“We have a pulse!”

02:00am on a chilly, mid-October Saturday morning. Seven hours into our twelve-hour shift. As a student paramedic, myself and the crew are attending an elderly lady who had slipped to the floor and couldn’t get up. She had suffered no injuries and observations confirmed she was medically fit; she simply ‘took a tumble’ and needed assistance to her feet. Whilst my colleague completed the paper work, I engaged in small talk with the lady, pointing to pictures hung proudly on the wall. For each portrait she explained their significance: 50 years of a loving marriage, the success of her children and grandchildren, then stories of her husband – ‘taken from this earth too soon.’

This was a routine job - albeit one that the media won’t commonly report on, and which you won’t see dramatized on BBC’s Casualty. But on this occasion, I couldn’t help but reflect upon all the individuals I had met whilst volunteering with Refugee Rescue this past summer. I couldn’t shake from my mind the thought of how those people had once had a safe home. I was struck by the ease in which we’re able to receive non-judgmental help and kindness by calling 999, while those I met this summer are vulnerable and repeatedly denied even the basic human rights simply because of their passport. 

Refugee Rescue are a grassroots non-government organisation, operating a Search and Rescue boat named ‘Mo Chara’, on the north shore of Lesvos, Greece.  As a volunteer on the boat, myself and three other crew were on call twenty–four hours a day, ready to respond and assist those in distress at sea. I participated in a rock rescue; a tactical operation in which the boat had to navigate amongst jagged rocks to aid stranded individuals to safety. I also worked alongside Hellenic Coastguard and Frontex to safely guide vulnerable refugee dinghies to shore. However, there is one operation that stood out to me and made me appreciate the skills I have learnt as a student paramedic.

One morning, we received reports that a dinghy had been spotted. We raced over to its location to witness the dinghy land and then approximately 50 people spill off the boat onto the stony beach. I was called from the boat to assist a six-month pregnant woman who required medical attention. Diving out of the boat I swam to shore armed with nothing more than foil blankets, a few bottles of water and a very simplistic first aid kit. I was vaguely directed towards the woman, who lay on the ground surrounded by her seven very young children, all scared and worried for their mother’s health. I began to assess:

D – No danger

R - Using AVPU, the lady graded U

C – No catastrophic bleeding

A – Patent

B – Very shallow, bradypnea

C – No pulse

My adrenaline levels rose, I pressed my fingers against her radial artery: no pulse. I rapidly repositioned my fingers against her carotid artery: still no pulse. How could I help this woman with no means to obtain basic observations, let alone any drugs or a more sophisticated diagnostic tool? There was no English speaker within the group, so I couldn’t obtain any medical history, nor could I reassure her frantic husband who spoke worriedly to me in Farsi. At this moment the landing team from Lighthouse Relief arrived - amongst them my friend, a third-year medical student. “I can’t find a pulse” I uttered. Neither could she. What should we do? What could we do? “Raise her legs!” burst out of my mouth and we scrambled together wet bin bags filled with the families few belongings to create a platform to elevate her legs. 

A minute passed. 

“We have a pulse!” Slowly the woman regained consciousness. We worked together to assess the lady dividing the role so that my friend would assess the baby and myself the mother. Help had been called and during our wait for its arrival we stabilised the lady before delivering a structured handover to an IsraAid nurse. “Mother and baby are okay.”

I don’t think anything can truly prepare you for the work out in Lesbos. Regardless of how many times you see an overcrowded dinghy battling the Aegean Sea, there’s always a split moment where you choke seeing people risk their lives fleeing from unimaginable environments. To see first-hand refugees of all ages landing onto the north shore is haunting and highlighted just how much of a global humanitarian crisis this is. No child, no family and no individual should be subjected to this desperation in which the only way to reach safety is through dangerous sea passage or the untrustworthy hands of smugglers. It was published in the Aegean Boat Report that on October 10th, a boat capsized in attempt to reach Europe. Nine people died, and twenty-five people are missing. One incident of many in which life is lost needlessly in the search for asylum. Although my efforts were but a drop in the ocean, the importance of kindness and human resilience is so crucial, an individual can’t help everyone, but everyone can help someone, as a human being why wouldn’t you want to help those is peril?

Olivia - former ‘Mo Chara’ crew member and trainee paramedic based in the UK

"'Willkommenskultur', the culture of welcoming other human beings in need, feels increasingly like a distant memory."

