“Mom, it’s not fair!”

 “Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”                                         Desmond Tutu

                                                   Fearless Girl in NYC 

Oh, I laugh, now, when I picture my little daughter, hands on hips, making that claim over some indignity I had imposed.  I promised both of my Ladies from toddler-hood, that “No, unfortunately, I can’t promise that life will be fair.”   Oh, boy, never did I imagine how unfair our world could become…

 

Internationally, 2015 saw the largest migration of people since World War II to escape war-torn countries, political and religious persecution, and economic strife.  More than 1.3 million refugees and migrants fled to Europe by sea in 2015, according to the International Organization for Migration. Many entire families simply wanted to move to a safe haven to start life anew. Unfortunately, many were lied to along the way, smugglers, etc telling people, “Go, you will be taken care of.”    

Many of the countries Humans fled to were ill-prepared to greet them.  And, many do/did not want them.  Much of the world seems to have taken on a "nimby" (not in my back yard) or nationalist stance.  Including my own, for which I was not proud....

Lesvos, an Aegean Island of Greece, is just four miles from Turkey, making it "easy" for so many escaping nightmares in their homelands to come to Europe.  It has received many Refugees over the years.  But, in 2015, Lesvos received 800,00 Refugees,; 211,00 in a single month; and 10,00 during a two day period in October.  Even though it is the third largest of Greece's islands, it is definitely not big enough to host all these special people alone.  The economic ramifications of so many needing safe shelter, Greece could ill-afford.  The EU and Humanitarian groups have provided funds to help.  (But that will bring us into a quagmire that I don't fully understand and infuriates me all at the same time.  And, please, don't get me started on geopolitical bureaucracy and hypocrisy...)

 

As Europe started to take its breathe after the influx of Humans seeking shelter in 2015, an infamous “deal” was made with Turkey to try and stem the tide and control the issue.  But, the Controversial EU-Turkey deal of March 2016: was described by the UK director of Amnesty International as "a dark day for the Refugee Convention, a dark day for Europe and a dark day for humanity." (From Independent)  Filippo Grandi, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, said: “I am deeply concerned about any arrangement that would involve the blanket return of anyone from one country to another without spelling out the refugee protection safeguards under international law.”

 

I, and much of the world, was saddened and horrified to see the pictures of precious tiny Aylan Kurdi, a Syrian toddler lying lifeless on a Turkish beach in September of 2015.   That image haunted me.  In March of 2017 a dear Man in my life asked friends and family to donate, in lieu of birthday gifts, to a Dutch organization that was born in part due to little Aylan’s drowning and was working on the island of Lesvos in Greece, Movement on the Ground.   

 

After convincing MOTG that this Lady would be a great addition to their team, I spent three weeks with them in the summer of 2017.   To say that experience changed, and enriched my life, in ways I never could imagine, is an understatement.  (Trite but true.)  In fact, I was drawn back to Lesvos more than once.  

 

The response of many friends and family to my going back and forth to Greece was “Isn’t the Refugee Crisis over?”  No, unfortunately, just because it wasn’t in mainstream media anymore in the US, it was, and is, very much still happening.  

 

Then they’d ask:  “What did you do every day?”  Did we save lives?  No, but I believe we helped make the lives of very special People who are in an extraordinary period of time in their lives, and in human history, kinder and gentler. Going to Lesvos I had the misconception of many, that our Villagers would be Syrian.  Many were, but Residents were also from Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, the Congo, Ethiopia, Ghana and others.  A true meltng pot of cultures, religions, languages united by the same fears, and dreams and please, always hope.   

 

The Beach on the North of Lesvos where many Folks landed.

 

When the influx of Humanity hit Lesvos hard in 2015, most Lesvosians were kind and generous, opening their hearts, and helping in whatever ways they could.  As a matter of fact islanders were nominated for the Nobel Peace prize in 2016 for their Humanitarianism.  Remember, Greece was still realing from economic hardships, and this island, like most of Greece’s many beautiful islands, depended on tourism. With the crisis, tourists stopped coming.  I will say that over the years that I went, I happily and thankfully saw an influx in that industary.  (Until Covid hit, of course.)

 

By the time I started going to Lesvos, the patience of Lesvosians was starting to wear thin in regards to the “Refugee situation.”  In our orientation on Kara Tepe, MOTG’s Coordinator suggested that we not wear our id badges off CampUs. Personally, I never experienced anything but welcome.  I am fully aware of how I presented: a white American Lady of certain age. The cultures of the Folks I got to meet and interact with, both Islanders and Residents of the CampUs’ have high respect for age.  It was nice and appreciated.

 

From my first visit, I will share two instances where I witnessed a bit of this disdain of islanders to my new Friends.  Both regarded taxi drivers.  In the first case, I was leaving Kara Tepe to grab dinner with a friend before the Friday night Community Dance.  I called a taxi, and when it came a male Resident of Kara Tepe appeared at my side with his Mother who was clearly not well.  He asked if he could take this taxi to get his Mother to the hospital. I said: “Of, course!”  The taxi driver said: “No, you called the taxi. It is for You I came, Not them.” I told my friend I’d meet up with her later; climbed into the front seat; motioned for the Lad to get into the back seat with his Mother.  The taxi driver was not pleased.  I looked him in the eye and said: “Please take me to the hospital.”  As we drove, our driver warmed up.  By, the time we reached the hospital, I simply said: “You are a good, kind man.  Thank you. Please wait for me.  I will be right out.”  After I felt comfortable that the Lad and his Mother were going to be in good hands, I came outside, and my taxi was still there.  By the time we reached Kara Tepe again, we were good friends. (In my mind, anyway.)

