and 13

BRINGING RELIEF AND HEALING TO REFUGEES

CSM Robert Banks (Tunbridge Wells) recalls his experiences as a volunteer in Moria refugee camp on the island of Lesbos

SIPPING a warm breakfast coffee I looked out over Mytilene Bay. The sun was rising in the east over the misty mountains outlining the Turkish coast, the early morning light glittering on the still waters of the harbour. My thoughts turned to the refugees I would meet that day. Having arrived on the late flight from Athens the evening before, I was tired but feeling a nervous energy. I prayed that God would use my offering of talents to bring relief and healing to refugees, knowing that I was supported in prayer by people from my corps.

I was volunteering as an aid worker and dental surgeon with the nongovernmental organisation (NGO) Health-Point Foundation in Moria refugee camp on the island of Lesbos.

Refugees cross the narrow channel of water between Turkey and this small Greek island fleeing wars in the Middle East, usually in large boats that are little more than inflatable dinghies. For me as an amateur sailor, even to think of such a sea passage is madness, but this is born of their desperation for a place of

12 Salvationist 6 April 2019 Robert (right) with other volunteers

safety. Moria camp is a teeming mass of humanity at the edge – more than 7,000 refugees in a camp built for 3,000 – and as aid workers we do what we can to alleviate some of their suffering. God’s calling to a whole life of discipleship is what drives me to do this. Jesus’ parable of the talents (see Matthew 25:14–30) teaches that we are given talents to use in different measure. How we use them reflects our love for God and demonstrates the work of the Holy Spirit within us. In our Salvation Army soldier’s covenant we promise to further God’s Kingdom and care for the lost, needy and disadvantaged. This embodies the essence of Salvationism, which is a whole-life commitment that pervades all areas of our being and is seen in our character and identity. To

this end we use all at our disposal in God’s service: our leisure and work time, our talents, our gifts and our finances. It requires a responsible stewardship of what we have been given and an intelligent use of our resources for God’s Kingdom.

I drove the winding mountain road to Moria camp under an azure-blue sky with the majestic island coastline far below. As I parked up by the perimeter wall, a bustling scene of activity awaited. People were unloading a van by the main gate, handing parcels to those waiting. Nearby a man had set up a fruit stall on the back of his pickup truck. People clustered in groups selling and trading as in a market place. Wherever humanity gathers it has always been so. The traders of the l

ancient Silk Road came by this way too, the hub of Constantinople – modern-day Istanbul – having been not far from here.

Moria camp itself lies on a mountainside covered in olive groves. It is a beautiful, idyllic garden setting that contrasts markedly with the stark reality of the suffering of people within the razor wire-topped fences that surround and divide the camp. I thought of another garden scene of betrayal and suffering on another Mount of Olives, where Jesus prayed and was arrested before his crucifixion.

We entered past a security checkpoint, showing our passports, and walked up the steep incline of the crowded main thoroughfare. Groups of

people milled around chattering, with teens showing a bravado that thinly disguised their underlying insecurity. A mother with her baby walked past and smiled at us, a pushchair laden with her possessions. Empty water bottles and litter were scattered around. An old battered shoe lay discarded in the mud by the fence. Barbed razor wire fences were everywhere but they supported washing lines of clothes drying in the morning breeze. People smiled but on sad faces.

Our clinic was a shipping container housing two operating stations and a wash basin. Of the four refugee camps I have worked in, Moria camp was by far the most intense. A seemingly unending stream of people arrived each morning outside the clinic in pain and we treated all who came, thankfully never having to turn anyone away. Bringing relief of pain to those in distress is a humbling and moving experience. We treated so many that I lost count, but some have burnt themselves into my memory. A deaf family came to our clinic, their teenage daughter, in obvious pain, talking in her native sign language to her parents. We managed to treat her pain, and her gratitude when we had finished needed no translation.

The greatest tragedy in Moria has to be the hundreds of unaccompanied children; at night they were locked behind razor wire fences. As a parent, my work with them was the hardest to bear. I will never forget Darian, a 13-year-old boy, alone in the world, who stood outside our clinic in pain with his head in his hands. His mouth was filled with a large, infected swelling from his palate, which affected his breathing. We were able to drain it for him and give him medication and pain relief. It was something but it felt so very inadequate, knowing he would be alone that night with no one to care for him. I prayed for him.

I was blessed to be serving in a multinational team of volunteers, with refugees as our translators and nurses. There was fun too and a camaraderie between the many different NGOs working there, spreading God’s love and bringing hope.

We can all use our gifts and talents in God’s service, whatever they may be. Albert Orsborn perhaps says it best: ‘My life must be Christ’s broken bread.’ ‘‘ It is a beautiful, idyllic garden setting that contrasts markedly with the stark reality of the suffering of people within the razor wire-topped fences that surround and divide the camp

’’