This is Nik’s second time on crew with Mo Chara. Between hauling the boat out of the water for maintenance, to working on two rock rescues in Palios, he has been busy! Somehow he has found time to continue writing about his experience:

”There's a smuggler who's been dumping people at the base of cliffs near Palios, near the eastern end of our typical operational range. Too far to walk to the nearest road or too step to climb out from safely, these spots are not readily accessible from anywhere but the water. The government vessels prefer not to operate inshore, even if they do carry small RIBs, and so it's Mo Chara that gets requested to help. Nose up to the shore, drop a land crew, assess the new arrivals, and then evacuate everyone safely, all without endangering crew members or risking harm to Mo Chara. It's a fairly technical process that requires close teamwork, but the crew of Mo Chara does it exceptionally well.

The day starts simply enough. We return from a patrol that started at 6 AM--witnessing another gorgeous sunrise over the Aegean--and are spending a bit of time relaxing at the house after coffee and breakfast at Goji's when the call comes in that a smuggler has dumped a boatload full of people somewhere between Lagada Beach and Palios. We grab our gear, prepare Mo Chara for departure, and then head over to Palios as quickly as we can. It's a warm, slightly hazy day, the sea rippled by a light breeze, fishermen working their nets off Korakas lighthouse as I cut an arc around them at speed.

On scene, we find a Hellenic Coast Guard vessel near a beach that is not far from our last rock rescue. After pulling up alongside for a quick chat, our first task is to find the new arrivals. Looking towards the shore, not a soul is visible. But it turns out that this group is willing to work with us: as I take Mo Chara in for a closer look, we see a person emerging from the trees and waving to us. One by one, others come out and start heading back down towards the water in single file. As far as building some trust and making initial contact are concerned, this group is clearly willing to come our way.

This group is also from Afghanistan, and our lifeguard’s knowledge of some Farsi phrases helps put them at ease. There are 21 of them, 10 are children, and one minor is unaccompanied, having made the long journey on his own. We flag him as a possible vulnerable case. There's a single mother traveling with her child. An elderly man recently suffered a heart attack and carries an X-ray and the printout of an electrocardiogram with him. He's wheezing, in his late sixties, uses a crutch, and is clearly exhausted. He's part of a family and his son sits next to him on the Mo Chara as he hangs on a handrail. There's also a woman only a few years younger than him who is clearly in pain as she has to clamber over the rocks and into Mo Chara, getting as much help from us as we can offer. On board, she shows us a long, angry-looking welt of a scar maybe a few months old that runs lengthwise across one of her knees before she hangs her head and takes some deep breaths, her pain and exhaustion apparent. She, too, must use a crutch to get around. One of the younger boys, aged maybe ten, knows some English and translates for us, first on the Mo Chara and then again while talking to the nurse after we hand over the refugees to the land crew. The boy is part of a group of similarly aged boys who seem to be taking the day in stride, unlike some of the adults around them.

Was it necessary to put these human beings through the hardship they experienced today? Hardly. The man recovering from a heart attack, the woman struggling with her knee, the unaccompanied minor ... Europe is complicit in this human suffering.

Last year, when I described some of the scenes that I witnessed, I felt a mixture of quiet rage and incredulity. I cried while writing some of my posts in 2017. This year? My response is much more muted. Not resigned, but the shock value of this treatment of fellow human beings has worn off. My reaction is more entrenched. Stubborn. I know where my values lie and I am here to help and do my bit, no matter how small. But the absurdity of the bigger picture that has somehow shaded into the new normal ... the sheer scale of the problem can make you numb.

'Willkommenskultur', the culture of welcoming other human beings in need, feels increasingly like a distant memory. In 2018, we are presented with a much more abstracted version of the crisis that deals with the problem at arms length, the frontlines somewhere on these Greek island and in the EU-sponsored camps in Turkey, and the everyday reality of what refugees have to deal with obscured by a kind of satiated apathy. Add to this: the increasing criminalization of helping other human beings, the absolute shoestring budget on which NGOs must do their good, and the suspension of refugees' lives in camps as they struggle against a system that is designed to serve European self-interests first.”

