Always Great and Awful
It happened. Reality set in.
About time too, because I am not sure how much longer I could have waited for the shoe to drop.
What I really mean is, I had a day (a couple of days, maybe a week) that I was not able to compartmentalize away. My end of day ritual is to hand my phone to whichever colleague is sitting in the front so they can choose some music and I can stare out the window, processing my day. The half hour or so drive home usually is enough time to lean into my thoughts, then neatly pack up the lingering feelings and leave them in the car. This routine allows me to have my living space to be separate from my work space, despite the fact that my colleagues are also my housemates. This week, though, Wednesday bled into Thursday, that Thursday bled into Friday and I'm just now, after a weekend of aggressive self care, tying last week's loose strings up.
Wednesday morning, we had a volunteer and staff meeting in the morning. Our Site Manager, all the volunteers, and the two full time staff members sat together to get an update on the 'situation' in camp. While I am not naïve enough to have thought that everything in camp is fine, I did have to come to terms with the realization that spending 90% of my day in the happy four walls of the preschool shields me from the greater reality of my environment. This isn't all bad, though. On the one hand, it means one of the goals of the preschool - to create a stable, structured space for learning and play - is working. The heavily decorated isobox in the sunniest corner of camp is serving its purpose and offering a temporary chunk in the day where the children are just learning colors, numbers, and how to share their toys. Kid stuff.
On the other hand, it does not help any of my students to be ignorant to the circumstances they find when the leave our classroom. And the reality is that Ritsona - once jokingly dubbed a 5 star camp - is, to put it (very) lightly, experiencing a rough patch. Our Site Manager explained that it stems from a variety of circumstances that both intersect and are independent of each other. The first, beyond anyone's control, is the weather. It's noticeably warmer every day, and the indoor spaces available are also the resident's bed rooms and living rooms. While they can come to an English class, or visit one of the resident-owned social spaces, there is nowhere really to go to escape the heat.
Next, Ritsona has added close to 150 new residents in a very short period, and funding has not kept up with the growth in camp. This creates new divides between residents who have been here for years, waiting for their number to come up, and new residents, who could potentially be registered and treated differently in the asylum process due to changes in EU policy. Each nationality feels in some way that another is getting special treatment, special leniency - which adds to already high levels of resentment in tight living quarters.
In organizational news, funding for Lifeline - our program that offers translators and transport for residents hospital visits - has run completely dry. We've been able to redirect funds away from the education program temporarily, but without Lifeline, it means that only 10 doctors appointments are available through the Greek Center for Disease Control arm present in camp. This means that residents who need regular medication have their access limited, and poking yet another hole in an already very fragile stability in camp. (Our org does have a gofundme to try and keep Lifeline going, if you are able or interested in throwing a fiver our way.)
To set it all over the edge, a car has been parked on the outside of camp with a sign saying "Jesus saved you" taped to the rear window. I hope it is clear why it is insensitive to send that message to refugees, who live with survivors' guilt, grief, and persistent fear for the friends and families they have left behind. That sort of thoughtlessness on the way out of camp led me to grind my teeth the whole way down the mountain - punctuated by a creative string of profanities my housemates had not anticipated from me.
And and and - there seems to be no shortage of ands. There is also a But. It is important to remember the agency and resilience of humanity. For all the places where you can look around and get pulled down, there are also reaffirming spots of joy. My friend and colleague, Marzena, has organized for a graffiti artist to come from Spain to do a project with the unaccompanied minors in camp (photos to come). There is a camp wide football (soccer for my American readers) tournament, organized by the residents, complete with t-shirts, a bracket, and adoring fans. I found some long-forgotten jump rope skills when I joined the older sisters of a few of my preschool students. This week I'll start a English and Movement class for the children of the camp. The guys who play a pickup volleyball game every afternoon were very gracious and supportive when it turned out I was as inept as I had promised I would be. I did a bit of gymnastics with my preschool classes on Friday - and despite the language barriers, the classroom was filled with laughter and joyful energy. For every thing that leaves you grieving for the situation humanity has found itself in, there is a bright challenge. As one of my colleagues so perfectly said, this work and this camp is both always great and always awful.
(Just in case this has left any of my friends, parents, relatives worried - I'm fine!!! I'm safe, healthy and happy - promise!! Just gotta think out loud sometimes.)
About time too, because I am not sure how much longer I could have waited for the shoe to drop.
