Working in Moria Refugee Camp
Work at the Mavrovrouni (Moria) refugee camp on Lesvos
Defenceless
Time and again, I realise that I meet clients who make me feel that I am here because of them. Because the treatment is particularly urgent. Because it works. Because it allows me to be effective
and make a difference. Because the person experiences an immediate improvement. And: because the story touches me deeply and affects me.
A young woman in her mid-20s from Afghanistan, friendly,
approachable, proud, very well-groomed, beautiful as a picture. Two small children fled with her via Turkey, like everyone else here on Lesbos, in a rubber boat at night and in the fog. She is
alone with the children on the run, her husband killed by the Taliban. So unprotected, she has been the victim of sexual violence several times - in Afghanistan, on the run, most recently in the
camp itself. Her resilience is astonishing, the outer mask perfect. The deep inner shock can only be felt during treatment. The scarred cuts on her upper arms bear witness to a long, destructive
history of emotion regulation. The treatments are currently the only thing that helps her to banish the raging headaches, anxiety and inner images, she says.
The worst thing is: she is by no means an isolated case. Today, the next young woman - with a similar biography. Widowed, on the run alone with children, also a victim of repeated sexual
violence, easy prey for perpetrators who exploit the vulnerable situation of women who have fled. And: who exploit the existing power structures, because the perpetrators are often police
officers, soldiers, security. People whose job it is to guarantee the protection of people.
(22 March 2023)
The unspeakable
The man is a giant, an impressive, upright appearance. His body has been moulded by years of training. But also hardened, as if armoured, a pain that never ends.
Many people were killed in an attack on a mosque in Afghanistan. He helped clean up the mess and collected human remains. Since then, the images have stayed with him. Not during the day, not at
night. Something is wrong with his head, he says. He already had a quick temper before. He seeks help with palpable urgency. He worries about losing control, when he gets angry he leaves the
container with his wife and children to regulate himself, nothing has ever happened, he knows himself well. After a week of energetic treatments in combination with homeopathy, the man feels much
better. After the first treatment, the pain had already stopped for a few hours. Now, the pain is reduced, the nightmares have stopped, sleep is more restful, the nervous system is beginning to
calm down, the man is much more focussed and thoughtful. He apologises for his choleric outburst towards a colleague before the treatment began.
Working with the Afghan man touches me and also makes me think. I enjoy working with him, I can see his distress. And: I realise that it may be difficult for many people to work with him.
It is necessary to penetrate the emotional armouring, to see through the layer of anger, defence mechanisms and choleric behaviour. An understanding that traumatic experiences often manifest
differently in men than in women - but that the distress is just as great - but that it is much more difficult for the helpers to recognise these male clients in their inner pain.
And that brings me to another step. There is something unspeakable, a part of his story that must not be spoken. I don't know if it's true, or just a perception of mine, because it's a taboo that
applies to many of the men in the camp. They suffer not only from what they have experienced as injustice, but also from what they themselves have done. Any man who comes from a country
characterised by civil war, chaos and abuse of power will sooner or later find himself in a situation where he has to defend his family, his village, his ethnic group. Given the pride and
courage, sincerity and self-image of many of the men I have met here, it is hard to imagine them not doing what they consider necessary to defend themselves in situations of immediate danger.
Once they have left their home country, and for as long as they are on the run, they continue to fulfil their family role of protecting, organising and leading. Once they arrive in the camp, all
this no longer applies and I regularly observe that in this situation the men initially collapse much more than the women. The past catches up with them in the inactivity of the camp, the
indefinite wait and the powerlessness of being at the mercy of the opaque asylum procedures. What haunts them is the injustice that has happened to them or that they have witnessed many times,
but sometimes also what they have done.
Because it remains unspeakable. Because it is a taboo. Because they want to forget. Because they are afraid that something could jeopardise their asylum procedure. And: out of shame. The longer
the unspeakable remains unspoken, the more inner space it takes up. It eats away at your inner self and makes you ill in body and soul. From my point of view, it is deeply necessary to help these
men empty their inner space: for them as individuals, for their personal environment, but also for all of us as a collective, healing is essential at this point.
March 2023
Golden moments
Spring is coming. The camp, whose scree and gravel landscape quickly turns into a mud hole when it rains and into sweltering heat in summer, is showing its mild side. There are flowers
everywhere, the slope behind the container is covered in greenery, chamomile, dandelions and much more are in bloom.
Little Sakina from Afghanistan is two years old and accompanies her mother, who comes to me for treatment. She is the youngest of four children; her mother has lost four other children. Like most
of the children in the camp, she is used to spending time on her own. She picks a small bouquet for her mother with touching devotion. For a moment, everything around this precious, healing
moment and this small, cheerful person seems to become unimportant.