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Mo Chara: assistance required in the Palios area


Nik, a current volunteer SAR crew member from Canada was involved in one of the longest and most tiring rescue’s Mo Chara has been involved in. The weather turned just as Mo Chara made it back in to port. It’s lucky the team got the call when they did, otherwise it could have been a very different story. Below Nik recounts his experience:

"A refugee boat has arrived near Palios and our help has been requested to evacuate people stranded at their landing spot. We gear up, head to Mo Chara, and leave within minutes of the initial message. Our helmsman has the boat going nearly flat out to the estimated landing location. It's a clear night with good visibility and we race across the almost flat water under the moonlight.

On scene near Palios, we find a Hellenic Coast Guard vessel lighting up the shoreline with a search light to point us to the new arrivals. They are halfway up a step and rocky embankment, huddled around a makeshift fire for warmth. There's no rubber dinghy tonight; this group was dropped off from a smuggler's speedboat, dumped wherever and then abandoned. The spot they are in is not accessible from the road and at first glance the steep embankment they scrambled up presents some challenges for their retrieval. We drop off three crew members in drysuits to assess the arrivals' condition and to find a way to evacuate them safely.

This group turns out to be from Afghanistan and there are 26 of them. Among them an elderly lady with very limited mobility, and an expectant mother who is in the later stages of pregnancy. She is mildly hypothermic. There don't appear to be any serious medical cases at first glance, though we do have a scare with one of the boys later on.

Without an easy way to get the group back down the same steep embankment they had scrambled up, it quickly becomes clear that the crew on shore will need to lead the refugees back down to the water some way to the left from where they landed, where there is a more easily navigable notch in the embankment. While our crew on shore explains the plan to the refugees and starts taking them down to the water in smaller groups, I take over the helm from the Coordinator to free him up, so that he can concentrate on leading the rescue effort. With him on the bow, we do a careful shoreline approach with one engine shut off and raised, and the other trimmed up to keep the prop out of harm's way. It takes a couple of tries, but we find a safe spot that our  thinks he has used before. With our pickup point determined, I pull the boat back again and we stand by for the first group of people to arrive down at the water as our Coordinator catches up with calls on the alarm phone and requests for more information from just about everyone.

The hard work on this rescue is all done by the crew on shore. They have to scramble up the steep embankment before they can assess the 26 people and relay information about them, making sure there are no medical cases that need immediate attention. They hand out emergency blankets to the arrivals and show them how to put them on (under your clothes rather than on top, silver side to the skin). Then they have to find a usable path back down to the water, lead everyone down, helping those who need help, all the while making sure that everyone stays safe, themselves included. Once they have the first people ready to be transferred, some of the crew helps them climb into Mo Chara or physically lifts those who cannot climb in themselves. The rest of the crew on shore works on bringing down the remaining refugees, including the elderly woman who cannot walk well. It's hard work.

On Mo Chara, parents clutch their younger children or make sure that older ones are seated and safe before they themselves sit down. Faces are young, old, and everything in between. All are tired and look weary. Most of them are part of a family. Families sometimes exchange brief words after they are seated, but by and large the refugees are silent. People are clearly cold and exhausted, and many of them are wearing the emergency blankets we handed out. Some are so tired I watch them stumble along when they walk. Young children cry, cold and uncomfortable, soothed by their exhausted parents. Belongings are stowed next to me where people cannot sit because of the throttle controls. People carry what they can: backpacks are common, as are thick, waterproof garbage bags, and at one point I stow a woman's leather handbag next to me. This handbag feels strange, out of place, like a remnant from another life. Like some of the people we assist, it reminds me of something: just like last year, I have this intense sensation that these people could easily be my neighbours back in Canada, except they are currently seeking refuge. They are people who have been thrown into a life-threatening situation against their will, driven by events that are entirely beyond their control. The fact that our roles are not reversed seems by sheer chance and, in a parallel world, I might be the one sitting on a rescue vessel, looking exhausted. It all feels a bit random and familiar in equal measure.

Getting the refugees off the rocks is just half of the job. We need to take them to Palios Harbour, and deliver them to the waiting volunteers of the land crew. On one of our runs to the harbour, a young boy starts to drift in and out of consciousness on the boat and I am asked to pick up the pace and take the boat in as quickly as I safely can. When we reach Palios, I gently nose Mo Chara in between two other boats, helped by a policeman who pushes one of the moored boats aside for me and we pass him to a waiting nurse who carries him off in her arms. His mother, who sits at the back of the boat, has to wait to get off, as others need to disembark before she can make it to the bow and climb onto the quay. I can't help but feel her worry. (There are many children on these refugee boats, often making up about half of the new arrivals. Two days later, I meet Andrea, the doctor who treated the boy, and ask about him. He suffered from exhaustion, but made a full recovery.)

