After one first small mission, we came home with the need to go back. It's bigger than us and we will leave all behind to stay there holding the hands begging to be held. 4 of us with different backgrounds, joined by this one purpose that should move every living soul: humanity. Our goal is to stay in the camp for the 90 days that law allows us to be in Macedónia. We now seek for the help of others, not to finance a touristic stay, but to support essential needs and, above all, to buy shoes a...
Was it cool? Did you enjoy it?” – People ask over and over again, unaware of the twist it makes me feel in my stomach. It’s like a punch in the face. I stay in silence for a while, take a deep breath and force myself to be that person who truly just wanna know how I feel but for not knowing better, chose the wrong words.
Welcome to hell, they told us, and learn fast. And we did learned fast.
Every night now, I close my eyes thinking how many trains were there today? How many groups arrived? Are there enough clothes? Who’s talking to them about their options to settle? Who’s sharing their stories not to be forgoten? I’m back to my little job, wich I love, my little life, and everything feels empty, because I’ve learnt fast. I’ve learned fast.
“Was it cool? Did you enjoy it?” – Breathe. Just breathe. All the faces pass in front of me again, and again. The names, I’m confused about the names. I think of that afegan couple, they carry a baby, 7 months girl, they don’t want nothing for themselves, “but sister, please, if you could give us clean clothes for the baby. Sorry to ask, but she’s dirty because of the dipper. Sorry sister.”.
The girl wasn’t a little dirty, it’s like all of her inside clothes turned into a shity wipe. She came like that since Greece because there were no clothes for her in Idomeni. She’s crying. The mother is crying. The father walks with his head down. They say they’re sorry. They just asked for clean clothes. They’re sorry.
“Was it cool? Did you enjoy it?” – I see the first family I met, from syria, two brothers travel with theire wifes and children, two each. “Sister, I’m sorry, can you tell us when the train will come?” - “We never know, my brother, you just have to wait here until the police calls to the line.”. We’ve waited together for a while, he told me his story, how he sold his life to run away from the war, how he will never go back, because all he once loved is now the testemonial of the nightmare. I tell him about Portugal, Spain, Neetherlands, he’s confused, they think only German and Belgium are receiving people. “Why is there no system? Why there are no information points in each camp, so we know better? Why don’t they talk to us like you do?”. I look down feeling ashamed of my first world Europe, he understands, and he says he’s sorry. He says he’s sorry to expect human treatment. He’s sorry.
“Was it cool? Did you enjoy it?” – No. I understand the confusion in people heads. I do. I force myself to accept this question. But you should know in your hearts: It makes me sick. It makes me wanna scream at you. It makes me feel ashamed. It wasn’t cool. There’s nothing to enjoy on it. But my heart and soul stood there, and therefore I must go back, because when you see it, you can’t ignore it no more.