By request of a friend who reads my blog, I am going to
ditch my usual style of writing without caps. He says it makes it hard for him
to read.
I found hope yesterday. After almost a week of feeling
pretty low, not working since I had quit Starfish, feeling a little isolated
because virtually all my socializing was done at work, wrestling with my own
moral and ethical issues as I mentioned in the author’s note to my post "Truth
and Consequences", the ramifications of NATO coming to the Aegean in response to
the refugee crisis and not knowing where I was going to go or what I was going
to do next, I found hope.
Literally and figuratively.
I hiked overland—following the roads, but still a hike—through
the hills to a lovely spot more northerly on the coast. I found the Hope
Center. Along the way I met a young volunteer from Austria who only had a few
days of holiday and had chosen to spend it here on Lesvos, volunteering. We
walked together, stopping to commiserate with a dog who wanted company, then
finally reaching a battered sign saying ELPIS, the Greek word for hope.
There at the bottom of the gently sloping hill was a rambling,
slightly gone to ruin building. It had been a hotel that had been sitting empty
for a number of years. The heirs to the property didn’t want to run a hotel,
but when the refugees started arriving, the old hotel had been leased to a
local ex-pat couple to create a safe and welcoming space for refugees. Some
donor group, I’m not sure who, have paid the entire first year’s rent of the five year lease. After that, when
presumably the need for a refuge will have ended, the old hotel will be turned
into an art space for women to have their studios and sell their wares.
When I arrived, there were a few people there working on
various projects. The young volunteer I walked with immediately set to work
clearing out overgrowth in the terraced garden by the pool, algae-green with
neglect. As I talked with some of the volunteers, hearing the history and
discussing future plans and strategies, others arrived in an almost continuous stream.
A young man wearing an Engineers Without Borders t-shirt advised that there was
an unused, unclaimed pellet stove at a warehouse in Mytilini that would be
perfect for Hope. Another pair of volunteers reclaimed some wood and rebuilt a
small section of roof that was rotting and close to collapsing. More volunteers
joined the garden crew. Some young women put away donated supplies of shampoo
and soap. They had made small survival bags for refugees consisting of shampoo,
soap, toothpaste, and other personal items for refugees who had lost
everything. We all agreed, laughing, that the packaged energy bars included
should be taken out so they didn’t taste like soap. Though tranquil, the Hope
Center was a hive of activity. As they said, though it’s quiet now, the
refugees aren’t going to stop coming, and when they do, we’ll be ready.
On a tour through the rambling building, I saw the men’s and
women’s clothing rooms, coats and jackets, shirts, sweaters, and pants on
hangers to more easily allow wet refugees to choose their new clothes. I saw
the future medical clinic, donated beds and stretchers leaning against the
wall. I saw family rooms waiting to welcome refugees to shelter.
The Hope crew talked about their plans for a children’s
playground, about the group of volunteer architects who had advised them on
repairs, about the one time—not yet ready, but needed—that they had housed
refugees and the ensuing legal headaches when they got in trouble for housing
150 or so refugees. It was not long ago, at a peak in refugee arrivals,
when the north coast of the island was overwhelmed. The Greek police had come
to them, asking them to take in the overflow who could not be accommodated
elsewhere, in the already established transit camps. But unregistered refugees
(and the only place to register is Moria, in the south) are not allowed to stay
at hotels and technically, the Hope Center was still a hotel.
They have, as I understand it, worked through that tangle
and are confident they will get all their licensing and legal framework in
order soon.
Meanwhile, they will continue to offer first response with
tea and blankets, dry clothing and comfort to refugees whose rubber boats end
up on their beach, and the work continues. On the wall of the reception area,
near the fireplace, is the job board. A cluster of small notes, categorized by
type—sorting, cleaning, construction, skilled, etc.—each with a job listed on
it that volunteers can perform as the Hope Center prepares for the day they can
legally house refugees. One of the categories of jobs is entitled Creative. One
of the jobs listed under this category is “Make friends with NATO.” The Hope
Center hasn’t lost its sense of humor in the midst of so much human misery.
As the afternoon waned, one of the volunteers pointed out a
rainbow arching over the Aegean. It seemed to embrace the Hope Center and those
few miles of sea separating Turkey and Greece, those few miles of sea that,
crossing, deliver the refugees safely to Europe and out of their war ravaged
homelands.
Over dinner last night, we discussed what we could do today
that would embrace the spirit of Valentine’s Day and send their message of love
and solidarity.
I’ll let you know how it turns out. I found hope.