 

The second incident was on my last day of that 2017 visit.  I was an emotional basket case.  I would have stayed on Lesvos for a long time, if I could.  As I left Kara Tepe, for what I thought would be my final time, another young Guy asked if he and a friend could share a cab with me into Mytillini.  I had gotten to know him a bit, as he was one of “the Guys” who spent a lot of time helping MOTG, and simply being with us.  He was a single Man in his twenties, one of the “Leaders” of the Community Dances. It was clear again the driver was not pleased.  I ignored him, and we all got in.  On that ride my young Friend, who called me Mom, (as did many of the Guys. I found it to be a term of endearment and later realized it was also one of respect) went into great detail as to how much he had loved having me on Kara Tepe because he missed his Mom so very much, and worried for her every day.  Well, I could barely breathe, never mind speak when we got out and hugged goodbye.

 

I have been so very blessed to have met and worked with many wonderful, brave, caring Folks; the Residents of both Kara Tepe and Moria, and International Volunteers.   One special Lady whom I befriended the summer of 2018 was both.  Her story on Lesvos began as a Refugee, and I met her as a fellow volunteer.  (I embarrassed both if us when I realized who she was as I had read about what she and her sister had done.)  She is a hero. She tried to leave Lesvos a few weeks after me to go to her family in Berlin to continue her education.  She was arrested at the airport.  The New York Times did a heartfelt story on this lady, and her co-workers recently.  Because of this situation, and others who have experienced similar ordeals, Folks on the Aegean islands are now afraid to help Humans when they land on the islands. They can and will be arrested, and their lives will become a legal nightmare, potentially spending many years in prison?

www.nytimes.com/2022/03/02/magazine/greece-migration-ngos.html.

 

The numbers of Humans escaping persecution of many sorts in the following years  ebbed and flowed on Lesvos.  By the summer of 2019, the numbers of Folks risking their lives were climbing high again. For example, on August 29, 2019, 13 dingies with over 500 Humans landed on Lesvos.  In September 7712 Humans arrived.  Getting reports from the Aegean Boat Reportcan be disconcerting, especially as innocent people were/are not just escaping for their lives, but too many are losing their lives.  One boat capsized, in June 2019, carrying 64 people (these boats are made for 10-12 people).  Seven innocents lost their lives including 2 little girls.  Two young children lost their Mom, leaving them as orphans.  A week later, another 12 people drowned, including children who were in a fiberglass boat carrying 43 people, none in life jackets. 

 

Many Folks get stuck on the Aegean Islands for years, some moved on in a few months.  In all my visits to Lesvos, I could never figure that out.  There were stamps, black ones, red ones.  A crazy lottery.  In 2019, a new government was elected, a very right wing one.  With my experience of what was happening in my own U.S. of A, I knew that was not going to make it easier for our Friends. I finally began to understand what Fascism means. “Form of far right-wing, authoritarian ultra-nationalism characterized by dictatorial power, forcible suppression of opposition, and strong regimentation of society and of the economy which came to prominence in early 20th-century Europe.” (Wikipedia).

 

In February of 2020, I went once again to my now beloved Lesvos to volunteer on Kara Tepe and Moria with MOTG for two months.  When I left the US, there was a lot of talk about a virus that was becoming problematic around the world.  The U.S. Administration was saying “nothing to worry about.”   March 11 the WHO declared this virus, Covid 19, to be a global pandemic. The president declared U.S. borders to be shut within days, creating chaos, as he did so well.  It simply wasn’t fair to my family to have them worry about me.  So, I came home to the city that never sleeps.  New York City was shuttered by the time I arrived. (flying through Dubai?! to get there)

 

The two weeks I did have on that visit were also chaotic.  Kara Tepe had the allotted amount of Folks living there, around 1400.  Moria had the highest number I had seen, 20,000.  It was extraordinary to see what that meant as the summer before had about 12,000.  I knew there had been protests happening both by native Residents of the island and by non-native Residents (Refugees).  A general strike was called for the day I was scheduled to arrive.  Both of these things have happened in the past, usually to no avail, although it had been a tad less peaceful that winter.   Things had actually gotten quite disturbing as police were sending tear gas into crowds of peacefully demonstrating Refugees asking for better care, and/or quicker work on their asylum cases.  The true tipping point for Greek Islanders came, I believe, when their own government sent riot police from Athens to help control crowds in regards to the planned building of a closed camp on Lesvos. Things got uglier, quickly, on the Aegean islands where Humans were trying to find refuge.  The dear folks who call these islands home had had it. They felt that the world has deserted them, and I cannot disagree.

 

Days of work had to be cancelled due to road closures and safety issues as some hooligans were now directing anger at Humanitarian workers.  Some NGOs decided to cease operations and evacuated to Athens.  We continued as much as we could, and would sometimes be sent home, and asked to stay indoors.  My teammates were safe.  I felt especially so as my landlords watched over me closely.

