The Times They Are A’Changing.

For the last year, From Scotland With Love, has been my own personal outpouring of thoughts whilst witnessing a humanitarian crisis upon Europe’s shores. It began as a place where I could ramble away my most innermost feelings and perceptions on sleepless nights to try and make sense of the realities I couldn’t believe I was really witnessing. I was surprised and touched when people began to follow these ramblings and used my words to help raise awareness of what was happening on this little Greek island.

 
Since I first sat down to begin to try and tell this story over a year ago, I have lived the best of times and the worst of times. There are no words that can truly sum up what this year has taught me or shown me but bearing witness to this time in our modern history will stay with me forever.

 
At this point, it is time to move on to the next chapter in my personal story. The last post I wrote for this blog – September 29th 2015/2016 I feel is the best way to end this chapter, as it sums up a year as a volunteer, standing in solidarity through the good times and the bad. I have met the most incredible people on this journey and I found myself not only friends in Kos but a family. I will remain here, supporting refugees, but in a different capacity. I hope to continue writing, but in a time of transition and new beginnings, my writing will also move to new avenues.

 
I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who supported me personally over this last year, but more importantly to everyone who supported the cause of solidarity. In difficult times when hatred becomes louder and more outspoken, it is more important now more than ever not to forget about the plight of refugees and migrants, who we cannot forget are human beings, people who find themselves with these labels but who deserve as much from this life as you or me.

 
We are all human beings and we all deserve to be treated as such.

 
I’m not closing the book, I’m just turning the page.

 

Peace, love and solidarity to all!

 

Thank you.

September 29th 2015/2016

One year ago today I set foot on the island of Kos for the first time. A few weeks previously I had read an article in the Daily Mail that had sickened me so much as a British Citizen that I had booked a flight to Kos, somewhat spontaneously, to try and lend a hand in whatever way I could in the refugee response. I intended to stay a week or so, and yet here I am a year later. This is the story of then and now, as I saw it, as I see it. 

On the evening of September 29th 2015, a budget airline flight touched down on the tarmac of Kos airport and an anxious little red head from Scotland stumbled out. After a reasonably overpriced tourist Taxi to the main town, she found herself being welcomed by a very friendly hotelier, who advised there were many volunteers staying at his establishment and that everyone would be more than happy to help her find her feet. As she dumped her bags down in her apartment, she had just sat down upon the bed to take a breath when there was a knock at the door. She was greeted by the smiles of two fellow international volunteers, a cheery Austrian and a lovely Swede who asked if she would like to go down to the port to find out about the Night Shifts, so she would have an idea what to expect. She gladly accepted this kind offer and strolled off down to the port, with visions of headlines and horror swirling in her mind but an enthusiastic smile fixed firmly on her face. Before midnight on September 29th 2015, this girl was already searching for the victims of a possible shipwreck after an empty boat had washed up ashore. She found out the next morning the bodies of a young family had been found in the water.

 
From that moment on the girls life would never be the same. But this is not the story of this girl. I may be this girl but this is not my story. This is the story of Kos.

 

One year on since the day the girl arrived, the island is trying to move on from the events of the last year and the way they have chosen to do this is to sweep the refugees under the rug, wipe away any evidence of what happened here and do as much as possible to make the issues disappear, out of sight, out of mind.

Here are the pictures of now with the stories of then, although you may not see anything now, this story should not be forgotten.

 

THE PORT

One year ago today, this stretch was the very public face of the refugee crisis in Kos. Tent’s lined these streets, filled with people who had made the journey across the sea from Bodrum to Kos. There were never enough tents so many simply slept on the streets. In the mornings, lines of people could be seen waiting for something to eat, the local baker would open the back of a truck and give whatever he had. Solidarity would be there with boxes of donated breakfasts visiting the tents and making sure everyone had something to eat. In September on any given day there could be anything from 500-1000 making the port their temporary home, in the previous months this number was much greater.

 
In the evenings Solidarity volunteers would again be there for food distribution, handing out sandwiches which they had prepared during the day. It wasn’t much, but it was something and of course it wasn’t all about handing out food, it was about the human connection. There was always a laugh and a joke, some terrible attempts at learning Arabic, Urdu or Farsi and the general feeling that we were all in this together in the real spirit of solidarity. It was not the charity of giving to the poor, it was sharing what we had with those that in need but on a level, as an equal with mutual respect and dignity.

 
And when the sun went down, the arrivals would begin. Groups of volunteers would gather around big plastic bags filled with donated clothes and blankets, biscuits and water and would wait patiently to welcome people to Europe. Volunteers were the first point of contact. The boats did not arrive here, generally, they would arrive at two beaches, both approx 5 km from this point. From the shore the people had to walk to the port to register, this is why the volunteer base was here as a central point, but volunteers were also at the beaches on patrol or to try and give lifts to the most vulnerable, the injured and the old that could not walk the 5km to the town. There was no support from the government, there was no on the ground support from NGO’s overnight. The first and only response at this point was from the volunteers.

 
Many people arrived with nothing but the clothes they stood in, many of those clothes were completely soaked through from the sea. Volunteers had little to offer, but the most important thing they had was humanity. All night, every night they were there, with a smile in the darkness.

 

 

THE PARK (THE JUNGLE)

 
Here today stands an Archaeological park but one year ago today this was a makeshift refugee camp which was home for the majority of the single men. MSF (Medicins Sans Frontiers) erected large tents which were designed to hold around 30 people but they were overcrowded with many, many more as there were simply not enough shelters. There were very basic facilities available in the park such as toilets and showers, not enough for the number of people residing there but MSF tried their best to provide what they could in a hostile political situation with a very, very unsupportive Mayor.

 
The park was also where lunch would be served, hot meals were prepared by a small German volunteer group who fundraised to have a local hotel prepare food daily. All food distributions were carried out by volunteers and usually a couple of refugees volunteering their translation skills as at this point there was no translation service or staff available outside of the UNHCR asylum law advisors who worked within the police station.

 
The jungle was not a pleasant place to be, after a few busy nights it could become extremely overcrowded and the mix of nationalities and cultures being forced into such close proximity with issues like food shortages, clothing shortages and many having to go barefoot due to limited donations, created tensions.

 

 

THE POLICE STATION

Outside now everything seems calm and quiet but one year ago today, at any given moment, hundreds of people could be seen waiting outside for the next steps of their registration process so that they could move on to the next stage of their journey.

 
The registration had three stages. Firstly when someone arrived in the night from a boat they had to register before 5am to take the first registration document with their number which was generally referred to as the “small paper.” Once they had this they had to wait anything from 24 hours to 4/5 days depending on how busy the island had been for arrivals, to have a formal meeting within the police station to take the “big paper.” The names and numbers would be put up on a board every day outside the station to see who would be able to take their paper that day, some people had to wait longer than others and although it was denied officially there was a hierarchy of nationalities which upset many people. The “big paper” then allowed the people to leave the island, providing they had the funds for the rest of their journey. The ferry to Athens left daily and cost around 54 Euros.

 

One year ago today this police station was also home to unaccompanied children who were locked up in dirty cells without adequate food or sanitation with adult prisoners. The human rights violations that were committed within these walls were so great it is almost impossible to believe it really happened in a European country in 2015.