It's 2 AM by the time we get back to the house after our return to Skala and we are planning to take the boat down the coast for service at 7 AM. Time to sleep."

From the New York Commute to the North Coast of Lesbos

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One of our current volunteer land crew hails from New York City. His name is Zach Williams, and he has been an invaluable member of the team over the last couple of months. His enthusiasm will be missed!  Below are his thoughts on volunteering with Refugee Rescue. 

You’re on an overcrowded New York City subway on your commute home after a long day of work. Unable to find an open spot on the pole to hold, you sigh, putting your hand straight up in the air to hold the ceiling in a desperate attempt not to fall on fellow New Yorkers. To distract yourself from the hideous situation you find yourself in, you pull your phone out and start mindlessly scrolling. Your mood isn’t lifted. Article after article, you find evidence of the world descending into madness. You share, write, and rage behind your screen. Share, write, rage. Share, write, rage. And then it dawns on you, “This isn’t helping. I’m not even doing anything.”

I found myself engrained in my keyboard warrior ways, I think most of us do. Most people are good people who care about others, and typing out your anger at the horrific situations we see online day in and day out is the most convenient way of letting others know that you care. But I wanted to do more; I wanted to provide tangible help to those in need. And thanks to a recommendation by a friend, I found Refugee Rescue. Within a day, I had perused the website, scanned my passport, and applied to travel to Skala Sikamineas for two weeks just 30 days before I flew out to the eastern Mediterranean. 

I had no idea what I was walking into before I left. I was actually quite nervous during the days leading up to my flight. I grappled with my inner dialogue, questioning if I was ready for the undertaking. I spoke no Greek, never volunteered abroad before, and never worked with or for people forced from their home. Would I be useful? Would I be able to handle it? Would I find a support network? A spontaneous decision to apply to volunteer for the only remaining maritime Search & Rescue NGO left on the Northern shore of Lesbos, Greece, with little to no forethought had turned into a major point of anxiety. Go figure. But once I was here, all my fears vanished. Volunteering for Refugee Rescue surpassed every single expectation, tenfold.

The Refugee Rescue team is, to put it simply, incredible. Both the sea crew and the land crew do everything in their power to provide rescue for those crossing the narrowest part of the Aegean Sea separating Turkey and Greece. An only 5-mile-wide strip of water acts as one of many hurdles these people cross in their journey fleeing violence, war and persecution. Working in the transit camp, called Stage 2, opened my eyes to the dire need of these people. It brings you back down to Earth. Buying a new sweater, getting the newest iPhone, needing a $5 Starbucks latte – it’s all inconsequential. Who am I to have such inane desires when there are people in this world who need food, water and shelter. This will always be in the back of mind from now on: food, water, shelter.

             Of all of the tasks Refugee Rescue volunteers complete, from spotting to distributing clothes at Stage 2 to helping with Lighthouse Relief’s ECO beach clean-up initiative, working up at Stage 2 is by far my favourite. There truly is something to be said for face-to-face contact with the people you are helping, although every single shift the volunteers have is immensely important to the success of our operations. 

My most vivid memory of Stage 2 starts with our busiest night of the summer. A boat had arrived in the morning with 53 people aboard. The transport to Stage 2 and the clothes distribution went smoothly, when all of a sudden, we were notified that another 48 people are being transferred to us from the East and would be arriving within the hour. With 101 people in Stage 2, the camp was at capacity. On top of that, the majority of the arrivals were children. A fellow volunteer and I were tasked with keeping the kids busy. We set up an art station, complete with coloured pencils, paper, and colouring books. I was worried though, we had a lot of young boys around the age of 11-13 who were in a desperate search for a football – I didn’t know how interested they would be in colouring. I was pleasantly surprised, however, when the group of rambunctious boys came running over and sat right down next to me. I started to draw a peaceful scene of a beach sunset. I noticed that the ringleader of the crew, a small but charismatic boy who loved high-fives, was copying my every move on his own paper. We continued in this way, joking and laughing the entire time. He drew the moon, pointed to the bright circle in the sky above us, and taught me the Farsi word for our nightly celestial being. He then asked for my name. I told him, “Zach.” He tried to spell it, coming up with “Zeek.” I wrote my name down next to his interpretation, and with glee he rushed to write his down next to mine, “Halit.” I stuck out my hand, offering a handshake, and said “It’s very nice to meet you, Halit.” He grabbed my hand, and voraciously shook it up and down for a good 5 seconds, grinning the whole time. When it was time to pack away the art supplies and get settled in for the night, Halit collected all his drawings and ran over to me. “For you!” he said smiling at me. Touched by the generous offer, I grabbed my beach sunset off the table, thanked him profusely for the gift and insisted he take mine with him. I still have Halit’s drawings with me, protected in a folder in my suitcase to ensure they safety on my trip back home. 

