Tag: Volunteer

Silence

Yes, I know, I stopped writing. I’ve started countless posts that I’ve abandoned halfway through. I went to Greece with the passionate intention to write about my experience, it’s just that, I’m not sure how to verbalize it, how to share it. I arrived in Leros and jumped into an exciting, emotional, overwhelming, and sad tornado that consumed me until the moment I boarded a tiny plane back to Athens. It’s taken me a few weeks of aimlessly wandering around Europe to sort it all out. Continue reading “Silence” →

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Barbed Wire

Barbed WIre

Barbed wire. Fences and barbed wire. A cement court surrounded by imposing fences and barbed wire. A policed metal gate opens up to gravel, concrete, metal containers and barbed wire. A military truck dumps crates of bread on the slab of concrete surrounded by barbed wire – breakfast. Children run around on the gravel, playing on rocks in the confined, fenced-in camp. All I see is barbed wire. Surely this is a prison. No? A refugee camp you call it. Hotspot, a prison to some – Syrians, Kurds, Palestinians, Iranians, Pakistanis a refugee camp to others. A border, separation.  Continue reading “Barbed Wire” →

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Queen of the Castle

Sunday morning I wake up with a busy mind and a desire to get lost. I grab a cappuccino freddo and set out on foot towards a distant castle, somewhere on the island. Dodging motorbikes, I ascend a road along the edge of a cliff, looking down at the maze of houses below, stretching out to the ocean. Indeed I get lost, looking for a path that will lead me to the castle. After making countless wrong turns, I realize the path I’m looking for isn’t a road, but a narrow staircase pathway. What seemingly is an entrance to a house is really a secret stairway leading to a quaint village on a beach. Continue reading “Queen of the Castle” →

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POC, Refugee, Resident

Seemingly, everyone I’ve met since landing in Athens has an opinion about the refugee crisis in Greece – locals, Uber drivers, NGO’s, police, and refugees themselves. Opinions are freely shared with me once I disclose what I’m doing here (teaching yoga in a refugee camp) and I listen, hesitating to form an opinion until I’ve had my own experience on the island of Leros, my home for the next month or so. Continue reading “POC, Refugee, Resident” →

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What Am I Doing?

Great question. Also, one of the most frequently asked questions along with how old I am (followed by why are you not married) and how I feel about Trump. Most frequently my answer is I don’t know- depending on who I am talking to and when. I still don’t have answers for most of these questions, but I do know what I am doing, for the next few months at least.  Continue reading “What Am I Doing?” →

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Azola

I had already taught 2 classes, been bitten by a slobbery baby, gotten my hair pulled, braided, and tied in knots, and it’s my last kids yoga class of the day- I’m out. I finally get all the kiddos to make a circle (ten minutes later) when I feel a little hand grabbing my leg. I go to brush the hand away so I could teach, a little annoyed, and then saw the culprit. Continue reading “Azola” →

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East Side, West Side

When you enter Langa Township, the first thing you see is a brand new public housing complex that is quite nice. The government has stepped in and replaced settler communities with new public housing. 50% of the housing for Cape Town residents and 50% for migrants from the East. At first I didn’t understand the dynamics of this, but it became clear as I made my way through Langa.

Continue reading “East Side, West Side” →

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Game On

Alright, South Africa- you finally won me over. For whatever reason my first week here I was feeling a bit off, uncomfortable about where I was and what I was doing. It doesn’t feel like what I know of Africa here, it’s more Western, developed, and there are a bunch of white people that speak English (I’m not a muzungu anymore). Maybe I should have gone somewhere (like Tanzania) that I’m more comfortable? Continue reading “Game On” →

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