 

 

THE LIGHTHOUSE

Now this lighthouse is exactly what is has always been, a lighthouse on a picturesque coastline but one year ago today this was beacon which led the way for many across the Aegean sea. The distance is not far from Bodrum in Turkey to Kos, at it’s closest point it is around 6km.

 
On this day, one year ago, this coastline was scattered with life jackets, many of which were fake, manufactured in an illegal factory and when cut open could be found to contain materials such as straw and paper.

 
In Turkey, the people would pay their smuggler anything from 800 to thousands of Euro’s, then some were given life jackets, some were real, some were fake and then they would be sent of on their journey usually headed towards the light of this lighthouse. Some smugglers drove the bigger, more expensive and safer boats across, would throw the people out somewhere near the coast so as not to get caught and would then head back for the next trip. The smaller boats and dinghy’s were usually driven by a reluctant refugee, many of whom had no experience of powering a boat. The boats were of such bad quality many engines broke down before they reached the shore and people had to try to paddle or would float in the sea for many, many hours before they found help. Sadly we are all too aware of what happened to the many boats which could not withstand the journey and sunk on the way, even in such a short stretch of water so, so many lives were lost.

 
When the boats did make it to the Lighthouse, they were usually greeted by a line of cars from independent volunteers and groups who wanted to provide the first response. The beach here is not particularly rocky like the televised scenes in Lesvos so there was rarely ever a need for anyone to have to go into the water to guide the boats in. People would wait in their cars with binoculars to try and spot any incoming boats and then would prepare some blankets, water and possibly high energy biscuits. When the boats landed on the shore they would check everyone was OK and then guide them to the registration point at the port.

 
This was a very emotional time for many refugees as they first set foot in Europe, there were many tears, many smiles, many hugs and religious gesturing. This was also a very popular place for photographers and journalists as upon the beach there was real human emotion in it’s purest, rawest form.

 

 

THE FERRY DEPARTURE

This busy ferry port was witness to some of the most moving moments for many volunteers on the island. Every evening this was a place which was charged with emotion and the hussle and bussle of people preparing to take the next steps towards their new lives.

 
Solidarity was there every evening distributing warm jackets, good quality shoes and backpacks for the long journey ahead of those leaving the island, many of whom were heading across Europe to Germany.

 
After the chaos of the last minute distributions, this was where many people bid farewell to those they had met as they first arrived in Europe. In the few days people waited on their registration it was very easy to build friendships and the ferry farewell was always a very bittersweet moment. Families which had first been met after the trauma of the sea, could now be seen smiling and excited about their new life, their new start, but many of us knew that the journey after Kos was not an easy one and that although we were happy to share their smiles we worried that the dream of Europe was not the reality they were about to face.

 
As the ferry departed, everyone stood on the top deck and shone out a light in the darkness from their phones out to wave goodbye.

This was a year ago today when hope still existed on the Aegean Islands.

 

NOW – THE REALITY OF EU FUNDED “HOTSPOTS”

 
On September 29th 2016, today, the situation for refugees has changed dramatically since last year. Over the course of the last year, borders slammed shut, governments built walls and fences, dodgy deals were made, propaganda ran riot and in the middle of all of this the humanity was lost, those who the consequences would affect the most were forgotten about.

 
This is now the reality in for refugees in Kos. The EU funded “hotspot” which promised a safe, short term home to those trying to seek asylum in Europe, but in reality, it opened as an under funded (who knows where the money went), unsafe, long term detention centre for anyone who arrived on these shores. Originally built with the capacity to house 800 people, this facility currently has approx 1300 residents, around 1000 housed within the containers in the main compound and the rest in a camp outside in what was built as a staff car park but became an unsanitary mess of a camp for single men deemed as migrants. When the facility opened it was a closed detention camp, now many are free to move in and out of the facility providing their papers have gone through the registration process but with nothing to do with this free time many just wander around the roads outside of the fences during the days and then return again in the evenings. Instead of being a short stay facility, due to the sluggish asylum process in Greece, many have been housed here for many months as no one can move on from the island. As conditions worsen and asylum claims delay and delay whilst more and more people are squeezed into this facility, it is a powder keg of tension.

 
Small children live behind razor wire and walk around amongst the broken windows left from fighting which happens in the nights. Unaccompanied children live in what can only be described as a cage, locked inside for “their own protection” from the rest of the residents of the camp. Pregnant women hope that their asylum process will move fast enough for them to give birth and raise their child outside of these fences but know deep down how unlikely this is in the current climate.

 
The facility and camp is run by the military and the police with the help of the few NGO’s willing to work inside a system such as this. Very few voluntary organisations cross the gates of this place and those who do generally wish they had not. There is no humanity and there is definitely no solidarity.

 
Few staff members try to do their best and provide any kindness they can in this environment but they are few and far between and it is not easy in a place filled with frustration and sadness.

 
The people who risked everything in the rubber dinghy’s traveled to Europe for a safe life, a life they could live, being left in this limbo is not living.

 
Outside of the “hotspot” there are a few charity funded apartments for those who are seen as the most vulnerable but there are not enough and it is not easy on this island to find landlords willing to cooperate with refugees or NGO’s. Over 100 unaccompanied minors also live outside in supported accommodations, many of whom have been here for 6 months or more with no information about what happens next.

 

There is then of course the issue of the unregistered, those who manage to reach the shore without being caught by the Police and Frontex patrols who do not want to be deported so they live hidden in parks and abandoned buildings. With no place they can openly ask for help as they are illegal,  they are desperate, cold and hungry and there is no one legally that can assist them. This is a very worrying consequence of the EU Turkey deal.

 

The Refugee Crisis in Kos is now heard but not seen. The “hotspot” facility is many miles away from the main town in an attempt to keep the issue as hidden as possible to the outside world. The locations where the story of the last year played out have been wiped clean as if nothing ever happened. What happened here on these shores, on the ports, in the streets was far from OK, it was a terrible situation but somewhere in amongst the chaos there was an essence of human spirit and a hope for something better. Now what happens here and on the other Greek islands is nothing short of torture for those who did nothing wrong other than try to live.

 
I hope with all my heart that humanity is restored to these islands one day, and I hope it will be one day soon.

From Scotland with love x

 

 

Many thanks to Robert Mehlan for the Featured Image of volunteers on the port last year.

 

 

Volunteers – We’re All In This Together

It is no secret that volunteers were there when nobody else was when the little boats began arriving on Greek shores. It is no secret that volunteers were there when thousands of people made an unofficial border camp in Calais their home. It is no secret that volunteers have been the first responders on all fronts of Europe’s, “Refugee Crisis,” but as many people find themselves realising they have been involved in this for a year or more, perhaps this is a good time for some reflection as a whole.

 

I want to share some of my own thoughts, my own personal views coming from the perspective of professional Volunteers Coordinator in a previous life and as a volunteer for a number of small and large organisations for most of my life.

 
I myself have been volunteering supporting refugees on the Greek island of Kos since last September, I arrived as many others did as an unskilled independent volunteer with a little pot of fund-raised cash and the will to help where ever I could in solidarity with both refugees and local Greek people. I very quickly was welcomed into the hearts of the locals of the solidarity movement and a year later find myself here as one of them, almost as a local, but at the same time I am not. I find this position interesting as it gives a perspective somewhere in the middle of the locals vs foreigners debates I see cropping up. Today, I feel prompted to write something which I do hope people do not take offence to but that can open up a discussion about what a volunteers place is within the refugee response.

