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In January and February the weather was cold and the children of the camp were all barefoot and had no jackets. Only me (Arianna) and Luca made it to the camp this time, but we managed to buy and distribute 2 tracks full of boots and jackets to more than 1000 children. The organisation of the distribution is never easy, but this time we have been able to hand out boots and clothes of the right size to every child, thanks to the support of many people in the camp.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t afford distributing food packs to the 800 families of the camp: money is never enough and we can only rely on the spontaneous contributions from the donors. Still we were able to give milk to malnourished children and vouchers to the orphans. These young children live in very harsh conditions, they are alone in the camp and the older ones already work in the fields nearby for a few euros per day.

The contributions from the generous donors help children to cover their basic needs, but we strongly believe in the importance of education as the most important instrument we can offer them to change their life. SSCH relies on the school tent (Rainbow Tent) since it is the only place where children can spend a few peaceful hours, learning how to write, read and count. The management of the tent activities is not easy because the kids don’t have a lot of time to dedicate to games and instruction, even though this should be their everyday life. Still they are really willing to learn and play and have a break from a life made of hard work and sacrifice. Life has deprived them of their childhood, but in the tent they can live a moment of peace and light, and we are very proud of that.

Just a few drops in an ocean of grief and indifference.

 

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I write about this mission only three months after. I don’t know if this is good or not.

Emotions settle down and change, but never leave you.

It’s six years now that I (Arianna) go back and forth to the camps and sometimes I don’t know which direction to take in my life. Still I keep on going there. If I can change the destiny of just one of the children I meet, then it’s worth it. My dream is to give hope to these kids whose future have been taken away.

 

This is a very busy mission. We distribute food packs and visit malnourished children. Lorenzo, the doctor, spends the entire day visiting, checking the progresses of the malnourished kids and distributing milk and medicines to those in need. Pietro is also with us at the camp. He is a volunteer who launched a fundraising for us and then decided to come and help. Together with the doctor, they start creating a database of medical records that will be very helpful in the future missions. Thanks to this archive it will be a lot easier, for the three alternating doctors, to follow each patient. It’s an immense job, given the extreme working conditions of the camp.

In the meanwhile, Luca and Andrea build the school tent and the teacher (the interpreter who always supports us) starts counting the future scholars.

It’s going to be a small and modest school: there are many children and they have different ages and characteristics, but basically we’ll try to teach them how to read, write and count. Most of all, we want to create a peaceful and colorful oasis for children who have seen nothing but hard work in the fields.

The school opening is one of the best moments I have ever lived: pure joy and euphoria, but also order and self-control.  I hope we will always have the resources to keep this school running.

While some children have their first informal lesson, we pass on to distribute the checks to the orphans. Andrea takes pictures of each child or group and we’ll send them to the Italian donors. Sharing the children’s stories with the people supporting from Italy is very touching.

We finish our work late in the evening when it’s already dark. Some of the children are already asleep, others are still awake because they are happy to stay with us.

We identify a small shop where we make a deal: we give them money for each Voucher and children can go there and buy what they need. It works, but it’s an agreement based on trust.

Staying in the camp is both fulfilling and emptying. At the end of the day you are tired but you still don’t want to leave.

The next day we are back in the car directed to Kilis, where we stay as usual at Majad (The Sons of War). When we give the checks to the refugee families, the atmosphere is full of love and sorrow for the destiny of those people, especially children.  We would like to do a lot more, but at least we give them money to eat, so children are not forced to work and can go back to school.

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Here we publish the report of the last trip we made from July 6th to 14th  in the Bosnian cities of Velika Kladusa e Bihac. The facts are told by Lorena Fornasir e Gian Andrea Franchi. We joined them for an explorative mission, where we contributed to buy and distribute shoes, clothes and other items essential for refugees.