It’s astounding what basic human kindness can do. I will never forget Halit, his award-winning smile, and his ability to command a group of kids at a towering height barely hitting my waist. This experience has changed my life in many ways, most importantly it has sparked a fire within me to continue this work. I had to watch while Halit, his family, and the people he crossed the sea with were bused in the morning from Stage 2 to Moria. The permanent settlement of Moria is unimaginably overcrowded, filled with violence, and plagued by public health crises. And I had to watch while Halit was sent there. I cannot sit in my own satisfaction of making a child smile, I need to continue to put my time, effort, and resources into work like this – work that will hopefully address the horrors of places like Moria with public health solutions and policy to ensure freedom of movement for all those forced from their homes. 

I’ll end with my mother’s number one rule in our house growing up, “Being nice matters.” After my time in Lesbos with the remarkable Refugee Rescue team, I’ll alter it slightly: giving a damn matters.

"Challenging, eye opening and fulfilling" - Volunteer Nawwar reflects on his time with Refugee Rescue


When we look at global issues such as immigration it’s extremely easy to lose spirit and find ourselves in a helpless, powerless state. We have no idea on how to deal with these issues or where exactly to begin. Part of that problem is that we’re taught to analyse matters through our perspective as individuals. Now I won’t claim to have the all the answers that would resolve these problems, but the way I think we should tackle them is by simply trying. Our desire [should be] to do something no matter how miniature the effect that it might have. Any action we take counts and when our efforts collide they may begin to make a difference.

I had what can only be described as a pleasure of working with remarkable people on the north shore of Lesvos, the shoreline with the most arrivals out of all the Greek Islands. These beautiful souls are lending a hand to those in need, going all out and helping the best way they can. Together doing the job no one else would and no one person alone could. Caring for people in distress and owning it! 

Challenging, eye opening and fulfilling are words that can best describe my time there.

SAR operations are crucial measures that increase the likelihood of people making it to shore safely. 3 years ago, I arrived on the Greek island of Kos after having crossed the Aegean on a dingy with my two siblings and 49 other people. We were lucky enough to encounter a gentleman of a fisherman, who tied our boat to his and guided us to a safe location to land. I find it pleasing and reassuring knowing that people crossing to the North shore of Lesvos have NGOs like Refugee Rescue and Lighthouse Relief to assist and aid them the same way that fisherman was there for us.

“Refugees coming to Greece: Is that still happening?"

It is a question many of us hear when talking to friends, family, or even the media.

The answer in short: absolutely.

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The last few weeks on Lesvos have been extraordinarily busy for our team: both on land and at sea.

So far in 2018, the number of arrivals is up 200 percent in comparison to the same period last year. In the first few weeks of May alone, our team have assisted a total of 514 people. We have also experienced a resurgence in boats crossing during daylight hours.

And while we have been busy in the transit camp distributing dry clothes and tea to new arrivals, our nimble rescue boat Mo Chara remains central to operations on the North Shore, with the crew launching on multiple occasions to assist people crossing this stretch of the Aegean.

From rock rescues to retrieving people from a smuggler drop, from guiding dinghies through treacherous rocks, to transferring people into Skala port, the crew has been working tirelessly to ensure safe passage. We have even had our team swimming to bring those stranded on otherwise inaccessible areas of the coast to safety.

When seven more lives were lost in the Aegean on the night of Monday 18th, however, we were served with a stark reminder that people are still dying as a result of Europe’s border regime.

The tragedy occurred when a fibreglass boat that had been attempting to cross the Greco-Turkish border sank. 13 survivors were pulled from the water, but two children were among the dead. The vessel was bound for the North Shore of Lesvos.

