It was almost a year ago that the tragic image of the body of three-year-old Alan Kurdi, a Kurdish Syrian refugee who drowned while attempting to cross the Aegean Sea with his family, brought global attention to the refugee crisis. Twelve months on, what is the situation like for the thousands still desperate to reach safety? Amy Merone, from Christian Aid, reports from Greece where some 57,000 refugees are currently stuck as a result of closed borders and political inaction.
When Ruhia sits down to share her story, she does so clutching a red wallet. As she talks she sobs, grief-stricken, and opens it, removing two small photographs of a boy and a girl. They were her children, killed by the Taliban. Ruhia lifts the hem of her dress to reveal scars across her feet: wounds suffered when they attempted to cut her down as she fled.
She recounts the horrifying details of a brutality that has left her bereft. When sadness prevents her from speaking, her friend Rahima comes to comfort her: a consolation only possible between people who share the same extremity of pain. Like Ruhia, Rahima has also endured the loss of a child: her son was taken by the Taliban.
After finally managing to escape from Afghanistan, Ruhia and her one surviving son made the perilous journey to Europe in search of sanctuary. She nearly drowned in the attempt.
But instead of finding refuge on European shores, Ruhia has been forced to endure a new nightmare. By the time she arrived in Greece, European nations had closed their borders to refugees. She is now one of some 57,000 people stranded in the country. As an Afghan, she is not eligible for EU relocation. Presently, only Syrians, Iraqis and Eritreans can apply.
This leaves refugees like Ruhia with two options: apply for asylum in Greece, or return to Afghanistan. With Greece in the grip of economic crisis, few feel they would be able to thrive here – it has Europe's highest unemployment levels. Meanwhile, returning to Afghanistan is considered tantamount to suicide.
So Ruhia lives in a desperate limbo, in a former naval base in the town of Elefsina, an isolated industrial site. North-west of Athens, the base is one of 57 makeshift refugee sites across mainland Greece. It houses almost 300 refugees, mostly from Afghanistan.
It's been months since Ruhia arrived in this bleak place. People sleep eight families to a room. Sheets and blankets hang from bunk beds to create a semblance of privacy. Children are stuck inside – away from the searing heat – with nowhere to play but the corridors.
The scene in Elefsina, and in camps across the mainland, is a far cry to that of 12 months ago. Then, people journeyed through Greece and the Balkans, and were cheered by welcome committees upon arrival in Germany and elsewhere.
A year on, the mood across Europe has changed significantly. This has shocked many refugees. "I thought I would go to Germany or to another country, show my documents and be able to work, and... be assured of my family's safety," says Ghulam, a refugee from Herat, Afghanistan. "I thought my children would be educated and that we would live in peace."
Ghulam, his wife and their children have been in Greece for six months – including three in Elefsina. "We have suffered 180 days of hell," he says. A political science graduate, he speaks of his pride at having educated all his children. As well as his native language Farsi, he speaks English, German and Arabic.
Working for Western NGOs, Ghulam was considered a renegade by the Taliban. Threatened with his life and shot at, his family fled Afghanistan. They reached Europe, expecting to find safety. Instead, they find themselves here and with no opportunity to apply for asylum, there is nothing to do but wait.
"It is painful that we are here for six months," Ghulam says. "There is nothing to distract us. We haven't learned a language. Life is passing and we haven't added to our skills and knowledge. We are living in darkness."
This sentiment is shared by many. The psychological burden is stark: people live through, and finally escape from, conflict only to face the 'psychological war' of life as a refugee in Europe. "I feel nothing anymore," one man says, placing his hand across his heart: "There is nothing left in here."
Even the gentlest of people appear frustrated, questioning why nothing is changing and why they must live in such a humiliating way. Now largely out of sight, they feel they are being forgotten.
As Greece struggles to cope with its economic crisis, European countries are deadlocked over who should take responsibility. Greek authorities have yet to receive the bulk of resources promised to enable them to respond adequately. Many refugees who do qualify for EU relocation have not yet had their first asylum interview. Fewer than 3,000 refugees have been relocated from Greece to European countries, despite 66,000 pledged places.
For refugees like Ghulam, Ruhia and Rahima, they are left only with lamentation. "At night we sit together as women, we drink tea, we tell our stories, and we cry together," Rahima says. "We have so much pain that you cannot realise. From where I could even start..."
Rahima uses her headscarf to wipe her tears and when Ruhia gets up to leave, she is still clutching the red wallet containing the precious photographs of her lost children. How much suffering can one heart endure?
Christian Aid is working in Greece through its ACT Alliance partner, International Orthodox Christian Charities/Apostoli, to provide humanitarian support – including food – to refugees on the mainland. Local partners are offering legal protection services to children and their families, and accommodation for some of the most vulnerable refugees. However, a permanent solution is needed. Christian Aid is calling on the UK government to commit to hosting at least 40,000 refugees, and to provide safe, legal routes enabling refugees to travel to and through Europe.
