The Lighthouse

Our first day serving at the Lighthouse was intense. It was as though it were our first day on the island all together. We know what to expect at phase two, the camp, but phase one, getting people off the boats, was only something we heard stories about.  As we traveled down the long, winding dirt road to the lighthouse we turned a sharp right and there before us were about 45 refugees climbing the hill. Buses cannot get to the lighthouse, so the refugees must walk six kilometers (about four miles) uphill to a small cobblestone village where the bus is waiting just outside the town to take them to stage two, where they will finally receive a bit of food and a possible change of clothes from their wet ones.

We arrive to the lighthouse. Looking at the beaches the life vests and dingy boats are as far as the eye can see. Its terrifying to think of how many have crossed here, thankful for their lives being in one piece after such a terrifying ride across the Aegean. 

Each life vest is a life saved.

We start throwing vests in the boats left behind to try to clean up. Our efforts seem nil compared to the amount of orange littering the shore. Soon enough we hear from above that there is a boat heading our way. We pick up orange vests to wave them into where they should come and land and as they arrive to shore, the emotions begin. Grateful praises to see land, to see us, to be welcomed. Tears of joy, of gratitude, of pain from the long journey. Laughter, because other emotions cannot contain the zeal of being there. A man weeps with his grandson in his arms. 

One by one we do our best to filter them out of the boat. Some jump over the sides to get to shore quicker, not knowing they have the six kilometer walk and a bus ride before they get dry clothes. Babies and children handed to us to be put on shore, some soaked to the bone. Elderly cling to us for security getting out of the boats and upon setting foot on shore they kiss both our cheeks in classic Middle-Eastern greeting, their tears brushing our faces in gratitude. 

We guide them across the unstable rocks to the ascent to the cliff top. We have ropes to assist the hike up, but still for some, it is exhausting. Once to the top, they are given water and thermal blankets, sadly their journey is not over for the day. Once they've had time to rest, they are guided up through to the small village where they get on a bus. This hike up takes close to two hours for the slower paced.

No sooner are they out of sight when we hear there are two boats about an hour away. As the first arrives we find a man sitting on the floor of the boat bow. He patiently waits and is the last to get out of the boat. He is paralyzed from the waist down and has a catheter. His friends lift him from his place on the boat floor and carry him to his wheelchair sitting on the rocks. 

There is no possible way to get the wheelchair and him up the cliffside. Without hesitation, his friend picks him up and carries him on his back. With the support of four other men holding and pushing, they crest the cliff, but his friend doesn't stop, he carries him to a place to sit comfortably. Soon his chair arrives and he is placed in it. A vehicle is called and he is driven to the bus stop. 

A woman holding her six-month old baby is trying to gather herself so I offer to hold the baby for her. Calm, sweet, and amazingly dry, she rests her cheek on mine. I start talking to her and she looks at me, as if just noticing that I'm not mom. 

As I talk to her about Jesus' blessing, she rests her head on my nose and I begin singing a lullaby prayer over her; the same one I sing over my nieces and nephews. Peace comes over her as she starts to fall asleep. She must move on up the hill, but not without one last prayer over her and a kiss to her head.