So days in camp
Today is one of those days when we cry. The Afghan woman is 75 years old, she looks at least 85, aged. She is frail, broken. Her gait is unsteady, she has a tremor, poor hearing, severe pain in
her hip, pelvis, ribs and wrist. She probably suffered several fractures in a fall two years ago, which were not examined due to a lack of medical care. She has only been on the island for a few
weeks and suffered ten pushbacks before she made it there with her family. On her eleventh attempt to reach the island, she fell again when she got out of the smugglers' rubber boat and hurriedly
fled into the island's forests. The pain has persisted ever since. The family spent a week hiding in the cold February nights in the woods, sharing one blanket with eight people. She lies in
front of me on the treatment couch, motionless, exhausted, a little heap of a human being, just skin and bones. I can hardly believe that she has survived this far. Everything about this
situation feels so wrong.
March 2023
Addendum: The woman has been coming to us every day for a few weeks now. In addition to the energetic treatments, she receives massages, mobilisation and above all: basic human care - fortifying food, warmth, contact, time outside the camp. Slowly, life has returned to her. She is more alert, walks better and has significantly less pain.
Katos Trito - cemetery for refugees
The project to create a humane burial place for refugees on Lesvos is slowly taking shape. Work is still ongoing to obtain support from the municipality and the public sector to design the
cemetery. A lot has changed since my first visit there two years ago: The tall grass and weeds have been mowed, stone plaques have been erected in one part of the grounds and a hall has been
built to prepare the deceased.
We brought a patient from Somalia here today, let's call her Luna. Luna arrived on Lesbos in October. There were 20 Somali women on her boat. 16 of them lie here in the fresh graves marked with
boulders. The boat hit a rock during the crossing in bad weather and sank. Most of the women could not swim, Luna was in the water for hours and swam for her life. I collected seeds from the
orange and lemon trees in our practice garden and brought them back with me. We plant and water them in the dry soil. May something fruitful grow and blossom in this dreary place.
February 2023
The current situation in the camp -
February 2023
I have been back on Lesvos for ten days now. We are currently working in the practice in Mytilini, outside the camp, picking up patients from the camp for treatment and then
driving them back. The camp seems to be full at the moment. We are treating a lot of severe cases with serious trauma-related disorders. My personal impression is that massive experiences of
violence have increased significantly during the flight. Numerous patients who have only recently reached the island report a repeated number of pushbacks (up to eight) that they experienced at
the hands of border guard authorities before they managed to be admitted to the camp and apply for asylum.
The majority of our patients still come from Afghanistan, including many families with children of different ages. We also treat many people from African countries, from Somalia, Eritrea, Guinea
and Congo, including many women who are travelling alone without a network; they often cannot read or write and communication is very rudimentary due to a lack of Somali translators or
translators of other African languages.
Security measures in the camp have been tightened in recent days. Since yesterday, minors have only been allowed to leave the camp when accompanied by a parent or guardian. The vehicle we use to
transport the patients is now checked every day and the driver has to sign and identify himself when entering and leaving the camp.
Working with PTSD - November 2022
I am treating a young Afghan in the camp who arrived here with his family just three weeks ago. He came because of back pain - like so many refugees. The unspeakable nature of what they have
experienced, for which there are no words and for which words have no inner or outer space, is expressed in the body.
I meet people here every day with chronic pain: in the back, in the head, often the whole body stiff, overheated or hypothermic, mental and physical traces of violence very visible, inflammation
of the joints, old injuries to joints, bones, ligaments, tendons, whose pain flares up again, does not want to heal, soul and body find no rest. Sleeping is impossible: you have to be alert at
all times. The experience has burnt itself into the physical and mental system. Post-traumatic stress disorder is the official name.
The young man barely escaped with his life while fleeing across the Mediterranean. After several hours of hypothermia in the water, the cold crept into his bones. His body is cold, his upper back
forms a hardened wall, protecting his heart. Sleeping, resting - impossible. And then there is the anger. There are so many reasons for this anger that it is pointless to list them.
But it takes very little to topple the fragile shell of everyday functioning.
It is a very touching process to accompany this man on his healing journey and to support him in letting go of some of the experiences stored in his system so that he can once again be present in
the present and able to act. After a few energetic treatments, the pain has clearly subsided and his abdomen is warm again. After initially being unable to close his eyes for even two seconds,
his nervous system was deeply calmed yesterday and he fell asleep during the treatment. This turning point in the treatment was also the result of a combination of different approaches. The
bioenergetic treatment was preceded by physiotherapy work with exercises to stretch the hardened back muscles. A non-verbal way to create space on a physical level, to move from contraction to
expansion, to remind the body's memory that muscles are created for movement and vitality - and that it is safe to step out of the armoured protective posture as a result. It seems that in this
combination treatment a fundamental step was taken towards a very individualised healing path for this particular person on a deep, non-verbal level.
When I see him again today, his face is clear and he has taken on a glow.
The asylum seekers here on Lesbos often find themselves in extremely complex health situations due to their very stressful life stories and experiences. I would like to see more projects like
this that respond to this with complex, customised treatment concepts. There is no one-size-fits-all solution - only the individual person, who we accompany on their healing journey with all the
expertise, care and attentiveness available to us.