 
When I woke up this morning I read an article in the Independent accusing the “young female volunteers” in the Calais jungle of having inappropriate sexual relationships with refugee residents of the camp. It was prompted by a heated debate which has been active within forums for many weeks now, a debate I have been following as it is a discussion which within an NGO would never have to happen as these relationships are quite obviously wrong from a professional perspective, but is there a difference when it comes to volunteers? My personal opinions on this aside, I was glad when I first seen this as I believe it is an important discussion within the volunteer community about appropriate behaviour, but then I saw how negatively this was being received outside of this community. It seems this article has created a very nasty backlash of a blanket accusation that all young women became involved in volunteering for sex and attention, which of course, as a young women, I find hugely offensive and completely missing the point of the discussion. The article does, however, raise the very important point that volunteers are individuals and that in this crisis, no one was checking up on who we were, what we were doing and what our purpose or reasons were for being involved. When I was a Volunteers Coordinator, I would never have let anyone near the vulnerable young people I worked with unless they had been on a six week training course and had completed a police check, at least, and yet on Greek beaches, unchecked, people were holding strangers babies and changing young kids out of wet clothes. But in this emergency response there was trust and I know that the majority of people involved were deserving of this trust but at the same time, we should all remain awake and vigilant to things we see which are not OK when people are placed in these positions of trust.

 
Interestingly, this article has now prompted suggestions of censorship within groups because you never know who is reading what and what journalists can take from discussions on open Facebook groups. This idea of censorship is something I noticed yesterday in another islands information page where a local Greek was trying to explain a situation and was, constructively, criticising some international volunteers behaviour. They were suggesting that comments they made would be deleted if they did not buy into the “back patting” of international volunteers who sometimes seem like they are involved more for media publicity rather than silently getting on with the nitty gritty like the majority of the local Greek volunteers. I don’t know the background behind this particular debate but it is something I can most definitely relate to. We all know that volunteer who showed up at a beach and grabbed the nearest baby when they knew there was someone with a camera nearby but we don’t all know the locals who have spent almost every day for more than a year now running around doing all the jobs that are not so headline grabbing but are necessary. I see this issue very clearly as an international volunteer, no matter how long I have been here or have been involved I will never have the same knowledge or understanding as the true locals here. At the same time though I think it’s important to note there shouldn’t be a locals vs foreigners situation, all there needs to be is a mutual respect which is gained by listening. If a crisis happened in the town you have lived your life in and people who have never been there before start telling you what to do with no prior context then I’m sure this would frustrate you, but the fact is everyone can benefit if we all just work together. If we can stand side by side with refugees from any country and proclaim that we are in solidarity this must also extend to the locals of Greece and of France who have been helping this cause probably for longer than you and who understand the situation better.

 

 

Which brings me on to the next issue I cannot get out of my head. Last year when the movement of volunteers began, locals, internationals, everyone was responding to emergency situations in places where NGO’s and local councils had not reacted quickly enough, but now this situation on a whole has changed. Now less and less of us are spending our nights watching for boats but we are supporting camps, starting integration projects, and apparently as I have seen on more than one GoFundMe, fundraising to support prisons with blankets and food. I pass no judgements on what people choose do if they believe they are helping, I was here when the borders were open, I was here when they closed, I was here before the EU Turkey Deal and I’m sure I will be when it collapses but all of these things led me to a difficult internal battle about what I could do when people became prisoners of the state and where the lines blurred between helping refugees and helping governments and authorities to do not so nice things. As I said I do not pass judgement, I know where I stand now, but perhaps it is good every now and then to stand back and take a breath and reflect on what a volunteers place is. Is it really an independent volunteers place to be furnishing Greek prisons?

 
We came here to help those in need, I think it’s important sometimes to stop and think who are we helping sometimes.

 
Also last week saw the Secret Aid Worker article published in The Guardian which, myself and I’m sure many, many others related to about the failings of NGO’s in Greece. I am not anti NGO, far from it, but the things I have seen over the last year destroyed any faith I had in many of them , not all, some NGO’s have been excellent but many of them should be utterly ashamed. It seems now that many of them are established here in Greece and they have the funding, millions and millions of funding might I add, yet they still rely on the goodwill of volunteers to carry out work which really they should be doing. Volunteers are very much being taken advantage of in this sense, and I think also this is something which needs to be addressed. Volunteers should not be guilted into carrying out work which an NGO has been funded to do, can hire staff to do (which in Greece is incredibly important), but chooses to ask volunteers to do because they will do it because “they want to help.”

 

 
Thousands of international volunteers have been active now in Europe for over a year. I have seen with my own eyes how important their presence has been. Without them I do not know what would have happened but I think it’s necessary to admit not everything that has been done in the name of volunteering has been positive. I know myself I was in situations way above my head which I did not know how to handle and yet there was no one else there so I had to handle them, and now I can admit not always in the best way. I always tried my best, which I am sure we all have, but we have not always done the best. First do no harm is key here, and I think this is a mantra we should all be living by as we continue on.

 

 

Right now we find ourselves in very difficult times. The rise of fascism is very apparent and it’s voice is getting louder and louder. The threats grow and the attacks become more common and more violent. As volunteers we are vulnerable and we must stick together and keep ourselves safe. The issues I raised in this are simply thoughts I have been having that I wanted to get out of my head as I see these issues being used within the volunteer community to attack others and to break morale. We need to have these discussions, but we need to respect each other and have them so we can improve our response, so we respond to the needs, so we can fill the gaps as we always have. We are not heroes, we have not been sent here by whatever deity you worship to save the world. We are just people, doing what people should do, in the hope that in our time of need others would do the same for us.

 
Let’s stand together, let’s respect each other, and please let’s be honest.

 

 

I am honoured to be a part of this community of volunteers who were there when nobody else was, and I send my love, strength and support to everyone who over this last year seen things they never imagined they would see and lived experiences they never imagined they’d have in their lives whilst supporting those Europe turned their back on.

 

A Ramble On My Ramblings…

Today, for the first time since I started writing this blog almost a year ago, I decided to go back to the beginning and read it start to finish. In the tradition of how it all began as sleep deprived ramblings, I thought today would be a good day to reflect. I don’t know why I’ve never gone back to the start of the story, I guess if I am completely honest a part of me was a little scared to remember. I, of course, still have all the memories of the last year in my mind, but there’s something about reading the words, feeling all the feelings I felt when I chose to record those thoughts in this blog, that scared me.

 
I have said from day one this blog was never set up for any purpose rather than an outlet for my rambling thoughts and hopefully, possibly a way to create a bit of awareness through said rambling thoughts. I have been utterly surprised and unbelievably humbled by how many people have read my words and so moved by those who have used it to help spread awareness in their own ways. I still just see it as being a bit of a disjointed collection of sleep deprived rants and streams of consciousness so I am so touched to find out that it has been used in so many productive ways by dear friends and even the odd stranger to spread the message that we are all human beings and we all deserve to be treated as such.

