Leaning against the empty bench I wondered what family, person, had been here before me. On the bench to my left sit two boys 8 or 9 yrs old. Young faces. Despondent eyes. Children are arriving alone. Some of the young refugees have lost their families in war. Some families can only afford to send one member- they send their child, a young boy, alone. So desperate to give their child a chance. Trying to imagine how those parents must have felt, knowing that they may never see him again sears deep in the heart. Such bravery it took: the moment of placing their child, that moment of separation, their release, placing him in the dinghy praying to all powers above that he survive. To my right – one maybe two families fill up the bench. As I pass I say Hello with a smile and nod of my head. Big smiles across their faces. They are looking at my hair. Pointing. The children, little girls, curiosity in their faces, angelic smiles. Little hands wave- I wave back. So many families displaced, exhausted, children across their knees asleep. Some young families noticeably dressed well, fancy iphones, snapping pictures of each other- smiling, posing, all with excitement, wonder. Other families, the majority, poorly dressed, clutching onto each other. Children tired, crying. Shocked expressions across parent’s faces. A small group of young men pass by me. Walking. Talking. All looking concerned. Phone in one hand. Sports duffel bag in the other. A whiff of cologne.

When I first arrived in Mytilini I met a young man whom I think of often; hoping he is ok. It was a unique exchange between us. I had walked into this busy café for a coffee and this person was sitting at a small table by the window. He raised his head as I sat down at a vacant table not far from him. I said Kalimera. He said good morning. I wondered if he was a volunteer since this was a place where many of them congregated. He was a very athletic clean-cut guy with a slight middle eastern look. He kept looking down at his pants and boots. Seemingly disturbed by his appearance. I noticed that his boots were muddy and possibly damp. His slumped body spoke of exhaustion. I thought maybe he had just come off a long volunteer shift at the harbour. Upon asking if he was a volunteer his eyes shifted downwards and said, ” No, I am fleeing from my country. ” He had arrived to Mytilini late last night. He was from Iraq. The TV in the corner caught his attention. He said that is what I used to do. It was an animated clip. He was educated as a graphic designer. I told him that my son also worked on animation graphics. He nodded with approval. They were a similar age. A feeling of being in the right place came over me. A sense of Jason, his compassion..sensitivity..was present. Thinking if Jason orchestrated this encounter I wouldn’t be surprised, me being there for this poor young man listening to him, giving him my full attention which is what he was needing. Some sort of support if only just for a brief time. Asking if he was travelling alone he answered yes. He was hoping to get to Germany where he had a relative. He went on to tell me about the brutality in his homeland. He is a non- muslim. He is part of a minority religion that has been brutally attacked and targeted for their belief. Even hanging has taken place. He has witnessed many horrible events of religious war. It was one thing to have read about this violence in a newspaper or to hear about it on tv but to actually hear this young man describe it from a first hand experience was startling. A look of deep concern spread across his face as he reached into his shirt pocket pulling out a folded piece of paper. ” This is my refugee pass, my registration paper, to allow me to cross the European borders to get to Germany. It is valid for six months. I don’t feel good about it though. I lined up for hours to get it this morning but I am very worried because the picture is not me.” Passing the one page document over to me, there at the top right hand corner was a black and white copy of a face belonging to a 50 something yr old man, not this young man. I asked did he not tell the authorities. He explained how he was afraid to question them. He would be sent away with no papers at all. He had no choice but to try to get through the borders with this but he was scared. He began to speak openly now with emotion. He was lost, no longer had a sense of life, no home, no job. I could feel this. His eyes were noticeably tired with an underlying sense of shock and fear. He had barely survived. He told me that last night he was two minutes from death. The swell was high. It was dark. The overcrowded dinghy was filling with water. Mothers were wailing, praying for the lives of their children. The sound of the children screaming and crying was terrible as he held his hands up to his ears. My heart empathized for him thinking this will be a sound that will haunt him. All belongings were thrown overboard. Wasn’t enough. He told me about a case the other day when an overcrowded inflatable raft was sinking and several men jumped overboard in order to save the rest of them. They drowned. This took my breath away. Unbelievable that this is happening in this body of water before me. He continued, his voice trembling, telling me he was convinced he was going to die but in the nick of time the Greek coast guard miraculously rescued them plucking them out of the water. They treated us nicely he said, not like the Turkish coast guard who were very rough with us. Hurting us. Treating us worse than animals, not human beings at all.

Last week I had heard that the Greek coast patrol were trying to intercept a boat in rough seas, to help them, but the migrants were scared, they thought the approaching boat was the Turkish coast guard. The inexperienced person at the rudder tried to get away and capsized the dinghy by running into the sides of the coast guard boat. Seven people drowned. Two died of hypothermia.