It’s July and we soon get swallowed in the endless queues of people crossing the Slovenian/Croatian border to go on holiday. The service areas and the restaurants of the petrol stations are packed with the well-to-do European citizens. The long wait is due to the number of travellers more than to the checks at the border. The word “vacation” comes from “vacuum”, that means empty, as the coming and going of all these people and cars on the asphalt. In the multitude of people and vehicles, the smell of the gasoline reminds us that it’s because of petroleum that Middle East is a place of violence and death – from Emirates and Saudi Arabia (with its ferocious government) to devastated countries like Iraq, Syria and Libya. This reality affects the automobiles queues, as well as the groups of migrants and refugees wandering through the wood or being caught in the clutches of the “passeur”.

We are at the meta-border drawn by the Schengen Treaty. We have the impression that it is made of two different borders and this is always surprising, even though we are well aware of the situation. Unlike refugees, we are protected by our status of European citizens, and the border is a very different experience for us. For refugees, instead, borders mean prohibition, walls and barbed wire (the wire made with the intention to tear bodies apart, already used in Palestine years ago). In the woods of the mountains, small groups of people constantly try to cross the border, risking their lives, at night or at the break of dawn. Sometimes they try to cross the rivers and sometimes they drown.

Migrants show us the truth of this vacuum, that reflects our own emptiness. You can see it in their eyes. We first find it in the eyes of a woman from Iraq. I will call her the pharmacist of Baghdad. She lives at Borici (Bihac) with her four daughters. She flew from Bagdad three years ago after her husband and her thirteen years old boy were killed by ISIS. Soon after the killing,  Daesh militants ordered her to leave the country with her daughters. She was given 72 hours to leave. They don’t have friends or relatives in Europe and they don’t know where to go, still they have been forced to flee in a hostile and indifferent world. After a long and terrible journey , the five women tried the Balkan route, but they were caught at the border between Montenegro and Bosnia, beaten and held by the police for 36 hours together with other persons, and then sent back in Montenegro. After five attempts they managed to reach Bihac. On July 9th they tried again ”the game” to reach Croatia, but they were caught before crossing the border. We sadly think that at least this time they escaped Croatian Police.

So while European people cross the borders to go on holidays, migrants are constantly putting their life at risk and remind us the truth. They are the unaware carriers of a message in a world that feeds on death. Our world. They do it unknowingly, to each one of us, just exercising a right that European States don’t want to recognise: the right to have a life worth living.

 

VELIKA KLADUŠA

We go to Kladuša together with doctor Andolina, who carries the medical items needed. Unlike the past summer and the last trip (may 2019), we don’t see many refugees around the town and in the city centre. This fact creates a sense of estrangement and sadness because the town has lost the liveliness that it once had. There are 300-400 migrants left in town (in Miral di Poljie camp they should be approximately 700). They hide in the woods or in abandoned houses (squats), or stay in the side streets in small groups. We meet a group of around 15 from north Africa in front of Latan restaurant, now closed due to lack of funds. We spend some time with two of them in particular. They speak Italian because they used to work in Italy, since 14 and 17 years respectively. At some point they lost their jobs and went back to their countries for a while, but then they found out they couldn’t return to Italy, the country where they left their hopes and expectations.

The refugees staying in the woods outside town are hiding from the police because they don’t want to be taken to the rubbish dump of Vucjiak, a camp that is ten kilometres from Bihac and  lately has a very bad reputation.

In the evening we meet a young activist from Border Violence Monitoring, a team who documents violence against migrants, mainly in Montenegro and Greece. She shows us a map of the places where push backs take place. The map is drawn thanks to the witnesses collected amongst the migrants rejected in the area of Kladusa, who confirm the tortures and violence from Croatian police.

Every day around 50 migrants are rejected in Kladusa. Their bodies marked by violence. When caught by the Croatian police, they are held in a container, without food, water or toilet for 36 hours. Then they are released through the so called “tunnel”: after being blinded with pepper spray, they have to pass through a corridor where policemen stand aside and beat them. After that, their money is stolen, their mobiles broken, their shoes, backpacks and personal belongings burned in fire.

