‘An illustration of ignorance’: The dark reality of Greek refugee camps

Levin – a former medical volunteer at a refugee camp on Samos, Greece – lived through a 6.6-magnitude earthquake and two fires which devastated the island in 2020. As he shares his impressions with Pi Media, it is not natural hazards that concern him most, but human indifference.

Source: unsplash

Levin, a 23-year-old Greek-German History student based in Berlin, talked to Pi Media about one of Europe’s darkest places: the Vathi camp on Samos island, home to an estimated 4,000 refugees. In our interview, he spoke about the refugees living in dire conditions, constantly being confronted with and controlled by the hostile Greek police force, abandoned by the Greek government, forgotten by the European Union. He told us about the events that took place in late 2020 – an earthquake and two fires, the vital role of on-site NGOs, and the refugees’ future.

One afternoon in mid-October, while cooking in my dorm kitchen, my schoolmate Levin called me on the phone. I knew he had just started volunteering for a medical NGO back home, in Greece, working for the inhabitants of a refugee camp. In the past week, messages from him had popped up in my WhatsApp, asking me to translate specific words. He was the only Greek-speaking volunteer in his team, and the medical documents he had to translate included complicated terms, which resulted in us doing research over the phone together from time to time. On that evening, I asked him how his day had been. “A patient came in today complaining about pain in his ear,” he answered. “It turned out that a cockroach had crawled into it and nested there for about half a week.”

“If it wasn’t for our clinic and other medical NGOs, he would be the sole person responsible for medical issues among a population of about 4,000 refugees. ”

Now, Levin is in Berlin again, where he is officially enrolled in a History Master’s programme. He does not plan on continuing his studies immediately though, and has only returned to the capital for two things. First, he wants to sub-let his room, because he plans on returning to Samos. Second, he needs to sort out some legal paperwork, because he is working on founding his very own NGO by September 2021. Exactly why Levin finds these steps necessary and what brought him to take what will be a minimum of a one-year break from his postgraduate course, is what I came to find out in our conversation.

First, I needed to know what a typical morning looked like for Levin and his team, waking up and putting on their scrubs to do their voluntary work for the MedEqualiTeam clinic near the Vathi refugee camp on Samos, Greece, less than a mile off the Turkish coast. I began the interview by asking him what was the first thing he saw walking into the camp this morning . 

“The first thing that comes to mind is garbage. Loads and loads of garbage. Rats, bigger than the stray cats roaming the island villages. Actually, the cats don’t dare to catch those rats,” he said laughing, but assured me he had seen this with his own eyes.

What did your morning walk through the camp look like?

“I would get a sense of a different form of everyday life, but everyday life still. We would witness the whole camp slowly waking up while walking down the same main street every morning, seeing the same people with the same habit, greet people in mixed phrases made up of bits of English and Arabic,” he replied.

“The first thing we would walk by was a spot were a fancy new ATM machine faced a small clothes shop, which was a huge contrast: The shiny, bulky ATM vis-à-vis something I just described as a small shop, but was rather a stand or a collection of items sprawled out on the floor – the highest price for a pair of shoes was €5, as we later found out. Then there were the containers, where the most vulnerable inhabitants lived: Pregnant women, rape victims, unaccompanied minors. They were hermetically closed by grate and two security guards watched them at all times.”

“I noticed that right next to the entrance was a bulk of helmets and shields lined up against the wall, so they always seemed in fear of riots breaking out, always seemed prepared.”

Fireman putting out a second fire in the Samos camp. Photo by Levin S.

Who hired those security guards? Were they funded by the International Organization for Migration, the UN Refugee Agency, or by the EU?

“I honestly never found out,” he hesitated.

“Located in the centre of the camp was the small police station. I mostly saw the policemen sitting on little tables in front of the entrance, playing backgammon, drinking coffee… You know, a typical scene from a rural coffeehouse. I realised soon enough though, that they were mainly checking that no one was entering. When I did have to go in a few times, I noticed that right next to the entrance was a bulk of helmets and shields lined up against the wall, so they always seemed in fear of riots breaking out, always seemed prepared,” he went on. “In the station you could find the only state-appointed doctor of the camp. One doctor for the whole camp – if it wasn’t for our clinic and other medical NGOs he would be the sole person responsible for medical issues among a population of about 4,000 refugees. The police station also hosts the Reception and Identification Centre (RIC). This meant that there were loudspeakers in the hall, through which news and status updates on asylum applications were announced every day.”

