“Landing team to office” read the WhatsApp message that dinged on my phone at 9:21pm. The designated 3-person landing team now had 5 minutes to get their gear together and run to the Lighthouse Relief office. They jump in the car and roar off to meet the arriving boat like a cartoon where the car turns a corner on two wheels and disappears in a puff of smoke. Every minute counts in this situation because people arriving in rubber dinghies after a perilous trip across 5 miles of the Aegean Sea from Turkey could need serious medical assistance and are often on the edge of hypothermia.

I spent last week with Lighthouse Relief’s emergency response team in Skala Sikaminias on the Northshore of the island of Lesvos, participating in the various around-the-clock emergency response activities. It was emotionally and physically taxing with moments of pure joy.

I slept fully clothed with my shoes and headlamp waiting by the door when I was on-call for boat landings; in honesty, I hardly slept at all because I was too anxious about whether there would be a landing and if I would hear my phone if there was. On my second night, there was a landing. Taking the arm of an elderly lady as she disembarked from the boat that carried her across the sea in the cover of darkness from Turkey and helping her walk to a car that would drive her to the next step in her journey to safety is a shared moment that I’ll never forget.

I spent time in the Stage 2 temporary camp where people are given dry clothes, food, blankets, and a place to sleep after being registered with the Greek authorities. Early one morning, I held a 10-month old baby boy named Daniel while his father told me that his extended family of 11 people are traveling together from Afghanistan because the Taliban took control of their village. Later, I sat and talked with this family while they entrusted me to give a bottle to Daniel - who had completely stolen my heart by this point.

As I hugged and kissed them goodbye, I hoped and prayed for their continued safety because they were boarding a bus that would take them to the awful, human-rights neglecting Moria camp. Moria is equipped to house no more than 1,800 people according to UNHCR, the United Nations refugee agency. I was told by local resources that there are close to 6,000 people living there, causing squalid conditions, hour-long queues for food, and violence. I wish I could take Daniel and his family with me to Ritsona camp where they would be treated well and safe.

I witnessed tight collaboration among the various NGOs and a powerful symbiosis between volunteers and the local community in Skala, a tiny fishing village where I could literally see most of town from my hotel balcony. Several Skala locals were nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize this year to represent all Greeks and volunteers who helped refugees.

I did yoga with a fellow volunteer under the light of a massive full moon at the beginning of a 10-hour night spotting shift at Korakas Lighthouse set on a cliff above the sea. I then proceeded to look through military-grade night vision binoculars for 30 minutes every hour and a half until the sun came up the next morning and the moon set into the sea. We didn’t spot any dinghies that night but did report a couple of suspicious vessels that were then investigated by the Seawatch boat that was on the water.

Residents in Ritsona camp have told me about their journeys, including the dangerous boat trip across the Aegean. I feel more connected to the reality of these crossings having now seen the mixed emotions of fear and relief on the faces of people as they step onto Greek soil. The bigger picture of this humanitarian crisis from arrival through living indefinitely in a camp has been filled in by lovely, resilient people who each have their own story.