Although the incident occurred well outside Mo Chara’s jurisdiction, it comes just over a year since a dinghy capsized just off the coast of the island as it attempted to make a similar crossing. On April 24th, the anniversary of the shipwreck, Refugee Rescue came together with local NGOs and community members to commemorate the 22 men, women and children who lost their lives.


A few of our team in Skala also marked the occasion with a small ceremony at sea. They were joined by both the two women who were rescued and Joelle’s daughter, Victoria, who survived in her mother’s womb. She is now 11 months old.

The nature of the situation we face here is unpredictable. Sometimes the number of crossings increase and sometimes we do not meet anyone crossing for weeks. Sometimes we there is so much work to do, we do not sleep for nights on end. And sometimes, when the weather is too rough to launch or new controls are imposed upon us by authorities, we can only wait. These periods of relative calm push Lesvos from hearts and minds, but we remain.

Every year we renew the promise to remember those who have died.

Please consider donating to keep our operations afloat, so we can continue working to ensure safe passage until the deaths at Europe’s borders stop:




Become a Refugee Rescue supporter

Our mission has seen big support from friends, family and so many who heard about what we are doing. The longer we operate and the more we become involved, we realize however that one time donations and help from bigger donors can only go so far, thus we ask you to join our large group of monthly supporters!

As a monthly supporter you help to sustain our operations on the long run. People are still arriving every day and they will keep coming as long as the EU-Turkey Deal and other agreements threaten safe passage. Men, women and children risk their lives to reach safety here and we want to help them at sea and at land. Help us to help by joining us as a Refugee Rescue supporter!

Shared stories vol 5: the worry engrained in their faces

"The UNHCR temporary camp again: Cups, shoes, ball games, clothes, power, and internet access. I meet E. and Z."

Oct 8: Boats are arriving again, but not near Skala. With little happening on the water nearby for the moment, Gill and I volunteer with the Refugee Rescue land crew at the "Stage 2" UNHRC temporary camp after our early morning SAR patrol. To make sure that Mo Chara remains SAR ready, we take turns going up to Stage 2. After my emotionally overwhelming experience the first time around, I am unsure what to expect.

One immediate difference: Whereas my first stint at Stage 2 was to prepare the camp for new arrivals and to help them get settled, the current group has been there for a couple of days already, waiting to be transported to Moria the next day. After two days, people are restless. My job today is to help the refugees if they need something and to provide some company.

When I get there, there are a couple of arguments going on between the refugees and volunteer staff. One is around the disposable styrofoam cups that are being handed out. If there are 40 refugees, 40 cups are provided, and people are expected to keep them for later. Many of the cups first handed out ended up in the waste bin and some get cracked or taken apart by children and pieces of them are littering the camp. When people ask for more cups, they are refused. This is the day where I learn that a simple disposable styrofoam cup is a valuable commodity in a refugee camp and needs to be safeguarded or you won't be able to get a drink later.

There's another to and fro that I get drawn into. The shoes handed out to a teenage boy are far too large and he's hobbling around barefoot on the coarse crushed gravel rather than wearing them. After talking to the volunteers I find out that we don't have any more donated shoes in the right size. With the help of other refugees and more impromptu gesturing, we manage to explain that we'd like to help, but there is not much we can do. At best, Moria might have some shoes that will fit.

As I start wandering around, I see a little girl barreling across the camp in shoes that aren't tied up, so I flag her down and tie her shoelaces. She barely holds still long enough for me to tie her shoes before she takes off again. Her lively spirit makes me smile and reminds me of my own children when they were younger. There's so much activity here that seems familiar, even if the setting of a UN refugee camp continues to feel strangely abstract.

There are many children in this group and Emma--one of the other volunteers--and I start passing a ball around with some of them. Soon, other children join in and eventually the older boy whose shoes didn't fit becomes part of the game, having borrowed his grandmother's slippers. He takes charge and changes the game to piggie-in-the-middle, where some children stand between the other players and have to catch the ball as it gets passed over them. If they do catch it, the players change spots and repeat the game.

This change turns the game into something much more organized and it helps us build a quick rapport with the children. We all laugh as we fumble the ball from time to time, but the children are clearly enjoying themselves. The same boy starts calling out some English words he's learned to direct us and he teaches us the Arabic word for "high" when we pass the ball. At some point, the game turns a bit rough as he is trying to crank up the pace--he clearly needs more exercise than the confines of the small camp can provide--and the younger children start to drop out. Emma and I step back as well, but the game continues for some time among the older children. Later on, we see three men in their twenties playing piggie-in-the-middle. Clearly, playing ball is one welcome way to shake off feelings of confinement and restlessness.

