Heleen and I took the weekend off. On Saturday (7 November) we decided to drive to Mytilene, which is about 70 kilometres away. We would do some shopping and look at the camps, Kara Tepe and Moria. Kara Tepe is for Syrian families, and Moria is for Afghans and everyone else, including (sometimes) Syrian men travelling without families. We gave a lift to three Canadian Arabic-speaking volunteers. The first half of the road was slow, with lots of hairpin bends, and the second half was straighter, with occasional potholes and stretches under construction. We decided to go to Moria first.
Moria camp is quite remote and took us a long time to find. As we parked, we saw ramshackle caravans lining the road outside, selling food, sandals, clothes, at high prices. We were told there was also a kiosk selling little tents for 20 euros. There was a lively black market trade in money. For 100 Turkish lira you could get 20 euros, instead of the real exchange rate, which is closer to 30.
Moria is on the same kind of rocky terrain as Oxy, but it is completely different in several ways. It is huge and filthy, and there are thousands of people here, many of whom have to stay for many days, waiting to register, before they can board a ship to Athens. Most have to sleep in the open air, unless they can afford to buy a tent. Moria is surrounded by a barbed wire fence. We met a young Afghan man, J, outside the camp. He spoke English and offered to show us around. He said he had received death threats from the Taliban for working with foreigners, and is therefore now seeking asylum.
J led us towards a gap in the fence that served as an entrance to the camp. We bent down under the barbed wire and went in. Although I knew there were volunteers working here, they were not easy to find. I did not see one volunteer, doctor, cleaner, or information sign in the hour I spent at Moria. J said,
"I am very sorry to say this, but there is a big problem here. No one cleans the toilets." Heleen went to have a look. The toilets were full of excrement, mud and wet clothes. One man approached them, shrank back at the terrible smell, and went away again.
We walked on. Two men who recognised us from Oxy came and stood near us. One said he had been waiting for days and had no tent. One of his children was sick. I gave him 20 euros for a tent, as furtively as possible. A few minutes later his friend came over and said that his family too had no tent, so I gave him 20 euros as well.
J said, "I am very sorry to say this, but there is no doctor. There was a man this morning, very sick, but I could not find a doctor for him."
I left Moria feeling angry. Whose fault is this horrible mess? I wanted to find out.
We discovered that we were too late for the shops, as they close early on Saturday, so we went to look at the other camp, Kara Tepe.
The difference was astonishing. First, the entire terrain was covered with nice UNHCR cabins, and it looked as if everyone had a roof over their heads. Some people had little campfires outside their cabins. One man told us he had arrived a couple of hours ago and had already registered. He would be boarding a ship to Athens that same day. The lines for registering were much shorter than at Moria, and everything looked very well organised.
Kara Tepe had a proper entrance, with big welcome signs. Nearby there was a stand with a UNHCR worker helping people. I asked her why there was no one welcoming people at Moria. She was interested, and said "please tell me about it," but she didn't know anything about Moria. A woman was sweeping the path. The toilets were clean. There was a sign showing the way to the doctors' tent, and saying what hours it was open. I followed it and went to speak to the Doctors without Borders spokesman, a dynamic-looking Italian anthropologist called PL. I had to wait a while, since he was speaking to the press.
I said it looked like they were doing a great job at Kara Tepe, but what about Moria? He said, "Ah, Moria is my favourite camp!" I didn't get this, and asked him to explain. What he meant was that he saw it as a great challenge, and was looking forward to tackling the problems there. But why hadn't they done so before? He had only received permission to start working at Moria two weeks ago, he said. They were now busy setting things up. I hope they hurry up!
We drove back to Molyvos, stopping at the Lidl on the way. After dinner our neighbours invited us over for a drink: in total we were six women, mostly if not all gay, from the UK, Portugal, New Zealand, Norway, and Holland, working for Starfish. We stayed up until 1.30 talking politics. Someone asked Heleen what her job was, and she said, a little reluctantly, that she is a judge, and hears immigration cases, among other things. One of the others mused how strange it was being camp manager,
"I am 25, and I ask people over twice my age to go and clean the camp!" We reassured her that this was fine, and she was doing a great job.