November 2022
Reunion
Earth Medicine now has a container directly in the camp. Treatments are currently only given directly in the camp, no longer in the practice outside in Mytilini. Today I gave treatments in the
camp for the first time. There are significantly fewer people in Moria at the moment than in March, mainly from Somalia, Nigeria and some from Afghanistan. I was deeply touched by my encounter
with a young man from Somalia, whom I had the honour of treating several times in March. Back then, he couldn't walk, had signs of paralysis in his legs and feet, was in a wheelchair, was very
weak and emaciated, so frail. Today I meet a shy young man, standing tall, walking, cycling, learning to play the guitar, now speaking English. Experiences like these make me realise how
important it is to do this work. To see how the combined forces can give hope and contribute to such incredible progress. What a wonderful experience on my first day at camp today.
October 2022
Visit to the Moria camp that burned down in 2020 - October 2022
Today we visited the old Moria refugee camp, which was closed in September 2020 after a devastating fire. We walk the 9 kilometres into the mountains. The site lies abandoned in the middle of
olive groves, the remains of the foundations of the buildings can be seen, the trees bear the traces of the fire and rise into the air as black memorials. Nature is beginning to reclaim the site:
plants are growing in a new layer over the ground, which is covered in debris and broken glass in places, and a herd of goats has conquered the site and lives in the abandoned ruins.
There is evidence of the lives of the people who experienced the fire: Cutlery, clothes, a pair of children's shoes, one of them charred by the embers.
We try to imagine what it must have been like to live with more than 20,000 people on this site, with the ‘jungle’, as the confusing jumble of tents and dwellings that stretched up into the
mountains was called. I remember the old Afghan woman from last year who said that she lost her teeth in the tent in the chaos of the fire. Her son came back every day for 5 days to look for them
in the remains of the burnt camp.
As we leave, a bizarre encounter. At the entrance to the old camp we meet an Austrian family, a couple with their teenage daughter. The woman, wearing heavy make-up and a cap studded with
glittering stones, poses for photos in front of the entrance. They approach us. It turns out that they were down in the new camp, had tried to go in, but ‘unfortunately you're not allowed in’,
she would have loved to give sweets to the refugee children to use the resulting film material for her music video. Now the old camp would have to do. Given the contrast between this statement
and the place we are in, I am speechless. Speechless at this lack of empathy and narcissism. We thankfully decline the offer of a lift in the car.
Moments like this make me doubt the state of the world. Moments like these, in which the gap within my own cultural circle proves to be greater than I had anticipated, make me feel ashamed and
make me appreciate the warm connections and encounters that arise here with so many refugees at work all the more.
Temporary farewell
And once again my time on Lesvos is coming to an end. Yesterday I sat by the sea, a windy day, the water choppy. The sea, in its changing expression, seems so multifaceted and ambivalent on this
island of extremes. I am painfully aware that many people who came here involuntarily experience it as healing and devastating at the same time. I try to find words - to share something of this
world I am immersed in.
My heart connects with so many wonderful people on so many different levels in this place, in my work as a healer. In fact, it feels like connections on a soul level happen much more easily and
effortlessly here than anywhere else. To be able to work as a healer in this place is a gift: so much love, mindfulness, gratitude and trust flow back to me that I feel full of the intensity of
life and deeply grateful for life's providence that brings me together with this place and these people.
The progress of the healing processes, which usually arise from the interaction of different approaches, is fascinating to observe in its pace. It is wonderful to see how people who I experienced
as suffering four months ago have become stronger and are putting out feelers into life again.This time I treated mostly very young men from Somalia, Palestine and Afghanistan. I was deeply
touched by their courage and trust, their pride and tenderness, which they have retained through their often cruel life experiences. I would like to thank the men for their trust in allowing
themselves to be involved in situations that were so unfamiliar to them during the healing treatments. And then the women - the strong, warm-hearted, loving women, with their hunger for love of
life, laughter, dancing, music, freedom - life.
The great work Fabioladurchgängig does here, defying adverse, constantly changing external conditions, is impressive. Such a strong team in a changing composition - it's a pleasure to work with
you. Earth Medicine is growing and thriving - may this place of healing continue to flourish and receive the external support - not least the material support - that makes this vital work
possible for many refugees in Moria.
Spring 2022
Cemetery of the refugees
Mahnas is a young woman from Afghanistan who works with me as a trainee physiotherapist. She came to Lesbos last year with her mother and her cousin. Her mother died very suddenly two months ago.
I took her to visit the cemetery where her mother is buried and where all the refugees here are buried. It's one of the most desolate places I've ever been to. The place is in the middle of
nowhere, impossible to reach without a car and local knowledge. A private plot of land, leased to a municipality. We enter the grounds through a hole in the wire fence. There are a lot of graves,
which can be discovered on closer inspection, recognisable by individual stones. The graves are anonymous, overgrown with dry grass, with piles of plastic in between. Mahnas has done everything
in her power to give her mother a dignified burial site in this desolate place.
More and more people are campaigning for this place to be officially recognised, made accessible and declared a memorial.
2021