 
The last few weeks I have been back in Scotland doing a job which requires meeting a lot of new people and the question of what I do with my life has come up so many times. This is the longest time I’ve been back in the UK this year and I have, along with almost everyone I know, been waiting for the last year to really catch up with me. The response, “that sounds… eh… difficult,” has come up so many times over the last few weeks and although I have tried to shrug it off with smiles in an attempt not to completely kill casual light conversation – yes, they are right, it has been difficult.

 
I will be back in Greece in a week, walking back into the ever changing, ever more difficult situation there. I do now have other reasons to be in Greece than when I first arrived there, I have my own personal reasons, but at the heart of it all is still that I am in a position where I can help and I want to help those that Europe turned their backs on. We are all human beings, we all deserve basic human rights, basic human kindness and I still want to stand side by side in solidarity with those who are still being denied this even after all this time.

 
Reading back my own little personal story of my insignificant role in this entire crisis was… difficult. It’s very easy to stick everything in a box and lock it up in the back of your mind, but if you keep pushing more and more into that box eventually the lock will break. The old saying that you have to help yourself before you can help others is fundamental when finding yourself in such an overwhelming situation, and I think it’s very easy to forget that doesn’t just mean looking after yourself physically, but looking after yourself mentally.

 
This last year seen so many every day people put in positions they were completely untrained and under-prepared for. The benefit of the grass roots movements responding to the humanitarian crisis was that people were treated as people and their needs could be met on a human level without bureaucracy. The issue with grass roots movements was that the majority of those on the ground on the front line had never had any training on how to cope with the trauma that surrounded them. It didn’t matter if you spent a day, a week, a month or a year in Greece or Calais or anywhere on the route, it changed you and that affect is lasting.

 
I have been extremely lucky and have the most incredible solidarity support network and friends who know when I want to speak, when I want to cry, when I want to laugh or when I just want silence. But I worry that not everyone who stepped into this situation has this. If there are any fellow volunteers out there reading this, please know we all have difficult days, there is nothing wrong with not being OK about everything, you don’t have to always shrug it off, what has happened over the last year is so far from OK, witnessing that will undoubtedly have an affect and there is nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it. In reading back all the entries in this blog I can recognise the days when I was definitely not OK.

 
At this point last year, I was doing exactly what I’m doing today. I had just finished my August festival contract and was wrapped up in a blanket treating my exhaustion with chocolate and Netflix. But last year, I would never have just had a conversation with my boyfriend about the 1300 refugees trapped on the island of Kos as if it was just any old conversation because now, that is just my every day. At this point last year I was naive, I had no idea that I was just about to read a Daily Mail article that would make me so angry that I’d book a last minute flight to the island of Kos to see what was going on with my own eyes, to try and do anything I could to be useful to support the locals in supporting the hundreds of refugees arriving every day. Last year, I had no idea what the year ahead would hold, a year I will never forget.

 
Looking back on it all, reading all my thoughts and rambles makes it clear to me that I am very different from who I was at this point last year, but not in some kind of gap yah cliche of an OMG life changing experience. I’m still me, I’m just a me that see’s the world in a different light.

 
I still can’t believe that what is happening in Greece is still happening. On a global scale I can’t believe all the horrors are still continuing.

 
We are still very much living in a time of crisis, but it is not a Refugee Crisis. It is a crisis of humanity.

 
Nothing gets better, it all just keeps getting worse but the only thing we can do is be better.

 

 

I hope next year I can read back on words documenting a change for the better and that I can shed a few more tears of happiness than sadness, in a world where we have stopped hating and started helping. I can only hope…

 
Thank you to everyone who has ever read any of my ramblings. I can’t describe how much your support and love means and I’ll endeavour to keep documenting my nonsensical thoughts for as long as I can. Thank you.

Perspective

The Edinburgh Fringe festival, the biggest arts festival in the world. A festival that makes and breaks careers, a festival of excess, sleepless nights and one too many overpriced pints in makeshift venues across a city that comes to life for one special month of each year. The Edinburgh Fringe is my favourite place in the world in August, it doesn’t matter where I am or what I am doing I always find myself here.

 

This year is a bit interesting for me personally as it was during this festival last year that I began thinking about taking a trip to Greece, not expecting for a moment that I would spend most of the next year living on a Greek island as it experienced “Europe’s Refugee Crisis.”

 
So much has changed this year, so much has happened and to be back here seems almost surreal. We are all here again, all doing the same things, even though the world is very different.

 
What is the old saying about art imitating life?  Well, culture is represented in it’s art and being in the centre of the biggest collection of arts for a month is an interesting way to see how the world is reacting to everything that has gone on.

 
So far it feels like we are all very firmly in denial.

 
This is the longest period I have spent away from the island of Kos since last year and it is very difficult to adjust to a place that has the luxury of living in ignorance. Brexit Britain is definitely a different place to when I left, the fear and anger about the future is tangible yet contradicts itself with an overwhelming sense of hopeless apathy. Everyone feels like they have to do something about all the mess of the world, but no one knows where to start and no one believes anyone will listen or anything will change so what else is there to do but do nothing.

 
This is a feeling I can completely understand, I have felt like this many times in Kos, when you see the same horrors being repeated over and over again and nothing ever changing for the better, hopeless apathy is an easy state to slip into. But I have come to realise that doing nothing doesn’t get you anywhere, funnily enough!

 
We can’t change the world, we can’t fix all the mess, we can’t stop wars, we can’t change the corruption in our governments and in our media, but something we can do is change our perspective. We can realise that it’s not about changing the world, it’s not about the big stuff, it’s about the little things, that’s what we can change, that’s what we can do.

 
I mean this not to preach but simply that when we all feel so collectively hopeless, just by doing something, anything we can make ourselves feel somewhat better and in turn make things better in the spiraling disaster of our modern world.

 
I sit here in a place of such disproportionate privilege, I do everything to not be “that” person who just because they have been somewhere or seen something feels the need to constantly press their experiences and opinions on others but at the same time it’s difficult to have been somewhere and seen something and to say nothing.

 
In all honesty, I never really talk about what I have been doing this last year outside of this blog. Of course people will ask me, but I try to keep my answers short and sweet as generally most people become incredibly uncomfortable, incredibly quickly. Those who love me and share my views on the world worry that this crisis will have left me in some fragile state that the tiniest comment may shatter me into a million tiny pieces and those who do not share my views don’t know how to continue a conversation when a part of them believes what I’ve been doing is the cause of every bad thing in the world from their friends unemployment to ISIS.

 
A dear friend of mine has told me it’s important to keep writing and keep talking about what is going on because here, nobody has a clue anymore. To anyone in the UK, it would seem that the “problem” was fixed, there was only ever media coverage of a few of the dead, which people mourned for a moment but then quickly they became the next days chip papers, but no one ever found out or cared about what happened to the living.

 
Those who are left in camps languishing with no hope, given the most basic shelter and food, just enough to stay alive but with no sense of a life, all over Greece. Those still trapped in Turkey considering taking the dangerous journey across the Aegean where, if they make it to Greece, they will be held in detention and become prisoners. Those still trapped in war zones, those starved and held under siege, those working in the hospitals that are being blown up by those who we were told were going to fight the “bad guys,” the children trying to survive a war they were born into and have known nothing else.

 
People are committing suicide in Europe’s camps. People are still drowning in the Aegean. Turkey is NOT a safe country.