 

I now fully came to understand what mob mentality can do.  On a beautiful Sunday I awoke to a text that the road to Moria was being blocked by locals.  Turning on Facebook, it appeared other locals were refusing to allow a raft filled with migrants to disembark.  Almost at that moment our Founding Director posted this on Facebook; leading from afar: 

 

Having a serious case of cabin-fever I went into Mytillini to have a late lunch/early dinner at my favorite taverna.   Finishing up, I received what was becoming a familiar text: “Please go home and stay indoors. Text when you get there.”  I let our Coordinator know where I was, and that it may take awhile for me to get home as apparently, the problem of the raft filled with Humans not being allowed to land was in my little hometown. I got home with no issues.  But, as soon as I had parked my car and gotten out, crowds of angry guys came marching up my little street, some holding huge sticks.  My Landlord’s son asked me to go to my room and stay there. On my way, I could see the angry mob on the main street screaming, and bashing in windshields of Humanitarian Aid workers.  (Bless him, the owner of my Car Rental Agency asked me more than once to not drive. That day he asked me to try and remove any visible stickers of his agency.)

 

To add fuel to an already volatile fire the Turkish government decided to open all borders to allow folks to come through into the EU (Greece) in retaliation for what Turkey deemed unfairness and non-payment of promised money.  A man was shot and killed at the Turkish border.  On the Greek borders, on the Sea and at the Turkish border were “military exercises with live ammunition.”

 

A child drowned, and there were films on social media of Coast Guard boats actually trying to hurt more than help Humans in rafts.  It literally took my breath away that many of the Folks on these boats were not wearing any life jackets at all, never mind fake ones.  What I now realize is that was the beginning of the “Pushbacks.” The Greek government has been denying these, or giving political double-speak excuses, for the validity or such incidents…

 

On February 21, 2022, per the High Commissioner for Refugees Filippo Grandi 

from UNHCR:  “We are alarmed by recurrent and consistent reports coming from Greece’s land and sea borders with Turkey, where UNHCR has recorded almost 540 reported incidents of informal returns by Greece since the beginning of 2020. Disturbing incidents are also reported in Central and South-eastern Europe at the borders with EU Member States.

 

Although many incidents go unreported for various reasons, UNHCR has interviewed thousands of people across Europe who were pushed back and reported a disturbing pattern of threats, intimidation, violence and humiliation. At sea, people report being left adrift in life rafts or sometimes even forced directly into the water, showing a callous lack of regard for human life. At least three people are reported to have died in such incidents since September 2021 in the Aegean Sea, including one in January. Equally horrific practices are frequently reported at land borders, with consistent testimonies of people being stripped and brutally pushed back in harsh weather conditions.”

 

The positive, and negative, we all had during the two years of the Covid pandemic was more time.  For me, personally, that meant many things. One was more time to read the news of the world, especially keeping up with the issue now very dear to my heart, the situation of Humans trying to migrate to safety and create new lives; especially in Greece. The news was not usually uplifting.  

 

In September of 2020, the infamous Moria burned to the ground.  That lead to a nightmare of thousands having to camp out on the streets of Lesvos. Within a short amount of time, a new “temporary camp” of big white tents, with a few Isoboxes was built on an old military camp.  I drove by that site daily.  It is literally on the water, and contaminated with lead.  Indeed, the winter rains flooded it often, in the middle of a pandemic.  It is now the only living area on Lesvos for our Friends as Kara Tepe was closed in April 2021 (and a smaller camp, Pikpa was shut down in October 2020).  The building of a closed camp in an isolated area has been planned for a few years, and is still a major issue Folks on Lesvos are against.  (A closed camp opened on the island of Samos in September 2021.)

 

Pope Frances has visited Lesvos twice since the “Crisis” began in 2015.  In 2016, at the original Moria he said: ““You are not alone… do not lose hope.”  December, 2021 Pope Francis visited the new Moria (now called Mavrovouni camp, and sometimes the new Kara Tepe).  “Five years have passed since I visited this place. After all this time, we see that little has changed with regard to the issue of migration…let us stop thisshipwreck of civilization.”  And, that was that.  Other Luminaries, celebrities arrive, get the tour, say tsk-tsk, and leave.  Is there no wonder the disillusionment of all?

 

After a closely watched military build up at the Ukranian border, Russia began its “special military operation” upon the orders of Madman Putin, on February 24^th.   Finally trying to limit myself to the horrors of our world, I of course, kept abreast, but tried not to make my observations 24/7.  Part of my reasoning was, in all honesty, it was too painful to watch as EU countries opened their borders, and proverbial arms to the many, many Humans escaping their war-torn country.  Of course, I was so very glad these innocents were finding safety. I simply am having a hard time because I know about the Humans that are still dying, often by freezing, on these same borders, as well as other borders all over Europe; not to mention drowning in the waters of the Aegean, Mediterranean and English Channel. 

 

Watching questions being posted from Friends I had made asking why they and their country-persons were ignored, or worse, as they escaped wars as well has been gut-wrenching.  A Dear Man whose Family I got to know in 2018 posted on Facebook:  “I am not a racist and no the patriot. The war is in any case terrible. Only I wonder if the difference makes between the war in Afghanistan. Yemen. Syria and so on and Ukraine. Does it depend on the skin color, nationality, religion or something else?”

 

 

The hypocrisy and cruelty of media and leaders has been breath-taking…Over three million Ukranian Refugees have been welcomed into Europe since Russia invaded; including several thousand in Greece.  Greek Migration and Asylum Minister Notis Mitarachi: "They are war refugees, these are real refugees.”   Reported in The Greek City Times on February 28^thMr Mitarachi was quoted again: “Greece is open to hosting Ukrainian refugees, we consider it our obligation to take part in this humanitarian chain. It should become obligatory for all EU member-states to contribute to the redistribution of the flows from Ukraine. Just as we asked for this when we faced the crisis with Turkey, it is a matter of principle to also say this now, when we must support the countries of Eastern Europe.”

March 1, six Africans drowned off the coast of Lesvos; some of their lifeless bodies washing up on the beach outside the city of Mytillini.