What I really mean is, I had a day (a couple of days, maybe a week) that I was not able to compartmentalize away. My end of day ritual is to hand my phone to whichever colleague is sitting in the front so they can choose some music and I can stare out the window, processing my day. The half hour or so drive home usually is enough time to lean into my thoughts, then neatly pack up the lingering feelings and leave them in the car. This routine allows me to have my living space to be separate from my work space, despite the fact that my colleagues are also my housemates. This week, though, Wednesday bled into Thursday, that Thursday bled into Friday and I'm just now, after a weekend of aggressive self care, tying last week's loose strings up.
Wednesday morning, we had a volunteer and staff meeting in the morning. Our Site Manager, all the volunteers, and the two full time staff members sat together to get an update on the 'situation' in camp. While I am not naïve enough to have thought that everything in camp is fine, I did have to come to terms with the realization that spending 90% of my day in the happy four walls of the preschool shields me from the greater reality of my environment. This isn't all bad, though. On the one hand, it means one of the goals of the preschool - to create a stable, structured space for learning and play - is working. The heavily decorated isobox in the sunniest corner of camp is serving its purpose and offering a temporary chunk in the day where the children are just learning colors, numbers, and how to share their toys. Kid stuff.
On the other hand, it does not help any of my students to be ignorant to the circumstances they find when the leave our classroom. And the reality is that Ritsona - once jokingly dubbed a 5 star camp - is, to put it (very) lightly, experiencing a rough patch. Our Site Manager explained that it stems from a variety of circumstances that both intersect and are independent of each other. The first, beyond anyone's control, is the weather. It's noticeably warmer every day, and the indoor spaces available are also the resident's bed rooms and living rooms. While they can come to an English class, or visit one of the resident-owned social spaces, there is nowhere really to go to escape the heat.
Next, Ritsona has added close to 150 new residents in a very short period, and funding has not kept up with the growth in camp. This creates new divides between residents who have been here for years, waiting for their number to come up, and new residents, who could potentially be registered and treated differently in the asylum process due to changes in EU policy. Each nationality feels in some way that another is getting special treatment, special leniency - which adds to already high levels of resentment in tight living quarters.
In organizational news, funding for Lifeline - our program that offers translators and transport for residents hospital visits - has run completely dry. We've been able to redirect funds away from the education program temporarily, but without Lifeline, it means that only 10 doctors appointments are available through the Greek Center for Disease Control arm present in camp. This means that residents who need regular medication have their access limited, and poking yet another hole in an already very fragile stability in camp. (Our org does have a gofundme to try and keep Lifeline going, if you are able or interested in throwing a fiver our way.)
To set it all over the edge, a car has been parked on the outside of camp with a sign saying "Jesus saved you" taped to the rear window. I hope it is clear why it is insensitive to send that message to refugees, who live with survivors' guilt, grief, and persistent fear for the friends and families they have left behind. That sort of thoughtlessness on the way out of camp led me to grind my teeth the whole way down the mountain - punctuated by a creative string of profanities my housemates had not anticipated from me.
And and and - there seems to be no shortage of ands. There is also a But. It is important to remember the agency and resilience of humanity. For all the places where you can look around and get pulled down, there are also reaffirming spots of joy. My friend and colleague, Marzena, has organized for a graffiti artist to come from Spain to do a project with the unaccompanied minors in camp (photos to come). There is a camp wide football (soccer for my American readers) tournament, organized by the residents, complete with t-shirts, a bracket, and adoring fans. I found some long-forgotten jump rope skills when I joined the older sisters of a few of my preschool students. This week I'll start a English and Movement class for the children of the camp. The guys who play a pickup volleyball game every afternoon were very gracious and supportive when it turned out I was as inept as I had promised I would be. I did a bit of gymnastics with my preschool classes on Friday - and despite the language barriers, the classroom was filled with laughter and joyful energy. For every thing that leaves you grieving for the situation humanity has found itself in, there is a bright challenge. As one of my colleagues so perfectly said, this work and this camp is both always great and always awful.
(Just in case this has left any of my friends, parents, relatives worried - I'm fine!!! I'm safe, healthy and happy - promise!! Just gotta think out loud sometimes.)
What a beautifully written post. I really felt like I was there, feeling the heat in the camp.
ReplyDeleteYour details really help me picture all of the beauty and frustration there - you are doing a great service for everyone by being there <3
This is so kind of you. Thank you for reading and sending your support.
DeleteYour writing is amazing and yet I can still only begin to imagine life there and what you mist see every day. I'm so glad you are able to offer a corner of sunshine to the children. If you want any photos to go up in the coffee shop in Davis just let me know. Sending infinite love your way
ReplyDeleteThank you, angel! I feel that love shining all the way over here.
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