 

REJECTION PLACES

We get information on NNK, an ngo registered in Bosnia and soon in the canton Una Sana. For some time they supported Latan, the manager of a restaurant that used to distribute around 400 meals to migrants each day. The Dutch organisation used to provide 80% of the expenses, but they decided to give up the project. Probably the scarce organisational skills and the inadequate reporting of funds contributed to the closing. Whatever the reason, the consequence is that tens of migrants, mainly from Algeria, live in the bush and starve. They have no other place to go because, after some riots exploded between different ethnic groups last month (May 2019), the authorities decided to exclude people from Maghreb from Miral camp. Since then, they suffered severe marginalisation. Rejected from every sort of community, they barely survive in the ‘jungle’, literally starving.

NNK continues to provide clothes, while Adis Pixi (the well-known activist from SOS team Kladusa, who operates on his own) provides basic nursing care.

On the second day, we meet Zehida Bihorac Odobasic, a teacher we support in her solitary commitment in Kladuša. She takes care of 4/5 groups, each one made of 5/6 people in Kladuša, and 5 more groups in Miral di Polje. The composition of these groups is constantly changing: some days there are two persons and other there are six. The try ‘the game’ and often they get back after ten days. Police in Kladuša are getting bad, but fortunaltely not as much as in Bihac. Zehida says that in Miral camp (managed by IOM – International Organisation for Migration) people don’t have anything to eat. Evidently, the important amount of money at disposal of IOM end up in security and personnel expenses, while very little is left to satisfy the basic needs of refugees. Maybe even less.

Zehida takes us to an Afghan family. We find a man sitting on the grass  in front of a crumbling farm, the door barred with wooden planks. He is the father of two boys: the young one is 6 years old, the other is 13. Two more kids live in Germany with their mother. They left from Jalalabad in 2016 when the Taliban threatened with death his family because the man used to work for Americans. Now the three men live in this abandoned house in the country close to town, not far from the spontaneous camp of Kladuša, closed last Autumn. The house is in ruin, a stable in the ground floor, no running water, only a dilapidated roof. The entrance is a one meter wide hole in the wall. They cook on a gas cooker. When it rains the river next to the house invades the ground floor, inhabited by warms, grass snakes, rats and beatles.  The past winter has been very harsh, the father says: ‘very cold, too much’. Zehida helps the family giving them food. She often takes home with her the young son, trying to ease the sadness and sorrow for the separation from his mother, who is waiting for him in Germany.

 

BIHAC

We arrive in Bihac in the late afternoon on Sunday July 7th. While going back from our hotel a few kilometers from the center, we give a ride to three Afghan guys rejected from the game. They ask us to be brought back to Vucjak rubbish dump. They have no chance to be readmitted in Bira camp. We imagine they must be really exhausted and without hope, if they ask for a lift to Vucjak. We know – we have seen them – that there are many of them walking down the road that flanks the Croatian border, on the top of the wooden mountains.

In the evening we have dinner with the Bagdad pharmacist and two refugees that we know well: Hussein, a Palestinian guy from Syria nephew of a refugee from 1948, and Fouad, who had lung surgery a few months ago due to a pathology contracted in the game.

The pharmacist is the wife of a policeman who used to work for the Americans. She tells us her story and cries. The dejected crying of this Iraqi woman seems to bend the distant desperation of populations, innocent victims of a story steered by the powerful countries and built on racism and nationalism.

Hussein suffers heart problems and asthma. He tells us he felt sick during the last game: he had to get out of the jungle with Fouad and call the police, who locked them into a container for six hours without food or water, only a bottle to serve as a toilet.

The day after (July 10th) we go to Bira, but we are denied the permission to enter the camp even though we asked the authorisation the week before via the email, rigorously following the procedure. So we go to the Red Cross to try and enter Vucjak camp, but we are rejected again. Vucjak camp grows on a disused rubbish dump under the Plesevnića, ten kilometres away from Bihac. It is run by the municipality and gathers in tents and containers all the refugees of Una-Sana canton. The Red Cross of Bihac is in charge of the management of the camp together with IPSIA, with its tea corner. All the people we meet say that conditions are terrible over there. Even IPSIA volunteers, while trying to mitigate the problems, say that it cannot last long. It is a political choice of Bihac municipality, because they want to highlight the unsustainable situation of the area in front of the international community.