There is increasing backlash to the racist xenophobia, thankfully. “Fiery speech of the European Parliament in criticizing the dual behavior of the West regarding Ukraine and Afghanistan Kalar Dolly, Irish member of the European Parliament: ‘Yes, there is a tragic crisis in Ukraine, but at the same time in Afghanistan... Tens of thousands seek asylum; five million children are starving; child marriages increase by 7 percent; families sell their children to get food, not a word said about it. Omg, Afghans have to wonder what makes their humanitarian crisis so unimportant.’ ”  (I also found this on Facebook, postedby a dear Man originally from Afghanistan.  I met him in 2017, and worked with him at various times.  He has stayed on Lesvos and is re-building his life.) 

 

I received an email from Movement on the Ground March 9^th:

“Our team has been at the Ukrainian border for a couple of days, and their first message is one of respect and appreciation for the support local organizations, municipalities and people are providing. With so many people crossing into neighboring countries, locals are giving the warmest welcome they possibly can. At the same time, the sheer number of people that need shelter and support, now and in the long run, is enormous. …

 

Looking ahead, we unfortunately expect the number of people forced to flee their homes to increase. People seeking safety in Europe because of climate change, conflict, or hunger. At Movement On The Ground we stand for Refugee Hospitality; approaching refugees as people with talents, skills, dreams, and dignifying their reception. We can therefore only applaud the welcoming attitude towards Ukrainian refugees. Let’s continue to adopt this approach for all people on the move, no matter where they are from, nor which border they cross.”

 

And on March 24^th:

^“Moldova is the poorest country in Europe and is currently providing shelter for the most refugees per capita ( 12% of the current total population is a Ukrainian refugee*). On top of that, most of the arriving refugees are being hosted by Moldovan families who themselves struggle to make ends meet. While being on the ground, we linked with the local volunteer group, Moldova for Peace, an organization highlighted by the UNHCR and an important player on the ground in Moldova. As the group is also in direct contact with Moldovan authorities, they know the situation best. The group coordinates volunteers, provides transportation, organizes accommodation, and identifies necessary goods and services for those crossing the border. We are organizing support for Moldova for Peace, while they provide Moldovan host families and their Ukrainian guests with much-needed emergency relief items.”  (MOTG continues its work in Greece: on Lesvos, Samos, Chios, and in Athens).

 

As I watched the Celebration of Life Service for one of the greatest heroes of my lifetime, Dr. Paul Farmer, co-founding director of Partners in Health, the words of his Family, Friends, and Colleagues were beautiful, poignant, and powerful; a much-needed salve, actually.  One of the phrases;: “Paul Farmer proved that one person can make a difference in the world.” I will, I must, hold onto that.   

 

Thankfully, Ukraine has that person in its President Volodymur Zelenksy. He is that one person at this moment in time as he leads with true grit and grace. 

 

Joan Baez creates a portrait of Zelensky
“A collage in support of the Ukranian people.”

 

So, no, unfortunately, my Ladies, it’s not fair.   But, as hard as it is on some days, I simply refuse to give up on my fervent belief in HOPE. Ultimately, the love and goodness in Humanity will win.  Inshallah.

 

“The act of striving is in itself the only way to keep faith with life.”

Madeleine K. Albright

(First woman Secretary of State for the United States who came to the US as a refugee at the age of 11.)

 

 

My Two Afghans

                   

Almost five years ago, I was blessed to fulfill one of many dreams by visiting Greece.  Not simply to be a tourist as I wished to go deeper. After exploring the must sees of Athens, Santorini, Mykonos, Rhodes, and other wonderful places for two weeks, I landed on the island of Lesvos.  I volunteered on a Refugee Camp, Kara Tepe, with a Dutch NGO, Movement on the Ground.  Movement on the Ground was born of the Refugee Crisis in 2015 in part due to the tragic death of a young Syrian child, Alan Kurdi.

 

It is an experience that changed me forever.  Sounds trite, I know.  But, it is true.  Nothing has put my perspective in clearer form than those three weeks.  

 

For these almost five years, I have been writing about this very special time(s).  I will eventually share more of those writings.  For now, I wish to share some insights and stories, of some of the amazing people I have been blessed to meet, work with, and I believe call friends.  

 

In light of what happened in August of last year, I will begin with  “My Two Afghans.”

 

On my first day on Kara Tepe that Summer of 2017, a young guy walked by me and a new friend, another International Volunteer, a Photographer from New York City, actually, while we were serving at the Giving Café.  He greeted us with a soft hello and beautiful smile.   My new friend said, “Wait til you see Him Friday night.’

 

Well, my first Community Dance was a treat and oh, so special.  In walked the handsome lad dressed to the nines. Faireh started dancing with another.  The palpable joy on their faces as they swayed and moved to the music was beauty to behold.   (This is where I truly learned that in certain cultures, men freely showed affection, and danced happily with other guys, simply for the pleasure of sharing moments with music. Coming from Irish Catholic Boston, this was interesting and wonderful to see.).  

 

At that first community dance I was also “introduced “to Bahul .  He was in a group of men doing a fascinating type of folk dance with sticks which I believe is called the Chopbazi.  Those two different forms of dance, and the Guys doing them, I think describes their differing personalities very well!  Faireh and Bahul were both alone on Kara Tepe and lived in one of the Isoboxes where 5 or 6 single guys lived.  They were roommates, friends; each trying to move on from the very tough situations in their home country of Afghanistan. And couldn’t have been more different, in their own special ways.

