Limbo in Lesvos

I decided  this morning to try and find the archeological museum but failed. *There is no museum” said a man in a vegetable shop “There are many museums” said a man in the street “Which one do you want?”  The next person I asked was a blonde young man whom I took to be a student and likely to speak English.  He laughed and said he was a refugee and we got talking.  I invited him for a coffee along with his friend and he told me his story.  He was a policeman in Afghanistan but with American connections.  The Taliban came and shot his father because of this and then he knew he had to leave. He contacted a people smuggler who charged him four thousand Euros to escape.  His boat, meant for 45 had 70 on it “But I was lucky,” he said “We were picked up by a patrol boat."  His friend, an engineer, had a similar story – association with a US firm meant he was a marked man.  He paid five thousand Euros for his passage.  I asked if he could swim and he said no. Most people in the boats couldn’t. I asked them  how they got in touch with people smugglers and they both laughed sardonically. “It is very easy.  They are everywhere. They want nothing but money”

Both the men have been on Lesvos for about two months because they arrived after the closing of the Greek border.  They are both living in Moria Camp which is a closed facility except for people who have been given passes, either to go into Mytilini town or else have the freedom of the island (but not freedom to leave it}.  Apparently there is a hierarchy as far as assessing refugee status  is concerned – Syrians first with Afghanis fairly low on the list perhaps because they are viewed more as economic migrants than refugees.   This made Ahmud angry. “I had a good job, a good salary. They killed my father.  I am a refugee.”

We talked of many things – their aspirations, their homesickness and the extraordinary world of the camp where so many nationalities live in their groups.  They told me of disorderly queues for food, unlike the other big camp Kara Tepe where meals are delivered to the tents and people can come and go as they like.  Ahmud gave me his tent number and invited me to visit.  I asked if the refugees liked visitors and he said yes of course they did.   I will try and go before we leave.

We parted and I went on with my search for the archaeological museum and ended up at the huge rather desolate castle dating back to Ottoman times.  It is a solitary place these days overrun with wild flowers and grasses but with faded panels explaining its features both in Greek and English.  Rather unfortunately it was decided a ring road round the island was needed to mitigate the traffic problem and that has led to destabilization of the castle’s foundations and so one huge tower has lurched sideways.  It seems an undignified fate for what must have once been an impregnable fortress. 

Mytilinis leaning tower. It's a lovely old Ottoman castle but the ring road is doing what invaders couldn't

I wended my way back to my end of town through a wealthy area full of gorgeous Ottoman mansions and noticed a demonstration  happening on the town hall steps.  My friends from the coffee shop were there holding placards. “We are not animals.” “We want to go to Athens” .  Another said “Moria is a prison”.  A non Greek speaker was addressing them with an interpreter.  He seemed to be a media person and offered them encouragement and support.

At the demo

Such sad defeated faces

In my wanderings I have noticed the huge number of graffiti – mostly in Greek but some in English.  Some are mysterious THE EBOLA CREW, others explicit WELCOME REFUGEES, but also NO BORDERS NO COUNTRY.  The turbulent feelings expressed on the walls of the town do not seem to perturb the townsfolk however, who shop and chat in cafes and go about their business.  Only the trapped immigrants have a listless way of moving in their little groups because they have no money now and absolutely nothing to do.