The others went out for some rare late night fun, dancing until 5 a.m., but we went to bed.
Moria camp is quite remote and took us a long time to find. As we parked, we saw ramshackle caravans lining the road outside, selling food, sandals, clothes, at high prices. We were told there was also a kiosk selling little tents for 20 euros. There was a lively black market trade in money. For 100 Turkish lira you could get 20 euros, instead of the real exchange rate, which is closer to 30.
Moria is on the same kind of rocky terrain as Oxy, but it is completely different in several ways. It is huge and filthy, and there are thousands of people here, many of whom have to stay for many days, waiting to register, before they can board a ship to Athens. Most have to sleep in the open air, unless they can afford to buy a tent. Moria is surrounded by a barbed wire fence. We met a young Afghan man, J, outside the camp. He spoke English and offered to show us around. He said he had received death threats from the Taliban for working with foreigners, and is therefore now seeking asylum.
J led us towards a gap in the fence that served as an entrance to the camp. We bent down under the barbed wire and went in. Although I knew there were volunteers working here, they were not easy to find. I did not see one volunteer, doctor, cleaner, or information sign in the hour I spent at Moria. J said,
"I am very sorry to say this, but there is a big problem here. No one cleans the toilets." Heleen went to have a look. The toilets were full of excrement, mud and wet clothes. One man approached them, shrank back at the terrible smell, and went away again.
We walked on. Two men who recognised us from Oxy came and stood near us. One said he had been waiting for days and had no tent. One of his children was sick. I gave him 20 euros for a tent, as furtively as possible. A few minutes later his friend came over and said that his family too had no tent, so I gave him 20 euros as well.
J said, "I am very sorry to say this, but there is no doctor. There was a man this morning, very sick, but I could not find a doctor for him."
I left Moria feeling angry. Whose fault is this horrible mess? I wanted to find out.
We discovered that we were too late for the shops, as they close early on Saturday, so we went to look at the other camp, Kara Tepe.
The difference was astonishing. First, the entire terrain was covered with nice UNHCR cabins, and it looked as if everyone had a roof over their heads. Some people had little campfires outside their cabins. One man told us he had arrived a couple of hours ago and had already registered. He would be boarding a ship to Athens that same day. The lines for registering were much shorter than at Moria, and everything looked very well organised.
Kara Tepe had a proper entrance, with big welcome signs. Nearby there was a stand with a UNHCR worker helping people. I asked her why there was no one welcoming people at Moria. She was interested, and said "please tell me about it," but she didn't know anything about Moria. A woman was sweeping the path. The toilets were clean. There was a sign showing the way to the doctors' tent, and saying what hours it was open. I followed it and went to speak to the Doctors without Borders spokesman, a dynamic-looking Italian anthropologist called PL. I had to wait a while, since he was speaking to the press.
I said it looked like they were doing a great job at Kara Tepe, but what about Moria? He said, "Ah, Moria is my favourite camp!" I didn't get this, and asked him to explain. What he meant was that he saw it as a great challenge, and was looking forward to tackling the problems there. But why hadn't they done so before? He had only received permission to start working at Moria two weeks ago, he said. They were now busy setting things up. I hope they hurry up!
We drove back to Molyvos, stopping at the Lidl on the way. After dinner our neighbours invited us over for a drink: in total we were six women, mostly if not all gay, from the UK, Portugal, New Zealand, Norway, and Holland, working for Starfish. We stayed up until 1.30 talking politics. Someone asked Heleen what her job was, and she said, a little reluctantly, that she is a judge, and hears immigration cases, among other things. One of the others mused how strange it was being camp manager,
"I am 25, and I ask people over twice my age to go and clean the camp!" We reassured her that this was fine, and she was doing a great job.
The others went out for some rare late night fun, dancing until 5 a.m., but we went to bed.
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