When I came back for my second visit to Kara Tepe I got to know them as we worked together in the Community Kitchens.  Bahul, in fact, was the Community Leader of the kitchens.  I was delighted for him.  Because, I had noticed that he had a bit of the “bad boy” in him, but thankfully his leadership skills had shown through.

 

By the time I arrived for my third visit, we were friendly and respected co-workers.   This is when each opened up and shared some of his story with me.  Faireh had left Afghanistan with his Mom and younger brother. However, he got left behind when his family was given permission to travel onward to Germany, because he was over 18.  Faireh was 21 when I met him, and kept getting rejection stamps for onward movement.  (Many young Folks stay 17 for as long as they can when travelling with their families because once they are 18, they are “adults” and most often left behind when the rest of the family moved forward.  It was excruciating to watch…)

 

After having worked together through the special evenings of Ramadan, I arrived to Moon Kitchen one afternoon to share a shift with Faireh.  He greeted me with the story of the wonderful celebratory meals of Eid his family used to share.  His description (and pictures from his cellphone) of the delicacies and sweets filled his face with the same joy that showed on his face the first time I saw him dance the year before.

 

Each month, after his appointment at Moria for the discussion of his asylum status, and getting another rejection, Farieh would go into a slump or depression; then work his way out of it.   It was during one of these down times that Farieh showed up at the Clothing Shop late one afternoon just as we were closing really upset and dejected.  He had dropped his phone in the kitchen; it had shattered; and he was totally fed up.   “Mom” in me jumped into play and I offered to take him into Mytillini the next day to get it fixed with the help of Bahul’s translation skills.  (I’ll come back to this later…)

 

On that third visit, my very first weekend was spent working overtime as community volunteers were flaking on their shifts in the kitchen.  Our Gentle Giant was running the whole show (on Kara Tepe and Moria) as our Kara Tepe Coordinator had taken a much needed break.  Gentle Giant said that perhaps Folks weren’t liking him so much?!   Anyway, as I was in the kitchen on Sunday afternoon, covering for Bahul he walked in looking a tad sheepish?!  “Hello, Mom! Welcome back!” says he.  Me: “Where the hell have you been, Sir?” And, then we hugged.

 

Bahul then simply kind of quit, everything   With time, I learned that Bahul had left Afghanistan with his sister.  She had made her way to Germany.  Their Mom was still at home in Afghanistan.  Bahul was in his mid-20s. Oh, my heart broke so often, especially for these young Men stuck on this Greek island.  What kind of lives would they be able to achieve?   

           

One hot day, I went to the Cantina to grab some lunch and Bahul was there.  I sat next to him while my food was being prepared. (You could never be in a rush there.)  I looked up and he was looking at me with his big brown eyes (so many had these gorgeous, soulful big brown eyes…).   “Mom, I am so bored…”  

 

“Oh, Bahul, I get it.  I wish I had a magic wand for everyone here.   I will share with you that when I have gone through tough personal times, staying busy has helped me.  You have a true gift for languages.  I have seen you speak many.  We could use your help in the Clothing Shop translating.”   After that, he helped us almost every day for a shift or two in the Shop.  Often showing up exactly when we needed help the most.

 

On the evening of a lovely Community Concert Bahul came to me and started swinging me around in dance.  It was wonderful.  I then noticed he had been drinking.  “You, Goof, be careful, and behave, as you know Mudir will not be happy if you get too crazy….”  “Ok, Mama.I will be good..”  He then asked me to stay the night on Kara Tepe as he didn’t want to say “Good Night”.  Oh, Boy, the reaction our Gentle Giant would have to that news simply made me laugh out loud as I drove home later. (Gentle Giant knows, knew, everything…and I always got caught…)  This wonderful young man would swing me more times in dance.  One of my favorite memories is dancing with him around the food prep table during Ramadan….

              

You know when no matter the circumstances, no matter how dire the place and time…you have many special, amazing memories?  Now, back to those moments in the Clothing Shop: Bahul and I had just finished a long, hot shift with another International Volunteer, a great Chilean Lady.  We had gotten the sillies after we closed up shop and Chilean Lady and I simply started playing dress-up with the ridiculous clothes hanging on the walls as decoration. (They were ridiculous as they were evening clothes; donated to a Refugee Camp?!  But colorful, so they brightened up the Shop.)  Oh, so fun to share in the laughter, simple joy, and the look of astonishment on Bahull’s face when Chilean Lady let her hair down, literally….

 

Poor Faireh walked in.  It sobered us up quickly.  And, the next morning I picked up the Guys to bring them into Mytillini.  The phone ended up being a relatively simple fix, thankfully. I was hungry, so we went and ate. For that, poor Gentle Giant had to reprimand me, yet again.  More on those transgressions of mine, and the talks that Gentle Giant and I had to have another time.  But, finally, his request of  “Please, Kathy, we need you to lead with your head, and not your heart”, stuck…

Shoes were a nightmare on Kara Tepe that Summer of 2018. (I think it is always an issue, actually.)   After a large supply was donated, there was a break-in of the shoe warehouse onsite in the middle of a night.  Mudir issued an edict to deal with it.  Bahul came to the Clothing Shop quite upset the following day.  He had been questioned. I simply said:  “Look me in the eyes.  Tell me if you were involved.”  “No, Mom, I promise, I was not involved.”  “Ok, I will speak to Gentle Giant.”  I did, and was eventually told that Bahul was in the clear, this time.  

 

(Mudir was the Greek Director of Kara Tepe.  One of the finest, toughest, kindest Men I have had the pleasure to know, work with, and again, I think, I hope, befriend.)