After finding some disposable diapers for the parents of a baby, I sit down on a bench near the large tent and get to witness an upset younger boy who had been playing with us earlier. He's teething and his two front baby teeth have already fallen out, again reminding me of my own children when they were younger. One of the girls took the ball he was playing with and ran off with it. He's clearly upset and his grandmother and father are trying to reason with him. Immersed unexpectedly in a family scene, I have the father on one side, the boy on the other, and his grandmother in front of me. I try to reassure the upset boy, but lack the words. Meanwhile, the girl with the ball is nowhere to be found, smartly hiding out of sight.

The father is named E. He is maybe ten years younger than I am and in his mid-thirties. I learn that the family is Kurdish. He's a friendly soul and goes on to show me pictures of volunteers he's met, from the time he came off a refugee boat to the UNHCR temporary camp he is in now. I recognize several of them and we go through the names to confirm them. He points out one of the volunteers as "Sam," but I call him "Samuel," so we figure out the difference between full first names and short forms with hand gestures and some basic words we share. We talk about where we are from and about family names. He seems genuinely interested and already knows one other volunteer from Canada, but only as "Canada." I don't recognize the volunteer from the picture, so his true name remains a mystery.

E. asks me about the cost of Greek SIM cards, as he hopes to buy one. There's no internet access at the camp and there's not even power unless a generator is run. He thinks that the earliest he can buy a SIM is near Moria. I realize that maybe there is something useful I can do here and fire up a mobile WiFi hotspot on my phone for him. E. is clearly very grateful for this and he uses the WiFi hotspot to quickly contact a number of different people and share news with them. It's like a window to the world has been opened up briefly and others gather around E. to catch glimpses of what is going on and to discuss what they hear.

E. has a brother or brother-in-law named Z. who is injured. Z. is limping badly with one leg and his hand on the same side is bandaged up. I try to ask him if he is OK or needs help, but he's clearly in good spirits and whatever injury he sustained hasn't dampened his mood. He's smiling and chatting with people everywhere in the camp. E. asks to take a selfie with the three of us. I ask to take one, too, and when I look at it later, I can see the worry ingrained on their faces along with their smiles. (I'm told that the policy is not to take pictures that show faces at UN camps.)

A fall chill is in the air tonight with a stiff breeze and some people are cold, but we don't really have additional clothes that can be handed out. After sitting outside for a while, I am getting cold, too, and walk around the camp for a bit. It's near dusk and I capture the last rays of the sun through the mesh fence from the camp. These fellow human beings have witnessed sunset through a mesh fence at least twice already, and will likely witness many more the same way. I find the experience to be lacking.

At one point, a mother asks me to fill up a water bottle for her young child. There are policemen guarding one side of the camp where the exit is, right near the tank of potable water. It's clear that she does not want to come close to them, so she asks for help. I walk over, fill the bottle and return it to her, wondering about what kinds of experiences she's had in her life. (Despite their presence and despite refugees generally avoiding them, the behaviour of the policemen guarding this camp is beyond reproach and one of them shows me how to work the double tap setup on the water tank.) As the evening progresses, others ask for water, too. It's clearly a scarce thing, along with disposable cups, shoes that fit, warm clothes, electrical power, and internet access.

With daylight fading, I fire up the generator as instructed by one of the coordinators earlier. The moment power comes on, there is a run on a small number of electrical power strips inside the main tent as people rush to charge their phones. This, too, is apparently part of their daily existence now.

At the end of my shift, Gill arrives with a hot coffee in hand that Goji's had forgotten to bring to her in time. She is concerned about drinking it in front of the camp, so we agree to give it to someone. As I say goodbye to E. and Z., I discreetly pass the coffee to Z., wave to the older boy who had been part of our game earlier, nod to the policemen at the other end of the camp as I pass by them, and walk out of the Stage 2 camp for the second time in two days.

The feeling I have is one of passing from one world into another. I think about how internet access must be fading quickly for E. as I reenter Skala and about how I might never see any of the people I met tonight again.

 photo credit: Nikolaj Richers

photo credit: Nikolaj Richers

Turner Prize nominee Mark Ticthner makes special edition silkscreen for Refugee Rescue


Refugee Rescue is again supported by artists (Jake Chapman bought our boat Mo Chara). We are very grateful to Mark Ticthner who has made a special edition to support refugees made in collaboration with refugees and asylum seekers. 

