Volunteers from all over the world on Lesvos:
https://news.vice.com/article/how-volunteers-from-all-over-the-world-have-transformed-the-refugee-crisis-on-lesbos....
For the islanders, it was not always easy to cope with the deluge of incomers. Late one night in a Mytilene bar, Tasos, a local IT worker, spoke of his initial reservations of the situation.
"During the summer I thought we had lost the city, like we couldn't come here anymore as there were so many migrants around. But then I saw them arrive by boat, and heard their ordeal, and I started to help them. I drove there, gave them food and water. My ancestors are from Ayvalik in Turkey — the refugee story is eternal."
Nobody wants a repeat of October 28, the mere mention of which elicits thousand-yard stares and halting conversations. Everybody on Lesbos remembers the "day of death," when almighty storms on the Aegean did not stop smugglers sending rickety fishing boats loaded with more 200 passengers, most of which smashed and capsized a few hundred meters from the shore. At least 15 people, including 10 children, died within 24 hours.
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Middle Eastern refugees disembarking on Lesbos, particularly Palestinians, might be surprised to see an outstretched hand from someone wearing a T-shirt with the star of David. Yet since September, Israeli humanitarian NGO IsraAid has been present on the beaches. Israeli medic Salil spoke to VICE News as he rested alone on the rocks after a barrage of boats arrived near Mytilene airport.
"Most don't notice we are from Israel," he said. "Half of our team are Palestinians so they are just relieved to hear someone speaking Arabic. When the first boat came in I was terrified, there were four passengers unconscious. The boats with children are the scariest. I'm only one hour away from home, but here feels like another world."
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For Afghan refugee Noorullah, the sea crossing was not the most traumatic episode in his journey. Waiting for his registration documents, he vividly recounted days of trekking out of Afghanistan through the mountains of Pakistani Balochistan, running a gauntlet of smugglers and armed, sectarian kidnappers before dodging trigger-happy soldiers on the Iranian border.
"Take it from the first thing you see — when we arrived, ladies gave us water, some British journalists said 'welcome to Greece' and the UNCHR transported us by bus," he said. "That was the happiest part."
Some can laugh off their traumatic crossing. On the other side of the Moria camp, a group of exiled Kurdish Iraqi journalists huddle under the floodlights and barbed wire fence of the registration center. Aral Kakl, a producer at Sky News Arabic, and his new wife Shevin, had to flee Iraq after death threats directed were towards the family.
"She was a Syrian refugee in Iraq. We met, and now we are refugees together. This is like the honeymoon!," said Kakl. "Our honeymoon is running for freedom. When I was on the "death boat," I was thinking that after five minutes I will be in the water. And I just embraced my wife, she was crying, we were more than scared. I said 'Close your eyes and imagine we are dancing.'"
"It's quite difficult to believe this is happening. When I tell my friends and family about what I'm doing, it almost feels like I'm making it up. We found a body one day just lying on the beach wearing a lifejacket…When does that happen in a normal person's life? There was no option for that person other than to get into a crappy boat with seventy other people. Why isn't there safe passage for these people?"
Topic: Greek island refugee crisis