 

 

That summer of 2018, I got to see both of these Special Guys leave Lesvos.   True to their natures, their journeys have been different, not always pretty, or safe.  The ups and downs, good and bad, with social media, one can stay in touch, in a way.  And, sometimes you learn things that you don’t necessarily want to know.  I was able to “watch” My Two Afghans eventually make their way to Germany. 

 

(Whenever I share stories of my friends names will have been changed, or my own personal nicknames used. Btw, Gentle Giant was MOTG’s “Director of Operations” as I called it.  There were no real titles used.  But, he was “the Boss”..)

 

From her book “The Blood of Others”…in regards to her observations on the plight of Refugees

(Quotes in the pretty boxes were discovered on: https://www.inspiringquotes.com.)

Life..and then Corona...

On the streets of SoHo after a week of protests following the death of 

Mr. George Floyd

Life….I have lived and been through a lot.  Most of it really wonderful, some of it really hard, none of it would I change. (Well, maybe the pain my Ladies have had to endure...)

This..is the most surreal time I have ever experienced.  A child of the 70’s, meaning my teen-age years were in that decade, high school class of ’75.  Heard a lot about sex, drugs, rock and roll…didn’t understand it til I got to high school at the end of that era.  Thank God, I was afraid of drugs; was a “good Catholic” girl; but the drinking age was 18 when I was in high school..enough said on that…suffice it to say, my taste in wine has simply improved with age…

Memories…..

Photographer: Stan Stearns

1963: My first vivid memory of a life-changing event (besides my first baby brother coming home in 1961) was President John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s assassination.  Being in first grade, seeing a very big Sister Liam in tears was unsettling; going home to my Mom in tears even more so.  Days later, watching JFK, Jr. saluting his father’s casket unnerved me. He was my brother’s age as he watched his Father’s casket being pulled by horses down a street in a city called Washington, D.C.  I cried, but was that because my Mom was?

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  1964: Staying up late on a Sunday night to watch the Ed Sullivan show ‘cause my Dad wanted me to see a group from England with really long hair that was causing a ruckus worldwide. I jumped up and down; unsure if it was the excitement of being allowed up late; or because all the teenage girls in the audience were, and screaming.  I didn’t scream because then I’d wake up my second baby brother, and get sent to bed.   The Beatles’ music was the background to my     childhood and early adolescence.  

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1967:  Dad has us all walking the Common one hot Sunday as he wanted us to experience what this hippie thing was all about.  By now there were 4 kiddos in my family, my little sister was in her carriage, I am sure.  I was fascinated, and soon after made some love beads with friends in the neighborhood.  And, for Red Sox fans like my Dad, who will ever forget the “Impossible Dream” season?

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www.upi.com

1968: The assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. was my introduction to blacks and whites having issues with each other, racism.  I remember his murder leading to riots.  Then Bobby Kennedy was killed.  The Kennedy Family was a revered dynasty to Boston Irish Catholics.  My heart ached for all of his kids, many around my age, and his Wife was pregnant. The Viet Nam War dragged on.

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1969:  Another night my Dad made us all stay up through the night in a rented cottage on Cape Cod, watching my uncle’s tiny tv which was a “thing” in itself, to watch man’s first step on the moon…

1972-1974: Watergate, one of the most famous break-ins in history, June 1972, ultimately leading to President Nixon’s resignation in August of 1974 were the beginning of my real awakening to how important politics were in American life.  In all honesty, at the time, I was simply mesmerized by how pretty Mrs. Dean was.

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1975: The last of our military finally leaving Viet Nam in the spring I graduated from high school.  As most 17 year olds, I was all consumed with my life, but I do remember, and was so very glad that finally the War was finally over.  

USAFA Chapel

1977-1979: Choosing to go to dental hygiene school for all the wrong reasons (it was only two years); ended up being a good thing for many years (until I tried to change careers with only an Associates Degree in Boston, the Athens of America, but that isn’t important to this story).   Moving out of my family home in baby steps by moving to Colorado to live with a beloved uncle.   What I didn’t understand until arriving was that Uncle John’s job, as a Catholic Chaplain in the US Air Force, was at the West Point of the USAF, the Air Force Academy.  A little more than a year later, I was walking under swords becoming an Air Force Officer’s Wife, at the ripe age of 21.

Rookery Park in Oxford, England

1979-1984: Pilot training in Texas, where living on the Mexican border was eye-opening in very many ways; followed by a move to merry old England.  Having two precious baby Girls; living on an honest to God English estate; traveling often to Germany at a time of peace for three years; made for a pretty Shangri-La experience.

1985: My first proverbial shoe dropping happened shortly after coming back to the United States, to Texas.  My “officer and not so gentleman” left me for another, sending me back to the arms and love of my big and boisterous Boston Irish Catholic family.  This is when and where my profession was one of my many God-sends.  

1990- 2012: Years fled by, as they do, and I met a guy, my white-water rafting guide.  Finally trusting him to marry, life continued on. My Ladies grew and went off to college, making me proud all the way.  2001: In the midst of these years was a day that changed the world: 9/11.  It was beyond disconcerting when the borders were shut that day.  My older Daughter was in college in Montreal, and Mom was on a trip to Quebec City. (Luckily the border shutdown was quickly lifted.)   My younger daughter had just started her senior year of high school, and selfishly, my heart cried also for what that meant for she and her classmates.  (I was proud and impressed when my Sister told me that Kristi had sent a note to the Seniors of high school and college in our family this spring giving them a pep talk…)  Eventually, the next big shoe drop: I learned that the person I had trusted my, and more importantly my Ladies,’ heart with for many years had betrayed us; destroying and ending our family as we had known it for twenty years.