 
And yet… the day to day everyday of blissful ignorance goes on. I get it, it’s all a bit too much, it’s better just to focus on what we can control. Go and see your favourite stand up and shut yourself off from the world in a sweaty bunker somewhere in Edinburgh, go about your normal every day life, stay away from the news, stay inside the comfort zone. It’s very easy to do.

 
Since I came back a few weeks ago I have completely detached myself from what has been happening in Greece, I chose the luxury of blissful ignorance for a while to try and reset and get a bit of perspective on it all. I’ve been spending a lot of time in sweaty Edinburgh bunkers laughing away all the cynicism.

 
Living in blissful ignorance has been… well… blissful but it is weighed down by an incredible sense of guilt followed by a disbelief that people can live like this permanently. By ignoring, by closing off, by pretending something isn’t happening doesn’t mean it stops happening. The guilt I feel accumulating after a few weeks of self indulgence makes me wonder how on earth people do this for their entire lives, just pretend that everything is fine. We are all on this crazy world together, we need to care outside of our own personal bubbles.

 
I’m not saying everyone should immediately give up the day job and move to Greece and dedicate every single waking moment to the plight of others. I’m just saying, be aware, don’t just close your eyes. Read an article, sign a petition, donate a few quid, give a few hours of your Sunday afternoon to your local clothes sorting event, go to a welcoming event or cultural exchange, go to a protest, if you’re on holiday in Greece leave a pair of shoes before you leave at a collection point, or while you’re there give a morning or afternoon or even a few days to a local Greek Solidarity or volunteer group, spend a weekend in Calais, spend a week in Athens in a squat, spend a week in Berlin and meet those who made their new lives there. Do something, no matter how big or small, let’s all do something.

 
We can all be armchair warriors, but we can’t spend forever sinking deeper into the apathy and hopelessness nestled in a comfy couch cushion. If we just keep on doing the little things, the things within our reach, all those little things add up.

 

 

But, if you do choose to stay in the bubble of blissful ignorance, that is your prerogative. I’m sure nobody will judge you, but history might.

 

 

Remembering…

 

Memories are funny things, they sneak up on you when you least expect, making you feel want to have a little cry in the middle of dinner or making you burst out laughing when you are with company who would have no idea what you were talking about even if you tried to explain.

 
Now, nine months after I first arrived here expecting to stay a week or two, I more or less live in Kos. I now surround myself with people mostly who are from Kos or who have lived here for many, many years before the refugees came last year. The island for them is different, it is their home, a home with many memories before the crisis, as well as memories from the year. For me, I have no previous reference point. For me, I arrived and my first night here I found the boat from which two children and their mother drowned.

 
Over the last year, everyone has witnessed things they never thought they would have to in their lives. The locals of this island, along with the other Greek islands, have taken on so much trauma, so much pain, so much sadness. And on top of this now many of them have to bear witness to refugees, who they have dedicated the last year of their lives to helping, be locked up and detained where either due to legal questions or personal morals they cannot help in the ways they wish they could.

 

Now as you wander the streets of Kos you would have no idea what happened here. Every trace of last year has been wiped away, buried, in an attempt to forget. Now all you will find is a typical tourist destination, streets lined with sunburnt northern Europeans and Greek waiters touting for trade in a year where an island that thrived on tourism has seen great losses.

 

If you flew to this island today and spent your day in Kos town, you would have no idea that refugees had been here, never mind the fact they still are here, over 700 refugees are still here, but the majority are in a detention centre miles out of town, out of sight, out of mind.

 

Now when I watch the tourists cycle along the promenade, I remember when tents lined these streets. I remember the day of the storm when the makeshift camps were completely flooded and everyone was trying to seek shelter under the arches of the police station, when we were all knee deep in dirty water, together all trying to find a solution when a young Pakistani man offered me his jacket, the only jacket he had, because the rain had soaked through mine.

 

I remember sitting out all night, almost every night, upon that port, nervously waiting for whatever that night would bring. I remember hundreds of faces I met upon that port. I remember the hundreds of stories I heard upon that port.

 
I remember the night a woman was alone crying hanging up her soaked belongings along the benches beside the beach saying she was waiting on her children. Everything was completely wet through and there was no sign of her children. I remember a dear friend jumping frantically, in tears, out of her car telling me her son had just found a drowned child. I remember embracing her whilst looking at the lone woman still hanging up her belongings and feeling every part of my body ache. I remember the feeling of relief when the woman was reunited with her children and almost immediately after the sinking guilt of feeling relief that it wasn’t her child, but it was someones child.

 
A friend took me for coffee a few weeks ago, when we arrived at the coffee place by the shore I realised I had been there before but never during its opening hours. As I looked out to the beach there I remembered watching the police pull out a gun on a suspected smuggler in front of over a hundred terrified refugees. I remember the man being thrown into the police car while his son lay screaming in tears on the ground. I remember the bus journey into the town with the son sitting in the seat next to me sobbing uncontrollably all the way.

 

At a local hotel we drive by often, which has its own small port, I remember the night 300 people arrived in one boat. I remember the family we tried to squeeze in the car as we crossed our fingers the petrol would last to town as it had all happened so quickly. I remember that same night trying to locate a lost family on the island via a volunteer in Spain, the son of the family in Germany and two Greek Solidarity friends driving around the island searching. I remember the happy messages across our little European network when they were found safe and sound.

 
I remember the little boy playing beach volleyball with me and his wonderful laugh whist his parents, exhausted, rested after a traumatic night. I remember the kindness of his father days later when he approached me, peeled a banana and handed it to me with his hand on his heart. I remember we had no common language except respect and love, the most important language.

 

I remember meeting a dear friend as he first arrived in Europe, sadly I also remember the unpleasant German tourist who told him he wished he had drowned.

 

I remember going home for a break and sending my friend who was still in Kos a silly message one morning to get a reply that she was busy helping the police identify the dead from a horrific shipwreck.

 
I remember sitting in the middle of the busy car park as a ferry was loading and the little girl doing my hair before she started the next leg of the journey to Europe as the first of the borders began to slam shut. I remember another little girl who I had found days before, who had lost her mother on the journey and was sleeping outside in nothing but a string vest, come up to me in that same busy port car park and show me she was still wearing the jumper I had given her before she boarded for her next uncertain step in Europe.

 
I remember so many things, so many little moments. Many heartbreaking but also many filled with smiles and happiness. If I were to record them all, I don’t even think an epic novel would be long enough.

 
Before the borders closed there were many more happy moments. I remember after the EU Turkey deal meeting the first family to arrive on the beach here, with an armed Frontex officer standing over them. I remember the blue lights escorting us, watching us every moment as we drove them into town. I remember at that point knowing I could never welcome anyone on a beach again in these circumstances.

 
I remember entering the police cells in Kos and seeing almost 30 people cramped into tiny, dirty, cells in a complete human rights violation. I remember the hands reaching out for water. I remember the cries for help.

 
I remember when the hotspot opened. How we had hoped it would be a safe place for people to stay until their asylum applications could be carried out and how in reality it opened as a prison, under funded with completely inadequate facilities.

 

I remember the days when we had hope. I remember the days we fought for safe passage. I remember the days we fought for basic human rights. I remember when we became exhausted as it didn’t matter how loud you shouted, no one was listening.

