to the geography along its coastline.
While political masterminds ogle the centers of power in Syria’s fighting game, it seemed at this point as if the weight of morality had been thrown on the hunched backs of those carrying their belongings and walking on foot away from tented refugee camps, in search of a dignified life. To say that this is hypocritical would be an understatement.
And with that, a culture of resistance started fostering among Somar, his sisters and friends.
“If you believe in something so dearly and work cautiously towards it, nothing bad will happen,” Somar would reassure me whenever I bugged him about the dangers of the sea crossing.
No one is ever prepared to risk their life, even when it is out of necessity. Perhaps this is the reason smugglers often rush their clients to the smuggling point. Somar’s sisters and cousins were the first to undertake the crossing, together with a trusted friend, crammed in a rubber dinghy that floated across the Mediterranean. The five of them impossibly managed to fit in the 3.5 x 1.5 meters boat. It cost them $4200 in total. Somar and I stayed behind.
“I held onto Salsabil’s arm and closed my eyes. It was too dark to see anything,” Somar’s 15-year-old sister Lubna told me later. “Then Salsabil started talking about the lights flickering from the island ahead and I opened my eyes. They were beautiful.”
While the girls were crossing the sea, Somar closed his eyes and rocked softly back and forth reciting prayers. Finally, when we learned that they had arrived safely, he jumped in joy and relief.
Negotiations proceeded for the rest of the group who stayed back in Kaş — some had lost money along the way. Al Hajj agreed on a transaction of $800 per person, on condition that he would send them off separately with different groups of migrating asylum seekers. He reassured us that if the dinghy was caught by the Turkish coastguards before making it into Greek waters, we would be able to try again after a couple of days.
Two boats had crossed to Kastellorizo safely until it was Somar’s turn. Before the opportunity would be lost forever, I decided to finally confront Al Hajj as we sipped our Turkish coffee: “I understand you are offering a solution for people wanting to migrate, but why charge so much for a crossing that legally costs €25?” Undeterred by whether I believed him or not, he explained that he gets a negligible share of the fee, 150 Turkish Liras (around $50) per person, while the rest goes to the cost of the boat and bribes to the Turkish and Greek coastal guards. I found that hard to believe but nodded and said goodbye.
The next morning, I crossed to Kastellorizo on the official ferry and met with friends who had already reached the island a couple of days earlier. They guided me through thorny mountain terrain where we saw deserted clothes that had once belonged to other newly arrived asylum seekers. Many were children’s clothes. Finally, we arrived at the isolated drop-off location where we waited for Somar to arrive after nightfall. The view of the Mediterranean around us was breathtaking.
Rather than hearing Somar’s boat arrive, my phone rang. It was Somar. He informed me that he was safely dropped off at a spot on the other side of the mountain. We managed to meet halfway, crossing through thorn bushes, and seeking each other with the help of our phones’ GPS and loud whistles that echoed under the starry moonless sky. We led Somar and the rest of the group into the island port where lights of restaurants and hotels flickered from a distance.
The Blue Star Ferries, which makes two rounds a week to the islands, namely on Fridays and Mondays, pick up passengers and drop them off in Athens’ Piraeus port. The journey from Kastellorizo to Piraeus takes 23 hours. Prior to purchasing ferry tickets, which cost around €50 for a seat or €240 for a four-bed room, asylum seekers must be issued a document by the Hellenic police called a “service memo”. So we remained and waited for the next three days.
There were no preparations in place to receive the migrants and refugees in an island as small as Kastellorizo. Out of the 400 locals, though, exceptional generosity was displayed by one couple, Monika Brueggebors and her husband Damien Mavrothalassitis, who own a small, cozy restaurant on the island. Monika and Damien opened their home-style restaurant’s outdoor space for families, offering them free meals and drinks. On Saturday, Monika crossed to Antalya to buy the travelers warm clothing and, along with a few apartment owners, arranged to lend their homes for a few nights so families wouldn’t have to sleep in the open air.
But the worst of the journey was behind them, the young men in our group were able to momentarily relax. After a good night’s sleep, they toured the little island and held a football match with the locals, choosing lifejackets as a symbolic mascot for their team. A few days later we boarded the Blue Star Ferry bound for Athens in high spirits, hoping that soon enough, they would claim asylum in Germany.
Read the fourth blog on Somar Kreker’s story: On the Refugee Route Part IV: Crossing Through Europe’s Firewall
Read blog in the West Asia North Africa (WANA) Institute website.
The West Asia — North Africa (WANA) Institute is a non-profit policy think tank based in Amman, Jordan. Operating under the chairmanship of His Royal Highness Prince El Hassan bin Talal, the Institute works to promote a transition to evidence-based policy and programming to combat the development and humanitarian challenges facing West Asia and North Africa.