2013: All the while, I had my career of dental hygiene, thank God; until that ended, in part due to the Boston Marathon bombing.  Crying “Uncle,” I decided it was time to fulfill some life long dreams.  I sold almost everything I owned and moved to NYC to heal and rebuild my life.  

2015: While riding a motorcycle and not wearing a helmet, my second husband had an accident putting him into a coma.  More than one has asked me if he had a death wish?  A week later I had to make the decision to turn off all life-saving machines. (While at the hospital I saw the news that a precious toddler from Syria, Aylan Kundi, had drowned as his family attempted to flee from their civil war-torn country to a new life.)   The next year was a myriad of new experiences in settling an estate, fighting off lawsuits, and ultimately the selling of a much beloved cabin on a lake in Maine.

Hospital in Kono, Sierre Leone

2017: This all had occurred while my older daughter Katie fought Ebola in Sierre Leone as a Nurse Practitioner.  Traveling to Sierre Leone with Kristi, my younger daughter, once Ebola had been eradicated was one of the toughest, most interesting, and emotional trips of my life. It was pretty profound seeing what Katie had helped to accomplish.

Mytilini Castle on Lesvos

I needed a break to celebrate my own life.  That summer I gifted myself Greece.  Exploring for a couple of weeks, I then settled on an island in the Aegean Sea where so many people had landed at the height of the Refugee crisis: Lesvos. Three weeks volunteering with a Dutch NGO, Movement on the Ground, on the Refugee CampUs of Kara Tepe was truly a life-altering experience.  Since 2017 I have been over four more times.  (I hope to share much more on that some day.)

2020:  “Real life” now… My most recent visit to Lesvos was in February.  When I left the US, a new virus, much like the flu, was hitting China pretty hard.  Apparently, a traveler arrived with it to the US in January.  (Or so it was thought in the US.)  Travel from China to the US was banned by early February, after three major airlines declared they were stopping service.  I apparently missed the WHO’s declaring this a global emergency.  Listening to my own country’s proclamations was a mistake.  So, I went to my beloved Lesvos, again. Planning to stay for two months, instead I came home after two weeks.  The WHO acknowledged we were in the midst of a worldwide pandemic and the US decided to halt traffic coming from Europe.  (I have already written a bit on those two weeks:https://www.blogger.com/blogger.gblogID=5815993447247107855#editor/target=post;postID=8825676033135430750;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=0;src=postname.)

When I “awoke” after my self-quarantine, New York had been placed in PAUSE, effectively shutdown. So, I have been stuck in NYC as travel anywhere is limited at best.  Truth be told, much of me wishes I had stayed in Greece.  I was safer there from the virus.  Greece has miraculously not been that hard hit, and Lesvos has had only a few cases, thus far.   Thank God, because if it hit Kara Tepe, or Moria...  But, I did the right thing by coming back….

I do best when I am busy. I have a few books in me, I believe, but am having trouble actually being able to write much at the moment.  It is fascinating to see that with all the craziness that we humans can and do and inflict on each other, a virus could stop the world.  I am watching and reading too much on social media. Although, I must admit Governor Cuomo’s daily news-briefs have been comforting; and he and his brother have been entertaining, taking the world by storm making many of us Cuomosexual….

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Politics, I hate.  I am like the Nike logo, “Just do it.”  Which may actually be one of the reasons I

Charles Schultz

appreciate the Governor of my home state right now.  To say I am disillusioned and disgusted by much of the Federal Government right now is an understatement.  Having been raised in the Boston area, I was born into liberalism, with Dad being a true Pacifist.  I married very young into the Air Force, which tends to be to the right.  Ah, the discussions Dad and I had in those days.  Linus from the Charles Schultz’s Peanuts gang once said: ”There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people...religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin.”  Eventually realizing that I always voted for the candidate, not the party, I registered as an Independent.

Never do I remember the political climate in the US to be so polarized.  Perhaps I was simply too busy living my life, and admittedly, I have more time today, which until the Pandemic was quite lovely; not gonna lie.   For most of my life, I have been a very proud American, and accepting of the freedom of people’s views and opinions.  I have also been called a “Polly-anna” by some….  

What has been interesting, and heartening, quite frankly, is that with many of the Friends I have made on Lesvos who have escaped things that most of us in the US cannot fathom, the United Sates of America is still the “promised land of opportunity” that my Grandparents came to from Ireland, arriving through Ellis Island in the 1920’s.   Eyes light up, especially when I tell folks that I live in New York City. One beautiful young Lady whom I worked with almost daily in the kitchens during my Lesvos trip in the spring-summer of 2018, asked if she could come visit me in America?  I had to look into her eyes and say, “Not now, not until the laws in my country change.”  I felt so sad, ashamed, and frustrated.  I think this lovely Lady is from Iraq.  I usually forget where the friends that I make on Lesvos are from, as it doesn’t matter. But her country is one of those that this administration doesn’t allow.  She had taken one of those rubber boats with her two sisters at the ages of 19, 20, and 22. Thank God, they are now reunited with their parents in Germany.

Recently, I found myself in a conversation on Facebook (I hate when this happens.  Usually, I cut it short, but this particular time, I felt it was appropriate.) My Nurse Practitioner is now out in Navajo Nation at Tséhootsooí Medical Center on Fort Defiance.  I sometimes re-post some of the information she shares.

