It was September, 2015, when I landed on the island of Lesbo. “When they get here, they're usally exhausted and afraid," remarked Dr Harm Knol from Dedemsvaart. His cures consisted largely of reassuring people. Between cries of joy and tears, the new arrivals tore off their life vests, tossing them into the sea.
Here, aside from the humanitarian crisis, Lesbo has to take on an environmental crisis as well. Down the shoreline and across the sands, all you could see were life vests and rubber rafts, cast away. Twenty or thirty volunteers from Iceland, Norway, Holland, Israel and the United Kingdom would welcome the boats ashore. Here, in the Molyvos area, they helped people safely off the rafts, handing out water and bananas. Further away, a Belgian woman gave Syrian and Afghan mothers dry clothes for their infants, sent to Lesbo by mothers from Holland and Denmark. A German tourist pulls a case of apples out of his rental car trunk.
"After getting such a warm welcome on the beach, they think they've reached the promised land. I never tell them what's in store for them here on out. I let them simply enjoy the moment," says a guy called Thom.
Young and old, newborns and children of all ages, settled down on the thermal aluminum blankets and discarded paper, amongst packs of Dorito chips, sardine cans and plastic bottles. Clothing and shoes hung to dry on the olive grove fencing. By now, they numbered at least a thousand, and yet from the shore drive, you could see another 10 rubber rafts headed toward land. “You can't just up and leave them in a lurch. They don't make a crossing like that just because here the lasagna tastes good," comments a rescuer.
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