After being here 8 days I can see the locals are just as shell shocked as the refugees getting off the boats, bewildered at what..... Just WHAT is to happen next. The night before we sat and dined on custom meals made by lovely restaurant owners who are grateful to have business during this odd juxtaposition of small town beauty meets mass exodus.
The boats come in around the clock..... and if its picture worthy weather, so do volunteers. Larger groups sponsored by NGO's are smart enough to use eager independent volunteers as bird-dogs doing the tracking work. Once the boats are clearly lined up for a set disembark they snap their fingers and hired cameramen and photogs quickly squeeze right on top of you to get their photos, pushing some out of their way. Children in shock are strewn along the shore - not quite sure if they are to trust any person they ever see, again. Mothers search your eyes for translation, trying to trust their gut if they should allow you to feed their child, or even walk twenty feet to the car where you have clothing. They have been warned of the worst in humanity and for many, have never even seen anything close to the best.
Once camera lighting diminishes the independent volunteers who came using their holiday money seem to work overtime. The small sized NGO and teams of two-three seem to mesh fine, at least for now. Murmurs from locals get spread that if volunteers stopped coming then maybe the refugees might stop... A memo I doubt the people hiding in dense brush in Turkey are going to ever get. They have been hiding ten days now to escape when the authorities pass.... and possibly when the weather looks good, but the smuggler doesn't really care about the later. The night before we create a tent city with the help of 3 volunteers, and after spending my own money, feed them. The translator who I have met from Sweden quietly says that a boat is missing and the smugglers are separating families.... A father weeps quietly that his two sons, ages 7-9 are lost at sea..... and now the downpour of rain kicks in. I set off in my rented car to the other nearby shores to search. Those of us used to chaos at home, look around and still have no preparation for these third world problems. The genocide of our time..... and a scant handful of mothers, journalists, and paramedics are the ones here to help.
"Where is the church"? I hear a local say in broken English..... Its shortly off of the "Where is God?" that I think has slipped into my head at moments when I least expect it. Like holding a 8 year old girl who is shaking so badly from shock that she hasn't cared to look for her mom, for 40 minutes now. "Where is anybody" is more like it. I walk a half a mile into town to use the WC, and order a warm drink. I see parents walking through town quietly with their refugee children, looking for the next stop on their endless journey. The kids are my childrens ages..... the children are my children. "Thank you it tastes great" I say to the barista as I walk to the mini mart to pay for my breakfast tally for 300 refugees I fed. "What exactly is going on here" an older couple says to me in bewilderment..... exactly I think......exactly...
Weather will be turning soon, and the exodus will not stop. The smugglers will still sell cheaper tickets at inopportune times, and those without money will take that chance, as it is the only chance they have to survive. A woman only puts their child on the water at 2am if they know its safer then the land. At least, I think, God controls the tide.........
As I stumble to my car to make it to the airport I realize I have slept 18 hours in the last 6 days. Im sure my pacemaker report will send an alert to my doctor that something unusual has happened this week... Then I see a young boy I unloaded two days prior walking in town. Through a translator his mother says that when they saw me on shore at 5am they thought I was a cop to arrest them.... They had no warning that people may actually help. "She made me feel like a human again".... she says. I tear up for the first time in front of a refugee. Her six year old takes my family picture with him as he smiles coyly at me.... Huge smiles when he sees my five children... He makes me feel like a hero....And I know I will never be the same again....
