I pulled the door shut as we set off for our shift on Friday (6 Nov), and just as Heleen said she had forgotten her phone, I realised I had taken the wrong key. We were locked out, with both keys and Heleen's phone inside, and needed to leave pronto. I realised this was serious when N did not say "Don't worry!" but actually looked worried. Then she fetched her youngest daughter, manoeuvred her in through the bathroom window, and crisis was averted. Phew! I gave the little girl a Barbapapa bag with animals I had brought from my grandchildren.
Up the winding road to Oxy. Food tent again. I served the people, and Heleen kept the crates of food and water filled. As the day went on, with an endless line of people snaking around the camp, waiting to get their sandwich and apple or banana, it came to me that the job reminded me a little of my time working at Milky Way multimedia centre in Amsterdam, over 40 years ago, facing people whose eyes were bleary for an entirely different reason.
We had a dispute. Someone said that when the lines were long, we should hide the apples or bananas, because choosing took more time and people had to wait longer. I disagreed. These people have so little choice in their lives now, as they go from boat to beach to bus to transit camp to bus to camp to ship and then train or trudging onward through Europe, hoping that borders will stay open... Can they please choose whether to have an apple or a banana? We had two sorts of apples today.
"Apple. Red!" said one man, pointing with pleasure at the ginormous red apples that had just been delivered.
A Syrian man came up to the window holding a carrier of some kind in his left hand. I peered over the edge for a closer look. A cage, with a bright green and yellow bird. A refugee parrot! I took a picture of the parrot, and it gazed back at me as it sat quietly in its cage. I wondered how it would get across the borders, if it had the right papers.
Someone came up to the window wearing a face mask with traces of blood on it. Later I went to the medics' tent and asked if this meant that he had open TB. It was in the differential, said the doctor. I asked her to tell me other more reassuring things it might mean.
"A nosebleed." she said, "or a bad cough. He is probably protecting himself, rather than protecting others." She did add that we should all have ourselves tested for TB after returning home. She would certainly do so, she said.
At 9 o'clock the line magically ended, and we had time for a chat. One of our Farsi interpreters, J, a lovely, soft-spoken Iranian refugee, came to our tent and we had a chat. For some reason the subject of the Persian king Darius came up.
"He was quite a cruel king, wasn't he?" I said. J went almost white with rage. King Darius was the best king ever, and how is it possible that you people don't know about him, and he was the first person ever to draw up a list of human rights, which is at the United Nations headquarters in New York. J was almost inconsolable at my ignorance and stupidity about King Darius. I apologised again and again and promised to research King Darius and to spread the word about his excellence.
Then Heleen said to J, "And the person we call Alexander the Great, isn't it true that you call him 'Alexander the Terrible?'"
"No, no," said J. "He killed many Persians but still we call him great. He was great. Hitler was great too! He got many countries."
Silence in the food tent.
Trying to digest this, I said "No. He was not great."
Then I added, "I'm Jewish!"
J looked aghast, and said slowly, "oh........ shit!"
I said, "but the fact that I am Jewish is not so important. Heleen is not Jewish but we feel the same. Someone who kills 6 million Jews, or 6 million Muslims, or 6 million Christians, is not great. That is evil. Most people in Europe think that."
"Really?" said J.
"Except for fascists," I added.
It was an interesting cultural encounter. We hugged and agreed to revise our opinions about King Darius and about Hitler.
Up the winding road to Oxy. Food tent again. I served the people, and Heleen kept the crates of food and water filled. As the day went on, with an endless line of people snaking around the camp, waiting to get their sandwich and apple or banana, it came to me that the job reminded me a little of my time working at Milky Way multimedia centre in Amsterdam, over 40 years ago, facing people whose eyes were bleary for an entirely different reason.
We had a dispute. Someone said that when the lines were long, we should hide the apples or bananas, because choosing took more time and people had to wait longer. I disagreed. These people have so little choice in their lives now, as they go from boat to beach to bus to transit camp to bus to camp to ship and then train or trudging onward through Europe, hoping that borders will stay open... Can they please choose whether to have an apple or a banana? We had two sorts of apples today.
"Apple. Red!" said one man, pointing with pleasure at the ginormous red apples that had just been delivered.
A Syrian man came up to the window holding a carrier of some kind in his left hand. I peered over the edge for a closer look. A cage, with a bright green and yellow bird. A refugee parrot! I took a picture of the parrot, and it gazed back at me as it sat quietly in its cage. I wondered how it would get across the borders, if it had the right papers.
Someone came up to the window wearing a face mask with traces of blood on it. Later I went to the medics' tent and asked if this meant that he had open TB. It was in the differential, said the doctor. I asked her to tell me other more reassuring things it might mean.
"A nosebleed." she said, "or a bad cough. He is probably protecting himself, rather than protecting others." She did add that we should all have ourselves tested for TB after returning home. She would certainly do so, she said.
At 9 o'clock the line magically ended, and we had time for a chat. One of our Farsi interpreters, J, a lovely, soft-spoken Iranian refugee, came to our tent and we had a chat. For some reason the subject of the Persian king Darius came up.
"He was quite a cruel king, wasn't he?" I said. J went almost white with rage. King Darius was the best king ever, and how is it possible that you people don't know about him, and he was the first person ever to draw up a list of human rights, which is at the United Nations headquarters in New York. J was almost inconsolable at my ignorance and stupidity about King Darius. I apologised again and again and promised to research King Darius and to spread the word about his excellence.
Then Heleen said to J, "And the person we call Alexander the Great, isn't it true that you call him 'Alexander the Terrible?'"
"No, no," said J. "He killed many Persians but still we call him great. He was great. Hitler was great too! He got many countries."
Silence in the food tent.
Trying to digest this, I said "No. He was not great."
Then I added, "I'm Jewish!"
J looked aghast, and said slowly, "oh........ shit!"
I said, "but the fact that I am Jewish is not so important. Heleen is not Jewish but we feel the same. Someone who kills 6 million Jews, or 6 million Muslims, or 6 million Christians, is not great. That is evil. Most people in Europe think that."
"Really?" said J.
"Except for fascists," I added.
It was an interesting cultural encounter. We hugged and agreed to revise our opinions about King Darius and about Hitler.
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