“Next, I would walk past the sanitary facilities. The best ones – the chemical toilets – were partly state-funded and partly funded by the UNHCR, as I later found out. There were only a few of them though, the rest of the sanitary facilities basically consisted of pits.”

“Then there was the food line – a queue that started growing in around noon. It was actually right next to the MedEqualiTeam clinic, so we saw it every day.”

Home of a camp inhabitant.

“We go there every summer, and since my first year at university I have always invited my friends from Berlin to experience the Greek summer for a couple of weeks on this beautiful Aegean island. It hit me and my friend while we were laying on the beach in late September last year: 20 kilometres from here is hell.”

What you just described was the main street. Did most refugees live along this street?

No. The biggest part of the camp is the so-called Jungle, and it stretches around the RIC and the police station, reaching the outskirts of the camp.

How does the Jungle look?

The Jungle is basically an uncontrolled area, hence its name. And I have never really explored it. Even within the fixed part of the camp along the main street, the NGO had ordered its volunteers and employees to only move around in couples, never alone.

Let’s get back to the beginning. When and why did you start volunteering at MedEqualiTeam?

I officially became a member of the non-medical staff on October 11, 2020. 

As you know, my family has had a summer house on Samos for generations. We go there every summer, and since my first year at university I have always invited my friends from Berlin to experience the Greek summer for a couple of weeks on this beautiful Aegean island. It hit me and my friend while we were laying on the beach in late September last year: 20 kilometres from here is hell. We had been reading about Moria for years, and about other camps obviously, too. We just realized right then and there, five years since the onset of the so-called “refugee crisis,” that we were so close to what has been going on. And that actually, maybe, we could help. ..That we should help.

And how did you decide to get involved then?

We had already started collecting donations after hearing about the fire in Moria in early September – an activity which provided us with a growing contact list of NGO personnel. The start of the online-semester at our university was originally scheduled for early November, so we had to decide right then and there: do we want to stay, prolong our visit, not for vacation but rather to get involved on-site and full-time? And I personally decided that I do. And still, while sitting here back in my Berlin flatshare and talking to you, I think that deep down I do not want to be anywhere outside of that island anymore. I don’t know what to do here, what meaning this lifestyle has, after seeing what is happening on the southern European coasts. On the Greek islands specifically.

“Suddenly, I felt everything shaking. You and I both know the feeling, growing up in Greece… but this was unlike anything I have ever experienced.”

But you stayed even longer than November. You stayed until late December and you are planning to go back soon after subletting your room in Germany. Why?

At first we postponed our journey back by two weeks. But when the two weeks had passed, I still felt like I had not contributed enough. And I still don’t, especially after everything that happened in late October and November. I mean the earthquake and the two fires.

On October 30, my shift ended at 2 p.m. and I had just begun changing into my normal clothes. Our clinic is comprised of three containers alongside the end of the main street, and next to it the NGO Alpha Hub had provided our team with a room that served as a sort of wardrobe. Suddenly, I felt everything shaking. You and I both know the feeling, growing up in Greece… but this was unlike anything I have ever experienced. I immediately knew I should be concerned about the magnitude of the earthquake.

I don’t think I have ever experienced an earthquake that big either.

You haven’t. And I know that, because I heard on the Greek news that this was probably the strongest earthquake the country had had in the last 40  years.

What happened next?

We stormed out of the clinic. Looking around, I only remember seeing dust and debris. Suddenly, a huge crowd started running towards us, shouting “Tsunami! Tsunami!” At this point we started running as well, all together, towards the top of the mountain. Vathi is located on a slope, halfway between coast and mountaintop.

Was there a tsunami after all?

A relatively small one, yes. It flooded the port promenade, but the water never reached the camp. The local Greek population actually started fleeing towards the camp at that point, to escape any more waves.

You said you saw debris and dust. Was the camp in a bad condition?

Nothing in the camp could actually collapse, since it was all made out of tents and simple quadratic containers. But the village was damaged severely.

Were there any aftershocks?

Many. We believe there might have been overall more than 1,000 aftershocks. Back in the flatshare the NGO had rented for us, we were very scared, we couldn’t sleep at night. 

Burned down part of the camp after the first fire.

And on the third night after the earthquake, at 4 a.m., while half asleep, we were awoken: “There has been a fire in the camp,” we were told. That was on November 2.

How did the fire break out?