 

Over the last nine months, the plight of refugees has changed dramatically from one day to the next. When I first arrived here even the Hungarian borders were open. I watched as each border closed. I watched as each nationality was banned from crossing. I watched as humanity got lost in politics. I now watch as refugees are swept under the rug.

 

Europe’s faliures have been unbelievable. I will not forgive. I will not forget.

As I reflect today, I think about how different this all could of been.

 

There is no “them” and “us”… There is only us.

 

 

I realise this post is very I, I, I as a reflection from my own personal memories but this is not about me, in this I am nothing but merely a witness to something which should never have happened and should not still be happening to human beings.

 

We can be heroes…

Almost two months ago I arrived back on the shores of Kos. It has been a time of great change here on the island and many, many things have happened. As I pack my bags to return to Scotland once more, I wanted to write something to encapsulate this experience and I found this draft that I wrote on my first day back on the island hiding in my hard drive. Although I have many thoughts which I will write in due time about saying farewell again and the picture of Kos now, I feel this post sums up my feelings about volunteering with Kos Solidarity pretty well. So as I prepare to say “See you later,” again to my Greek family, I think this is the perfect time to share these thoughts…

---

 

This is the first post I am writing being back on the wonderful little island of Kos so I’ve decided rather than my incessant ramblings abut my innermost thoughts and cynicism at the state of the world I should do something a little different.
This post is dedicated to Kos Solidarity.

Within the darkness of this time in our history where humanity is showing its worst side, there has been the most incredible movement of selfless compassion and hope from everyday people all over Europe and further. The international volunteer movement has been astounding, from fundraising to life saving, it has been one of the only positives to focus on during this crisis.
International volunteers have had a spotlight shone on them for their service to humanity, which of course they deserve, but sometimes I feel you don’t hear so much about the local people. Those who live in the areas concerned with the refugee journey who changed their ways of life in response to a crisis which appeared on their doorstep. In this situation there are two things a person can do – they can run towards or they can run away. Those who ran towards, I salute you.

For many of us internationals, we have given our all to help in the time we have spent in the Greek islands, through the European routes, Calais or wherever we have found ourselves. We have done our best, we have tried to make a difference, but the majority of us at some point have gone home. Maybe we stayed a few days, a week, a month, several months with each moment of that being vital but at some point we go back to our lives. For the locals – this is their lives.

The wonderful Greeks here in Kos, who have taken a little Scottish girl and made her feel like part of the family are a bunch of the most inspirational people you will ever meet. They are not really the ones for recognition, although they deserve all the recognition in the world for what they have done to help those in need, so in respect to that I won’t use any names in this little ramble of gratitude for their existence.

Way back in April of last year, long before many people really started to take notice, Kos started to find itself receiving more refugees than ever before. As the numbers showed no sign of slowing down and there was no aid or support coming from the local council or any major charities, a group of locals decided to take it upon themselves to fill the gaps. Without this incredible group, I dread to think what would have happened.

Now these guys are ordinary folks, with ordinary lives, ordinary jobs – but their response to what was happening makes them nothing short of extraordinary. The most important, and I personally think the most inspiring thing about their movement was solidarity. They stood in solidarity with the people in need, side by side, treating everyone the same regardless of nationality, treating everyone as a human being, with never a glimmer of a white saviour.

If people were hungry they provided food from their own kitchens, sometimes to thousands. If people needed shelter they would do everything within their power to provide it. There are so many difficulties here with the political situation, in particular with a mayor who would rather do anything rather than help the people arriving on his shores in dinghy’s. Due to this Kos Solidarity has not always had the easiest times in a town covered in so much red tape, red tape that unfortunately many international volunteers do not always see. The respect I have for each and every one of these inspiring men and women is beyond words.

My time spent with Kos Solidarity has been everything I could wish for to restore my faith in humanity. They have not only been there for thousands of people fleeing war and persecution, they have also been there for their volunteers and have looked after us all so well. They believe in people and they restore your belief in people.

The hours that these guys have put in over the last year is just unbelievable, on call 24/7, always there no matter what situation unfolds. On top of this they still have their jobs, their families, their lives.

Patrolling beaches in the middle of the night, every night, on top of your day job, bringing up your children and all the other every day things life throws at you – these are the kind of people you don’t meet often in your life because there are not so many people quite like this in the world.

From teachers to graphic designers, local pub owners to artists and even someone who I am convinced is a real life batman, to mention but a few, these are the people who ran towards a crisis on their doorstep.

Things are very, very different now here in Kos than how I found it in September, just like how I imagine the previous months to when I arrived were a world of difference compared to my first experience. Now there is so much more support from UNHCR and NGO’s, the workload is now shared, a workload that now due to a drop in the number of arrivals is much less. It’s interesting to see how far everything has come but I also think it’s very important to remember where this all started and those who were trying their best to make the difference before the support was there. Those who gave everything when there was nothing.

I know that many people, including myself, have a big problem with the H word – hero. I know many of us feel that what we are doing here is not heroic, but simply what human beings should be doing for other human beings, this is my feeling entirely but I make a little exception here simply as I cannot find another word in the dictionary which can sum up the efforts of Kos Solidarity other than heroic. Now I am sure that if any of you Solidarity folks are reading this, I’m sure you will think I am just being over dramatic (Me! Imagine!) but really and truly – in my eyes you are heroes.

Things may not be easy and in an ever changing chaotic situation, there will always be chaos, but it has been a honour to be a little part of this true grass roots movement. All of the volunteers who have joined from all over, each individual has played a part and has made a difference, and I think it is very special to have witnessed this.

I’m sure the majority of us internationals feel the same way when it comes to packing our bags, all we want to do is stay.
Our lives have been changed. Our worlds have been changed. Our hearts have been changed.

I am, and will be, forever grateful.

Thank you.

Reflections.

Summer 2015 – The media begins coverage of the “swarm” of so called “migrants” attempting to enter Europe. Each mainstream news channel streaming pictures of violence in Calais, riots in Greece, thousands walking the train tracks of Hungary. Although humanity had begun to take a tail spin there was no public outcry, maybe fences were a good idea, I mean Nigel Farage did tell us that immigrants are responsible for HIV didn’t he? So best we just ignore it, I’m sure it’ll all go away, anyway Coronation Street will be on in a sec and I’ve just made a cuppa.

September 2015 – The month everything changed. It turned out this crisis did have a human face, the face of a drowned toddler washed up on a Turkish beach after trying desperately to reach the Greek island of Kos with his family. This tragic image will never leave most people’s minds, it was impossible to escape. Front pages, including those that had prided themselves on sensationalist anti refugee and immigration headlines – even until a few days before this tragedy – showed “that” picture.

At last there was a public outcry. Now that Isabel down the road had seen it in The Sun and realised now she was supposed to feel sorry for dying children, everyone decided something had to be done. Within days every town up and down the country had mobilised. Collections for Calais were everywhere, we had now realised those who were risking their lives every night trying to climb onto trucks were not doing it just to wind up the truckers but because they were fleeing persecution, poverty or war and simply wanted to survive and thrive in a new country.

