Hospitality from Refugees
When we first arrived at Moria this morning, I was shocked by how amiable people were. We were greeted at every corner by people smiling and waving. Some men would make good-natured jibes and hail us with "Hey, Jackie Chan!" or "Hi China!" I think I was expecting the whole mood to be a lot more... dour and depressed. But it wasn't.
I headed down for my shift at the Olive Grove, an area of the camp where about 165 men, mostly refugees from African countries, are currently being housed (I heard someone say that there are ~ 44 nationalities represented in Moria total). It consists of a rub hall (a big tent that can fit about 100 people) and about a dozen smaller 8-man tents, all emblazoned with the UNHCR logo, scattered about on a hillside.
My "responsibilities" here are to pass out food, fix tents, maintain the generator, and do whatever else is needed of me. In the meantime, however, I get to build relationships with the refugees and be a compassionate face and a friend to them, which is perhaps more important.
The Africans pride themselves on their hospitality, and when I first got to the Olive Grove, I was greeted as if I was an old friend and made to sit down for dinner at every tent I visited.
The men here are very resourceful, and take advantage of the nearby market to buy fresh produce and spices, which they innovatively combine with their daily food ration to simulate their native foods. A lot of their food is extraordinarily tasty.
In terms of hospitality, no one beats the Sudanese. They would put my Korean grandmother to shame. Every time I pass their tent they waylay me, sit me down, force a piece of pita, and they won’t let me leave until they’re satisfied that I’ve made a respectable dent in their communal pot of stew. I told them that they have the best food in Moria. But then I met the 4 Pakistanis who live down the hill, who fed me Biryani and homemade yogurt sauce... Now it's a toss-up.
I'm still a bit dumbfounded that the most hospitable guys I've ever met in my life are all homeless.
But despite the great food, the singing, the laughing, the card games and the smiles, it’s impossible to forget that many of these men are running from incredible trauma and are suffering deeply.
I am sensitive not to pry, but here and there, throughout the day, one of the men or another will find his way over to me and share his story.
“I am Tamil. In Sri Lanka, if you are man my age, very hard. If you are an old, old man, then it is ok. But my age? Very bad. The Sri Lankan army treat us bad. Very dangerous. I am a rickshaw driver. I paint and do construction. I have a wife and daughter, and son.”
“I left Mali 3 years ago. I was 20 years old. I have been traveling for 3 years. All my family is at home.”
“Gambia is called the smiling coast of Africa, because they say, if you visit Gambia, the first thing you will see is the smiles… My story? It is very personal. I do not want to share it right now. If I do, I will weep much tears. This is why I have to go sometimes away by myself for long hours."