What exactly caused the fire has remained unclear. Firemen are sure that it started in the lower part of the camp, in the “African” part.

What is the “African” part?

The Vathi camp is basically organised around linguistic differences and commonalities. It doesn’t really have a distinct form, it has many outskirts – the Jungle that I previously described – but once you familiarise yourself with it, you can recognise some structures. It is divided along the lines of the three main languages spoken by its inhabitants: Arabic, Farsi, and a mostly French-speaking African population.

And there was really no information about the cause of the fire?

Well, a policeman who was sent from Athens to serve in Samos told me something about there being two seats of fire. Which, in his opinion, indicated that the cause had been arson. But to be honest, my interaction with that officer made me think that he had a bias against the refugees. At the end, most of us and the inhabitants themselves believe the fire spread from one of the many gas cookers used in the tents and huts. Especially the tent material is highly flammable, so we wouldn’t be surprised if that had caught it first.

“Many refugees were accused by the police of simulating panic attacks.”

How many people lost their shelter in that night?

The fire was massive. It is estimated that between 200 and 300 people lost their homes.

How did the NGOs respond?

There was an emergency distribution and first aid. Since I was one of the very few Greek-speaking volunteers on Samos, I assumed most of the communication with the police.

And what was the role of the police during all of this exactly?

The now homeless refugees were ordered to gather overnight on a field outside the camp, where they could sleep. The police were there to keep them from leaving that field.

In what state did you witness the refugees during that time, in the immediate aftermath of the first fire?

Many refugees were accused by the police of simulating panic attacks. I and all the volunteers working for the onsite NGOs believe that these panic attacks were real. They were trauma-induced, a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which of course makes sense. Many of the people in that camp were severely traumatised, not just because of their experiences during the wars back home or their journey to Samos, but also because of the situation in the camp. Mental health is a huge issue among refugees; the MedEqualiTeam patients’ favourite doctor, who had extended his purely medical duties and became a person of trust for many, has stressed this very often.

Let’s talk about MedEqualiTeam and its work on Samos a little bit more. During your stay, how was the NGO structured?

MedEqualiTeam is a French NGO. It used to have a clinic in the town centre of Vathyi which included basically everything provided by a “normal” hospital: equipment for eye exams, ultrasounds, physiotherapy, everything. The use of that space is very limited now though, they are permitted only to receive the very few refugees that live in Vathi’s centre in EU-funded apartments, who mostly work or volunteer as translators for NGOs.

Why did the Greek state prohibit its continuation?

Just before I started volunteering at MedEqualiTeam, there had been a patient who unbeknownst to us was a Covid-19 carrier. He had been sent by the NGO to the clinic by taxi without having been tested, and when the taxi driver found out, he sued us. Now we only have the containers I previously mentioned, located just outside the camp.’

MedEqualiTeam volunteer near the NGO’s clinic.

How many volunteers were working for MedEqualityTeam during your time there?

When I was there, we were a group of approximately 30 international volunteers, of which about 20 were doctors. The rest was comprised of medical students, nursing personnel, anchors, and non-medical staff – so-called “crowd-control,” which was my role too. Then there were 15 community volunteers, all of which were translators who either lived in the camp themselves or in the few apartments in the centre of Vathi.

What were the services provided by MedEqualiTeam after the main clinic was mostly shut down? Were you involved in fighting the spread of the coronavirus?

No. IOM personnel were the ones administering Liver Function Tests. Our staff was responsible for dealing with more or less everything else, despite our limited equipment: we cured skin diseases, respiratory tract infections, you name it.

You mentioned before that the police was controlling the refugees who were left homeless because of the fire. Was there ever an official curfew issued because of the Covid-19 pandemic?

Surely before the coronavirus outbreak there had been more freedom of movement on the island, for the refugees as well. But we never experienced a complete lockdown, and no, theoretically there was no curfew in place. But in practice, people were always limited in their movement.

The whole thing was majorly unorganised, though. One day everyone was told not to go anywhere and the next people were permitted to move around more or less as they like.

Why do you think there was never an official lockdown on Samos?

I believe the government learned a lesson through Moria. The Vathi camp is very close to the village of Vathi, not like Moria, which is very remote. So, if there were a fire to breakout – as it did – and the consequences were as severe as they were in Moria due to the lockdown on Lesvos… the outcry would be more intense. They didn’t want it to happen. Not with the camp being in such proximity to the local Greek population too.