It was truly incredible, a true grass roots movement where everyday people became heroes, working day and night in their local community centres or any space they could find to collect donations. The Calais camp which had been there for years had never had so much interest or such an outpouring of generosity. It was a pretty beautiful sight to see, the compassionate public consciousness was standing up and doing something about an injustice. From housewives to school kids, graduates to pensioners, CEOs to interns, a community was created which was inclusive to all and who stood with refugees, who recognised we are all human regardless of where we were born, and stood against the racism and fascism which had been growing in popularity over recent times.

There was also a bunch of people from all over Europe, and even some from further afield, that felt they needed to do more. Those who had the time or the urge found themselves on the front line in Greece, or on the borders of Macedonia, Serbia, Slovenia, Austria, Germany, Sweden… basically anywhere there were refugees there was someone there with a sandwich and a warm blanket. Aid charities admitted they were overwhelmed, they were too slow to respond and normal folks found themselves as unpaid, generally unskilled, humanitarian aid workers literally saving lives and meeting the needs of those who needed the helping hand of humanity.

Every person who did anything, who donated some money or some shoes, who spent a cold afternoon sorting through bags in a warehouse, who wrote to someone of influence to raise awareness, who took the time to speak to someone who didn’t understand that refugees are people just like you and me, who jumped on a plane to sit by a shore and await boats appearing through the nights, who distributed food, who held a hand, who listened to a story… were the people who reminded us that people are good and that we should believe in people.

November 2015 – Paris. A devastating tragedy targeting the most everyday of events, a concert, a football game, a restaurant. So many lives were lost on that night, so many lives destroyed. A tragedy which will haunt us as we go about our daily lives for a very long time. Abhorrent, unimaginable, heart-breaking. Terror was coming to the West, it was no longer far away. It was on our doorsteps.

This tragedy sadly prompted another change in the public opinion of refugees. Refugees began their time in the media as a “swarm,” then people realised they were human beings who were dying every day trying to make it to Europe and empathy and compassion replaced ignorant propaganda, but then after Paris refugees were now simply portrayed as nothing other than terrorists. The idea that the kinds of people that carry out such horrific acts of violence, such as that in Paris, are the kind of people that refugees are fleeing from made sense to those involved in the cause but the wider population was once again taking its cues from mainstream media.

Britain decided the only way to react to such horrendous violence was to add more violence by joining in the bombing in Syria. The pantomime of the vote which played out on our screens fueled the “them” and “us” campaign as politicians cheered, applauded and even shared a few laughs at the decision to drop more bombs – even though we hadn’t really yet decided whose side we were on.

January 2016 – Cologne. Now I am not entirely sure how to approach this topic as it is one that I find difficult and one I am still trying to understand. What happened to the women of Cologne on New Years Eve was, without a doubt, unacceptable. Unacceptable is not a strong enough word. Disgusting, vile, wrong… so very wrong. But the point I want to make is simply this – Germany took in over one million asylum seekers last year. Over a million people. It is completely, incredibly naïve to truly believe that every single person is good.

In any group of people, not everyone is good. I live in a small town of maybe 50,000 people. Within that 50, 000 people there are murderers, there are rapists, there are truly awful people. Also within that 50, 000 people there are every day heroes, there are inspiration individuals, there are people who make life infinitely better just by knowing them. We can accept this. We know that not everyone is put on this earth with good intentions. But we cannot extend this understanding to certain groups it appears.

My point is there is good and bad everywhere. I am not naïve. But I also believe the disgusting actions of a minority cannot impede the action to help desperate people who are fleeing for survival.

In the media refugees are once again the enemy. We have forgotten about “that” picture of Aylan, we have forgotten about the human side of the crisis. We are more focused on watching Pegida protests with them waving their “Rape – fugees,” banners. Children died last night trying to get to Greece. Children died the night before too. Nobody knows their names.

Many of the aid collections have disappeared, yet the people in need have not.

 

---

 

 

In September last year I flew to the Greek island of Kos. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for, all I knew was that I had to do something, so I bought a one way ticket and off I went. That is why I set up this blog, it has been where I have gathered my thoughts from my first day in Kos, my experiences over the month I spent there, my impressions of returning home and now I hope to update it with my experiences the second time around as I write this now in Athens.

The changes over the last few months in regards to the general feeling towards the refugee cause have been massive. It’s been interesting to watch this change, upsetting, but interesting. When the body of an innocent child isn’t staring out at you from every news source, when the human side of the crisis is lost, it becomes something far away and fearful.

When I first went to Kos, I told everyone I knew with a slight assumption that they would look at me with that same slightly disapproving, “you’re doing what?!” look that I tend to get when explaining my next endeavour. But surprisingly there were much less of those looks than I was expecting. People were, on the whole, incredibly supportive.

Friends and family, colleagues and folks I hadn’t seen in years started collecting bits and bobs for me to take away, they started slipping me the odd fiver or tenner to take with me to do some good. If there was a phrase I have never heard more in my life, it was, “I wish I could go with you.”

It was a pretty incredible time, after watching a summer of rising fascism and anti refugee feeling I was so pleasantly surprised to realise what an incredibly compassionate bunch of people I surround myself with.

If people couldn’t donate anything physically, kind words and supportive, positive messages were sent to me in great numbers that continued to restore my faith in humanity.

My month in Kos was one that I am still processing and will continue to do so for a long time but I can honestly say at no point did I ever feel like people were not in solidarity with me and the cause. Even those I know who were against the welcoming refugee movement were interested and listened to my personal reflections without judgement in a genuine hope to understand what was happening on the shores of Europe.

This time it has felt very different. Very few people asked if they could donate something. Very few people had slipped me the odd tenner to do some good. Instead of words of support, I got words of warning. Instead of “I wish I could come with you,” I got, “Stay safe.”

I may be being incredibly cynical but I really feel this change. I feel like I have to defend myself much more than I did before. I feel like I owe an explanation for still caring.

I’d just like to say to those who have been incredibly supportive, those who have very generously donated, and those that stand with this cause – I do not forget about you and how amazing you are. I talk here candidly about my personal reflection and feeling that there has been a tangible change in the atmosphere, and if anything the fact that you are not part of this change, the fact you are still supporting, still standing up for injustice makes you even more incredible.

I don’t know what will happen next, I don’t know what 2016 will bring but I very much hope it does not continue the way it looks like it will now.

But hey, who knows. I mean, towns in Germany have banned asylum seekers from using public swimming pools and now Denmark is taking asylum seekers valuables like we have been transported back to the Nazi regime so surely the only way is up?

Please.

Home

Coming home from Kos has been a very surreal experience. Of course, every experience in life will change you but when you step back into your everyday life it’s important to do that… to go back to normality. You get up in the morning, you go to work, you have dinner with family, you go for drinks with friends, you do what you always do and you get on with things. But as you go about these normal things you know something is different. You are maybe home in body but your head is still filled with what is happening in Europe. You are home, but a part of you has been left behind.

 

You wake up in the morning, grab a coffee and head to work. Someone starts talking about economic migrants… You take a deep breath and think about the soaking wet babies you met most nights of the last month, those that survived the terribly dangerous journey over the Aegean on a dinghy, who you gave some warm clothes to and shelter and would hope their future would be brighter than the destruction they had escaped. You think of the last sight you saw on that beach, standing with many of the guys from the tents looking out sea. Watching a boat. Watching the people swimming from the boat. Watching the boat. Watching the people disappear. Watching the boat. Looking for the boat. No boat. No people. Lost in the water. Economic migrants… I despair.

