As we pulled up to camp last Wednesday morning, I was surprised to see about 25 men, women and children along with luggage, all their possessions, waiting at the front gate. I had heard the good news from a few residents just the day before that the travel for their approved relocation or family reunification was finally planned, and they would be leaving Ritsona camp to resettle in Europe and start new lives.

It’s a sunny afternoon, and I’m sitting on the back patio of my hotel, my outside office, with an espresso in my hand and earbuds in my ears. But I’m not singing along to a happy tune while looking forward to the weekend, I’m listening to the recording of an interview I did with a resident of Ritsona refugee camp. There were pauses in the conversation where another question would have logically followed, but all I heard were the muffled sounds of conversations in Arabic and the crunch of children running on gravel...until the resident continued speaking. I couldn’t ask a question because I couldn’t speak for fear that my voice would crack and the tears that I was so carefully holding back would come sneaking out.

The last week has been super busy starting with a weekend trip to Crete to meet up with fabulous friends, continuing with profile interviews and photos in camp for an upcoming project, and ending with publishing my first blog post for Lighthouse Relief! So, in lieu of a Tattered Journal blog post, please read my post on our summer camp programs!

All Smiles (And Some Tears) at Ritsona Summer Camp

I love wine, and I love going wine tasting. I love the way those first few sips simultaneously excite and relax you with their buzzy promise. I love the way the sun seems to shine a little bit brighter when you’re with your best friends, talking and laughing without a care in the world.

I was a little nervous going into the Youth Engagement Space (YES) because I had been given guidance not to ask the youth residents personal questions about where they are from, how long they’ve been in camp, etc. because those topics are understandably invasive and can be triggers. My usual happy hour bar banter of where do you work, what neighborhood do you live in, or the geeky tech joke of API or IPA? wouldn’t work here though.

Suddenly the kids came running up from all directions, hooting and hollering like a swarm of bees high on honey. The Summer Camp sign was still in the process of being hung between two trees in a shaded, grassy area next to the football (soccer to us Americans) field. I had been given the duty of sitting on the cooler – a necessity because the kids feel free to help themselves to the contents of the cooler if it is left unmanned – and I was thankful to be out of the fray for my first few moments in camp. The welcome activity was jump rope, Frisbee, hula hoop, or just good old running around. Physical activities to expend some of that chaotic energy.

In one week, I’ll be moving to Chalkida, Greece for three months to volunteer with Cross-Cultural Solutions and a local NGO called Lighthouse Relief, which provides immediate crisis response, as well as long term relief, to refugees arriving in Greece. I have little experience volunteering beyond a few hours here and there at a local soup kitchen, I don’t speak Arabic, I’m not a doctor who can save lives.