There was a second fire while you were on Samos. Can you describe the events around it?

The second fire broke out approximately two weeks after the first one. This time it started in the “Farsi” part, close to the food line. It was in the middle of the day, but since it was my day off, I didn’t arrive there until after the fire had broken out.

Was the damage equal to the first fire?

It was worse. This time 700 or 800  people were left homeless. And we encountered an additional problem: some inhabitants, who were regular patients due to chronic illnesses, had received so-called “chronic cards,” many of which were destroyed through the fire. And it was not just the “chronic cards,” but lots of people lost their official identification documents, as well.

So, I imagine that the emergency distribution was an ever greater effort this time?

Yes. And the medical attention to the shock-reactions too. Shock-reactions such as panic attacks were overall the most common health issues caused by the fires in my experience.

The second fire.

“Well, they basically told him in a straightforward manner that this was a place where only Greeks could sleep. He was given no other explanation.”

I would like to ask you one last thing about the events that took place in October and November. Through social media I read that the earthquake had an ironic consequence: Greeks who had lost their homes were provided with shelter in refugee reception facilities. Do you know this to be true?

Yes, it is true. They were not sheltered in the Vathi camp though, but containers from the new camp in Zervou – which has been under construction for a while now – were transported to the communities. It is wholly made up of containers, so it was a practical short-term solution for the people of Vathi. But in the first nights after the earthquake, most people slept outside. There was a football field near the centre where many spent their nights. One of our Farsi translators, Forutan, who was afraid during the aftershocks and didn’t want to sleep in his Vathi apartment during the earthquake, tried spending the night there two days after the collapse, but was ordered to leave by the police.

Why?

Well, they basically told him in a straightforward manner that this was a place where only Greeks could sleep. He was given no other explanation.

Levin, shortly after you returned to Berlin you wrote a report addressed to the German government. I read the report and would describe it as a summary of your experiences in the camp, accompanied by researched facts about the situation on Samos, footnotes included. Most importantly, you call out Germany and all EU countries to act and improve the situation of the refugees arriving in Europe. Can you tell me a little bit more about your intentions behind it? What drove you to write this text?

The report was an expression of my struggle of asking myself how I can deal with everything I know first-hand is still going on, now that I am no longer there.

What would you like to achieve with that report?

From a personal point of view, this report was a good way of dealing with everything that had happened, a good roundabout. Regarding any changes in policy, I must be honest and admit that I didn’t and still don’t have great confidence in that this report, addressed to one German minister, would actually change anything.

Still, you sat down, did your research, wrote five pages, and sent it out.

I did. I think the driving force is how shameful and truly disgraceful I find EU politics to be on that matter. The situation on Samos, I quickly realised, is an illustration of ignorance. And the worst part is: it won’t get better. On the contrary, really.

“The new camp is nothing more and nothing less than a very great effort to make the refugees invisible.”

Why do you believe that?

I don’t believe that, I know it for a fact: MedEqualiTeam and all the other NGOs engaged in Samos witnessed the construction of the new camp in Zervou, the one I told you is entirely constructed of containers. We heard the statements that have been issued around it, that it will be completely surrounded by so-called NATO-fence, for instance, and we know that it is in the middle of nowhere, possibly cut off from everything, connected only by a single bus line. They call it a “shuttle,” like it’s an airport, which I and everyone else who has experienced various situations in Greece find to be a euphemism, since we don’t trust that it is actually going to work full-schedule.

What do you think this new camp represents? Something worse than ignorance?

The new camp is nothing more and nothing less than a very great effort to make the refugees invisible. To push them further to the edge of Europe. And it only becomes clearer, when one heard the statements about journalists not being allowed to enter, that it is nothing but a concealment tactic by the EU. And the worst fact that these statements have revealed is that this type of facility shall serve as an example for all future camps on the shores of Southern EU-countries.

As the EU and other international organisations cut back even harder on their funding for refugees in Greece, MedEqualiTeam and other NGOs, such as “Just Action Samos”, are seeing themselves more and more in the sole position to provide for the camp’s inhabitants basic needs. Samos, of course, is only one of many refugee camps in dire need of improving their conditions or even evacuating a large part of their inhabitants, the most well-known being Moria on Lesvos. For donations and further information on how you can help visit @medequaliteam and @justactionsamos and @samosvolunteers on Instagram. To see actual footage shot and uploaded by refugees living on Lesvos’ camp, follow @now_you_see_me_moria.