This past April, I embarked on a journey that I had dreamed about since I was in the 5th grade. At the age of 10, I had written a speech about 3rd world countries, and I remember thinking that when I was older, I would go and help people in need. That I would go and distribute food and water to displaced families. Several years and several children later, that dream got pushed further and further into the future. I’d go after I was done university, after I got married, after my kids were all grown up...There never really was a ‘right time.’
Although I rarely keep up with the news, the recent refugee crisis in Europe tugged at me. My sensitive nature had me ‘hiding’ posts on my Facebook feed, not wanting to see the carnage or the pain or the suffering. But something kept calling me back to it.
At this point, I was divorced and for the first time on my own with 4 kids between the ages of 5 and 12 years old. My dream seemed impossible.
Who would watch the kids? How could I go? How could I make that work? I’d try to talk myself out of it, but it kept coming back.
One day I posted a message about my desire to go on a group I’m in with several colleagues. Many of the messages, both in the group and sent to me privately, were not very encouraging. They said I should just help the newcomers here, that there was a lot of good to be done closer to home, that I could just raise money, that it was dangerous...
Yes, I could help here, and I do, but it’s not what my heart was being called to do. I felt discouraged. I guess other people thought I was crazy, too. Then one gentleman posted saying the complete opposite. He said to go for it, that it was showing up for a reason and that I’d never be fulfilled by finding a ‘substitute’.
He was right.
I started searching and planning. I found an organization that aligned with my values and goals and sent in my application. I was so nervous.
Months went by and I didn’t hear back. Life got busy and I pushed it to the back of my mind.
It was a crazy idea anyway.
One day though, I received an email from the organization saying that I’d been selected to go to Greece.
With no plan and no thought of how I’d make it work, I replied and said YES.
That's when family and friends stepped in to support me, and a few weeks and a few miracles later, my dream would be fulfilled.
I was on a plane to Athens...
There’s really no way to prepare you for what you are about to see as you walk into the refugee camps. Tents everywhere, clothes hung up on fences and makeshift clothes lines, children running around in front of cars speeding by, people protesting, pleading that the borders be opened, a palpable sense of hopelessness and desperation…
I learned a lot from my stay, especially because both the refugees and the aid workers in the camps all believed me to be a refugee as well. As an observant Muslim woman who chooses to dress in the hijab and abaya, I blended right in with the Syrian families. They were confused by me. I looked like them, I dressed like them, I spoke Arabic, but something was different about me, they’d say.
Turned out this was a great way to break the ice.
It also gave me the ability to look 'behind the tents' and dive deep with the families, gain their trust, and learn more about their plight, their fears, and their hopes.
Despite my exhaustion, each night I’d blog about my experience as much as I could. I wanted to capture in words what I was experiencing. Many people who’d expressed an interest in helping were afraid, or unsure, or couldn’t find a way to make it work. And so it was important to me to get the word out.
There is still so much to be done. I wanted the world to know what was happening. To know what the refugees were saying, beyond what the media was reporting. How afraid and hopeless they felt. How many of them had expressed a gratitude for everything Greek authorities were doing to accommodate them and simultaneously their desire to be back in their hometown.
My wish is that we could collectively combine our skills, talents and passions to help those in need. To think that it won’t affect us, even half a world away, is problematic.
This is not the Greek government’s problem, or Europe's problem, or even Syria's problem. This is humanity’s problem. The effects of which, I believe, will touch every community, if we don’t step up.
My hope is that this series of posts will shed light on the refugee crisis and what we can do to support and serve those in need. And get a glimpse into what it was like to be a ‘refugee like me.’