Nightmare voyage to dream island
WHEN John Wain was on the nightshift, everybody waited for the call. He could see the black ocean from his window, out of which a boat or two or even five might emerge at any minute carrying a desperate cargo.
The temperature on Lesbos drops as low as five degrees at night, but a savage wind chill whips in from the sea. It’s often as cold as the winters through which Wain grew up in his native Cork.
Lesbos would be best known in this part of the world as one of the Greek holiday islands — it is the third largest — where the sun and sea provide the perfect summer getaway. This winter, however, it has been transformed into something else. One US newspaper has dubbed it “the new Ellis Island”, referencing the debarkation point in New York harbour through which generations of immigrants entered the US.
Lesbos has become the landing point of choice for hundreds of thousands of refugees, especially those fleeing war in Syria and Afghanistan. Back in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Ellis Island welcomed the poor huddled masses mainly from Europe. Today, it is to Europe the desperate, wartorn masses are fleeing.
“They see Europe as an opportunity to escape tyranny and seek a better life,” Wain says. “So they jump on a boat in Turkey and come across here, it’s less than two hours. The trip is dangerous, but they’re willing to take the chance.”
Wain is a senior emergency shelter officer working for the UN’s refugee agency, UNHCR. He puts his background in quantity surveying and construction management to use when he is dispatched to set up emergency accommodation in trouble spots around the world where war and upheaval have created refugees of one sort or another.
Typically, his work takes him to the developing world, particularly Africa. For the last two months he has found himself battling refugee crisis inside Europe; first in Serbia, along the trail that takes refugees from Greece to their favoured destination of Germany; and for the month of December he was located in Lesbos, where 476,000 refugees have come ashore since last January.
“We were sent in to give a hand because things were getting a small bit out of control,” he says. “It was full-on. There is accommodation for about 2,000 there but realistically they’re going to need to be able to put up about 10,000 at any one time if flows continue in the new year, particularly with the weather improving after the winter.
“Everybody is under pressure there so I was roped in to give a dig out with the nightshift. You have to have people on ready to meet the boats 24 hours a day because they just keep coming.”
The crossing over the 8km strait from Turkey is perilous. More often than not, boats are organised by people traffickers. An inflatable boat could be purchased for $1,000 in Turkey and fully fitted out with engine and life jackets for less than another $4,000. The desperate refugees are charged about $1,000 a head with enough room for 30 on board. One of those will be given a discount if he agrees to man the engine and guide the boat, even though he might have zero experience of the sea.
The trafficker points in the direction of Lesbos and walks away with his $25,000 profit from the crossing. The refugees huddle in the freezing temperatures and pray they will reach land on the other side. If the boat drifts off course and misses Lesbos, death by drowning is the most likely fate.
The coast on the north of Lesbos is constantly patrolled, and when a boat is spotted, particularly at night, word is transmitted via the WhatsApp messenger service.
Wain dons his hat, gloves, and coat and heads out in the cold night. By the time he arrives at the location, personnel from other agencies are also gathering. Lights are set up. Lifeguards plunge in to the surf to drag boats ashore.
“Once you get there you assess the scene, look out for the vulnerable among them, try to keep families together, and if there are any injured get them to hospital. Some of them will also have been drenched wet and will need a change of clothes immediately.
“You give them water and maybe energy biscuits and gather them together to be bussed to the registration centre. They have been through a serious ordeal.”
Families are a priority. For instance, in November, according to the UNHCR, 55% of those who landed in Lesbos were men, 17% women, and 28% children. Despite having endured a perilous journey in freezing temperatures, those who make it to the shore are relatively lucky. While Wain was on Lesbos, there was a report of at least one boat, a wooden craft, which sank, leading to the loss of half a dozen lives.
The refugees are then brought to waiting buses which transfer them to the registration centre. Everybody who lands must be registered. While they begin the next leg of their journey, the boats are dismantled, deflated, cut up into strips, and left on the beach. If set back out into the sea, they could pose dangers in busy shipping channels.
The waste accumulating is just one of a host of problems that the island must now endure.
“It’s huge,” Wain says. “They have all this stuff mounting up — the remains of the boats, life jackets — it all builds up and creates a major headache for the local authority.”
Most of the refugees just want to register and move on, hit the trail north to Germany, but it can take up to 24 hours to be processed.
One of Wain’s tasks is to create shelters for those who wait, and for those who sometimes get left behind. Some could be waiting for families, for documents, or even for the transfer of money in order to continue the journey.
“There will be a residual population stuck there so we’re working 12-, 15-hour days just to keep up,” he says. “And it’s not going to let up any time soon.”
Once they are processed, the refugees wait for the next ferry off Lesbos bound for Athens. From there they will move to the border and enter Macedonia, and then on to Serbia and up north in to Hungary, Austria, and finally Germany. That’s the general plan, anyway.
Before arriving in Lesbos, Wain had worked in Serbia setting up temporary accommodation for refugees along the trail. Cold and all as the Greek island might be at this time of year, it’s nothing compared to what these people will encounter further north.
“The whole situation becomes critical as they move up into the harsh winters of Serbia,” he says. “I think they’ve no idea how cold it’s going to get. And in each country they have to go through the registration process.”
For Wain, there is a break for Christmas during which he returns to his base in France to spend the festive season with his wife and two children. Thereafter, it is likely to be back to the frontline, either another posting within Europe or to even more chaos in developing countries in Africa, which bear the brunt of the mass migration from war that is now a feature of the world we life in.
Over Christmas, his thoughts are still on those whom he helped ashore on dark nights, unsure whether they were en route to a dream life, or living through a nightmare.
“It makes you think,” he says. “I mean, at home families are welcoming home our own immigrants to a warm Christmas it would be nice if people could spare for those families who have had to flee their homes and are heading into the harsh cold winter of the northern Balkan countries.”
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