July 2019

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“ARE THEY OURS? ”
“ARE THEY MATTRESSES?”
“BUT CAN WE KEEP THEM?”
“AND CAN WE CHOOSE THE COLOUR?”
“I, I, I WANT TO CARRY IT AND I WANT TO SHOW IT TO MY MUM!”
“CAN I TAKE THE ONE WITH FLOWERS, THAT PINK ONE? AND MY SISTER THAT GREEN ONE, NO BLUE, NO SHE WANTS THE LIGHT BLUE ONE! ”
These are the first sentences in Arabic that we heard said to us 2 days ago, when the mattresses were delivered.
And with the eyes our children have on Christmas morning, on their birthday, when they get a new bike, the latest model of the Xbox, Elsa’s costume or a new tennis racquet, they say hello, they thank you, they tell you that those mattresses are just beautiful !!!!
Many of them, after months, will have a bed on which to sleep and no longer a worn carpet that becomes damp with the rain.
We’re talking about mattresses, do you understand?
We’re talking about mattresses …
Thanks to all those who have made all this possible with their donations. The amount was not totally covered but very little was missing, but it does not matter, Support Syrian Children volunteers did the rest.
Thank you

 

 

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The beginning of each mission sees the pharmacy and the supermarket as the first stops. The employees and cashiers know who we are, they know why we are there and like every time, even this one, we came out with a huge amount of shopping that required 5 trolleys to be transported: 100 kg flour, 100 kg pulses, 50 kg sugar , 50 kg salt, 80 l of oil, 100 kg rice and then still many, many packs of sweets, lots of chocolate bars and, since you can not mess around with your teeth, even toothbrushes and toothpaste. The car, made available by the volunteer that helps us, was so full that we could not do anything except pile packets of pulses on the dashboard at the front!

To get to the camp we had to walk along a road in the middle of fields of vegetables and peppers. It would have been a pleasant pastoral vision had it not been for the bent backs of Syrian men, women and children, all intent on picking vegetables.

We arrive at the first part of the camp which has 120 tents, and it immediately becomes evident that they are not camping tents, but improvised solutions with plastic sheeting, wooden canes, twine and drapes.

We put all the food in the common tent, divided by type, and the person in charge of the camp together with his son take on the task of distributing it. Each family gets two packets of pulses, a packet of rice, a bottle of oil, a packet of salt or sugar.

The camp is located near a river, which means having a water source that can be easily accessed. Here the refugees fill tanks that once were used for detergents; the water, even if present is not clean, even the waste and rubbish end up there.

In the distance there is another camp: a camp of Syrians (130 tents) created on a rubbish tip of which the remains are still there. Some barefoot children play on the wet and filthy ground with plastic cups found there: they pick them up, put them in their mouths and this seems to be how they spend their time. In this part of the expanse there is only one source of water, a pipe that emerges from the ground and which in hiccups dispenses water for the 130 tents.

The hygienic conditions of the two settlements are disastrous. Hygiene in the fields does not exist: flies and insects everywhere, flies and even more insects, which crawl on your hands, on your face, which go into your mouth, flies and insects that in the end you don-t even feel anymore. The bathrooms are holes in the ground around which 4 branches of wood have been fixed and pieces of material have been hung. In the second camp, even water is a big problem: it is in a big bucket, filled with canisters, which must be enough for 4/5 families and whose content must be used to wash objects and for personal hygiene.

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The food, vegetables and Arabic bread,  is cooked thanks to improvised fires in large iron pots. I still smile at the thought of what the women were cooking when we arrived at the camp: fried aubergines and bread, the same dish that my Sicilian grandmother prepared for me on summer afternoons.

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