That conversation.  I had posted the statistics stating Navajo Nation had the highest rate of Covid19 after New York City and New Jersey (It has now surpassed both, and has the highest rate of Covid 19 per capita in the US.).  A very special Friend whom I met on Kara Tepe in 2018, a dear Guy who is 20 years old living with his younger brother in northern Greece, Redo, asked me “Where is Navajo?”  Which lead to this discussion that I would like to share:

Redo & I on Lesvos July 2018

Me: Navajo is one of the largest groups of Native Americans in the US.  Most live out is the South West: Arizona, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico.  My daughter Katie is a nurse practitioner running the Covid 19 response on one of the reservations.  

Redo: Hah!! So it’s not a place or a city but people right?

Me: Navajo is the people.  Navajo Nation is home.

Redo:  Hmm oke. Well that is sad to hear the news. Hope they all get well soon as possible!

Me:  Thank you! This is a Global Pandemic. Inshallah, we will all get well as soon as possible.  Xo Someday, we shall have a US history lesson about this..easier in person…Alas, the way the US treated Native American is not a proud story in our history.

Redo:That you say mom. But you may not believe.  In my country all the people describe how best is the American treatments/doctors. That no country is better than America.

Me:  Ah, Redo, this is too difficult to do on FB…Let’s just say that for now..I am saddened and a little disillusioned, even in my own country because, yes, we do have some of the best medicine and treatments in the world (and we were

absolutely not prepared for a Global Pandemic…)  But, I do believe in the magic and mystery of Faith, Hope, and Love, right?!  We will all get through this.

Redo:  Mom we shall believe Hope, love and faith have always been through most difficulties.

(This conversation and picture with Redo has been shared with his permission.)

Back to now…. I still need to do something.  Lately, I have been accepting my age for the first time; not liking it; but accepting it.  But, what I really am having a hard time with is that I cannot volunteer in many places anymore, due to the Covid 19 risks.  I did find an organization that has been on my radar for years,  God’s Love We Deliver that welcomed me.  What I was very pleased to learn is that this NGO was started by a nurse to help a friend during another epidemic that hit the US in the ’80s, HIV/Aids.  “The mission of God’s Love We Deliver is to improve the health and well-being of men, women and children living with HIV/AIDS, cancer and other serious illnesses by alleviating hunger and malnutrition.” Going down to SoHo once or twice a week to work in the kitchen to help prep meals, or whatever needs doing, has been lovely.  It’s nice to be physically tired again.  GLWD has almost doubled the meals it provides since the beginning of the Covid19 Pandemic. I have also been able to help neighbors out a bit doing errands as I am the young kid on the block.  And, finally spring has arrived, and I can be out in my beloved Secret Garden. 

Gene & Jill's plane

In the midst of all of this, I have experienced some of the magic in the beauty of humans.  No matter how old ones children get; no matter how successful they become in their chosen profession and lives; when one calls or texts upset; it breaks your heart.  And, if one asks for help, you jump.  At least this Mom does.   So, I reached out to one of our oldest friends.  We met as young parents in England, and one of us is a retired four star General of the US Air Force.  A number of weeks ago, I heard that this special man did a fly by over Fort Defiance Reservation on his way to drop of face shields to one of Katie’s co-workers in Flagstaff.  General (Retired) Eugene Renuart and Dr. John McVicker,Neurosurgeon at UC Memorial Hospital, flew Gene’s plane (at their own expense) to Piper Aircraft in Florida.  Piper has stopped normal operations for a while to make face shields for our First Responders. Old friends truly are golden.

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Designed at NYU

Another great guy I know from my NYC life, Charles Grantham, stopped creating his gorgeous pieces for a while, to create intubation boxes and face shields for New York, and many hundreds of those face shields have very graciously been shared with Navajo Nation. 

More frustrating texts revolved around surgical gowns.  Katie’s hospital was about to run out.  Would my friends who are artists creating children’s clothes and hats be willing to make gowns?  (Tuff Kookooshka and Swan & Stone Millinery have been making, sharing, and donating surgical masks all over New England, and beyond.  I have spent many wonderful hours with these Dear Friends at the Grand Central Holiday Market.) Yes, but finding materials was then an issue.  I started researching, a dizzying exercise which led me mostly to the Far East. Digging out a card from a lady I refer to as my Fairy God Friend (a long story there) I reached out to see if she could help me source material for these gowns as she is a clothing designer/manufacturer.  Well, it turns out that since not many people are buying women’s clothing, and that there is a desperate need here in NYC for medical-surgical gowns; you guessed it; she is manufacturing them.  Katie and my Fairy God Friend have been introduced.

So, in this surreal time of ours, one can stay and be busy.  Magic does happen because most People are good, and kind.  I hope, I must believe in that and at the end of this pandemic craziness, we as humans will be kinder and gentler.  Inshallah….

(As I finally put the finishing touches on this, my country is in the midst of yet another crisis…one that has been simmering slowly for many many years.  Another part of my country’s history that is also not a proud one, revolves around race.  In the midst of a Pandemic, the murder of a Black Man, Mr. George Floyd, by police, has brought the country, and much of the world, to a tipping point.  I hope to write more on it, but am simply too sad to succinctly wrap my mind around it at this moment.  It is too raw.  Right now, I am grateful that local and state leadership around the US seems to stepping up to the plate as much as they can, as the leadership in DC is so woefully lacking at a moment in history when we really need a good, honest, calm, unifying leader.  Again, Inshallah, we will rise better and stronger…)