You go out for food and find yourself in a buffet restaurant. You look around at all the people filling their plates with far more food than they will ever eat, stuffing what they possibly can into their faces, then awaiting the waitress to dispose of their left overs into the nearest bin. You see this and you think of the guys down on the beach, the desperation on their faces when the sandwiches began to run low and there was a chance they would not get anything to eat. You see this but you have to remind yourself to stop comparing, comparing will drive you crazy. Life is different, it is all kinds of unfair, but it is the western way.

You go to a local Refugee Welcome meeting to discover your county have generously agreed to welcome 13, yes 13, Syrians this year. No, not 13 families, 13 individual people. You think about those times you easily had 130 people standing around you at any one time in the middle of the night, wet and scared and hungry as they took their first steps in Europe. Thirteen people… Thirteen people…

You start to meet a lot of new people in your usually sleepy town. People begin to become interested in your story, many with great intentions who want to support and raise awareness. Others who remind you of the not so lovely journalists you spent the last month being followed around by and shouted at by and manipulated by.  It’s not easy to trust people after experiences like having dinner with someone only to discover they had a dictaphone in their hand recording every word without your consent. The “Young woman from small Scottish town goes to help the helpless” story that you have passionately fought against and avoided with every part of your being begins to rear it’s ugly head again. You went to support refugees on a level, as fellow human beings, not as some white saviour looking for their fifteen minutes of fame. When you realise that some people only want that story from you it is very disheartening when you are trying to raise the real story of an unbelievable humanitarian crisis taking place on our doorsteps.

You make plans with friends and you look forward to seeing them again but dread the question you know they will ask as soon as you see them, “So how was Kos then?” This is then followed either by an excited smile as if they are waiting for the latest gossip from a girls holiday; or a look of utter fear and trepidation as if you are about to burst into tears and describe hell on earth in great detail to the point they will never sleep again. It’s hard to find the words when faced with this question when you still haven’t processed a time you never thought you would experience in your life. You decide the best response is…”It was interesting”… then try to change the subject. To those you do share your story with, those nearest and dearest, then watch them cry while you sit dry eyed, having cried all your tears dry, you begin to feel a sense of guilt for causing them such upset.

You watch your friends who would like to volunteer but have commitments at home rally around and put on the most incredible fundraising events. You watch your hometown community come together to support refugees. You see the love and solidarity in a time when your government is trying desperately to scare and divide communities. Your faith in humanity is restored again and all of the people who have spouted vile racial hatred and strangers who sent fascist messages disappear from your mind because they do not matter. This is what matters.

You have your life, your home, your family, your friends. People go out of their way to show their support and surprise you on a daily basis with their generosity. But in a selfish way, that little voice in your head never stops whispering that you shouldn’t be here, that you should be somewhere else, doing something.

You realise that while you were preparing a speech for a community meeting about volunteering that nine people, mostly children, were drowning in the Aegean, to be found by volunteers you love and care about still in Kos. You realise that whilst you were getting ready for an event that those same volunteers were helping families identify the bodies of their children who had drowned. You realise that as you hang decorations and lights that a father who lost every member of his family in the water is volunteering at a local kitchen serving food to fellow refugees. You realise when you are watching pointless day time tv a little 9 year old boy is burying his whole family in a graveyard in a country he has no connection to. You know these things because although your body may be home, your mind is still there.

You speak to the volunteers in Kos and on one hand you wish you could be there to help and on the other you can’t imagine how you could possibly help in such circumstances.

You keep in touch with friends you made who arrived on boats in Kos and hear the terrible stories of their journeys to their destination and the many ways Europe is letting them all down. You see the things the news does not report from other volunteers, like the thousands now trapped on the Greek borders since Macedonia changed their border policy. You see the pictures of those stranded at the border who in desperation have sewn their lips together in hunger strike or those who have painted “shoot me now because I cannot go home,” in a desperate attempt for someone to listen and help them.

 

I went to Kos to support a humanitarian crisis. To be human. We are all people. We can empathise but not sympathise. We are all the same. I wasn’t there not to stand above but to stand side by side. I hope I did some good, I hope when I return in January I will do some good.

My only wish right now is that we continue to stand together, to not let the media and politics make us believe that we should be scared of refugees. The world is a scary enough place right now without any more division. Please remember that terrorists who carry out abhorrent atrocities such as that in Paris are exactly the people that refugees are fleeing from.

Love has no borders.

Over and out.

 

 

 

 

First Impressions From A Sleepless Mind – Kos

At 11pm on September 29th I arrived on the Greek island of Kos to join Kos Solidarity in supporting refugees. Here is a brief insight into some of my thoughts since my arrival…

When I was a child, I was fussy, very fussy. Around the age of seven I decided I didn’t like sandwiches and would do everything and anything possible to avoid them. I carried this dislike into adulthood, even though it has no reasoning – I like bread, I like basically every imaginable filling – but together I just decided I didn’t like them.

Yesterday I helped make 450 sandwiches for people who had no other option than to eat sandwiches.

When I was a child I was scared of water. My mum would take me to swimming lessons and somehow, even in water barely up to my knees I would find a reason to cry about it. Even as an adult I do not like the water and I don’t really swim. On my first night here in Kos, maybe an hour after I arrived, we took a walk out to the pier. The water was very rough and my irrational fear of water was suddenly now very rational. At the end of the pier we found a new boat that had arrived. An empty boat.

I have never seen anyone look at water with such fear than the children who arrive here on Kos from Bodrum, their clothes wet through, after a journey on the plastic boats. I have never felt fear like finding an empty boat with no sign of people around it. I have never felt a feeling, right now I don’t have a word to describe it, but the feeling when you wake up to find out the morning after you found the empty boat that the bodies of three children and their mother were found in the waters.

I never really hold my friends babies. I have always been scared because I am not a mother that I will do something wrong – or drop them.

A few hours ago at the beach, a Syrian mother gave me her baby from her arms and I carried her, with her exhausted family, to a safe place to stay half an hour across the town. As we walked, they carried their lives on their backs and three other children, wet and tired. But they made it to Europe. They are the lucky ones.

Last night I thought I’d lost my phone, which is a smartphone, of course. It’s 2015 who does not have a smartphone? And yes the majority of people arriving on the island do have smartphones, just because there is conflict in your country does not mean you go back to the Middle Ages. In fact I charged a smartphone for someone last night and just returned it to him. Why did he need it? To tell his family he is alive. To find out if everyone in his family is still alive. To plan the safest route to the next destination. Smartphones are vital.

I have a mosquito bite the size of my fist. I am of course complaining about it constantly as I itch and scratch. But when a child, no older than two toddles up to you bruised all over and soaked through to the bone and offers you one of the UN emergency biscuits you’ve just handed his family, you forget about mosquito’s, you forget about you and everyone around you and nothing else matters. Perspective does not get more real.

I have so many thoughts right now, I haven’t slept since yesterday after doing the night-shift on the beach. It is impossible to process anything here but for every heart-breaking moment there is something truly inspiring. I have only been here for three days but it almost feels like three years, so many encounters, so many stories. I will do my best to try and elaborate and keep this up to date over the coming days.

Right now my main thought is simply – I do not want to leave this island…