The collectible 3-colour hand-printed silkscreen limited edition of 30 ‘Listen to me I am human I am scared’ will be available for £130 on kingandmcgaw.com

“Christmas, is a time where people should think more about those that need our help. It is important people are still aware of the struggles of refugees and how the NGO Refugee Rescue tries to alleviate some of the suffering on their long torturous journey,” says Jude Bennett, Co-Founder and CEO of Refugee Rescue.

Since Refugee Rescue started in 2016, they have helped more than 6000 people by assisting them either at sea or land. This forgotten crisis is far from being over, this poster is a powerful statement in support of the cause and buying it directly helps those in need.

Danish newspaper the murmur in conversation with Jude Benett

In the last ever issue of the English language newspaper the murmur, Jude Bennett is in conversation with editor in chief Peter Stanners about Refugee Rescue. Since 2017 Refugee Rescue has its headquarters (or shall we rather say small office) at the Verdenskuturcentret (World's culture center) in Nørrebro, Copenhagen. As the CEO of Refugee Rescue Jude moved herself and the physical locations of our office to Copenhagen to be closer to her now husband Jeppe, who she met on Lesvos in 2016.

Read the whole story about current challenges of Refugee Rescue and perspectives and what has often been deemed the "refugee crisis". We think (in Jude words) "They will keep coming and they are still coming". Thus any sort of crisis is not caused by a system that can not cope, but rather one that needs to be willing to engage. We know what is happening, we know it will not stop soon, so it is time now to act and help with what you can to make humane treatment of fellow humans possible.

Read the whole article here

Shared stories vol. 3: an emotional low and funding troubles (Nikolaj)

Nikolaj was a volunteer with us in October 2017, these stories are adapted from his blog posts.

"Highs and lows: Engine service, a brief respite in the sun, Mo Chara gets hurt, and we find an empty refugee boat adrift."

Oct 6: We hit an emotional low, as one of the new engines on Mo Chara has been acting up over the past several patrols and, after some phone calls, decide to move up our scheduled engine service to get the engines looked at. The whole crew and our team coordinator are worried: We're an NGO, we're funded by donations, and getting these new engines was a big deal. The fact that one of them is acting up occasionally after less than 100 hours does not bode well. A rescue boat without working engines is of little use to anyone.

(Mo Chara is an ex-RNLI Atlantic 75 that is as old as some of the crew. The Atlantic-class boats are wonderful, well-built boats with a great history that traces back to UWC Atlantic College in Wales.)

The engine service means that we have to stand down for a day so that we can skipper the boat down to Thermi. It is warm and we wear only shorts and t-shirts along with our helmets and life jackets. There is quite a bit of wave action and wind when we depart, and the journey south along the rugged coast takes longer than hoped. Keeping the old Atlantic 75 at speed without crashing into the waves is a constant dance with the throttles and the wheel. As we go up a wave, I throttle back to prevent launching the boat into the air, followed by an application of power to the over-trimmed engines that keeps us from crashing into the following trough. Repeat over and over again, for two hours.

At some point, we have yet another engine alarm go off, but it turns out to be a service indicator that flashes the oil warning light. 

A high: After we put the boat on the trailer and move all our gear into a poor unsuspecting old Suzuki, we get to spend part of the afternoon eating at a wonderful Greek restaurant nearby, just hanging out and getting to know each other better, and feeding what's increasingly looking like a crew-wide addiction to Greek yoghurt with honey. We eat like royalty under the sun and are in a great mood. The bill comes to 10 Euros per person including tip.

Another high: The engines on Mo Chara are fine, including the engine that was causing us grief. It looks like we can improve how we prep the engines for starting and how we refuel, which might make all the difference in the world. With no water-fuel separator on the boat, there's likely some water in the starboard fuel tank causing issues for the engine on the same side. (We do use a funnel with a water trap to refuel, but had been pouring the leftovers back into the fuel cans. The new SOP will be to collect the leftovers for disposal after checking them for water.)

A low: There is damage to the boat when we get it back, and to expensive bits at that. The A-frame extension with the flashing blue and forward white lights is pushed into the radar dome and cracked at the base, putting a dent into the plastic dome lid. We push the extension away from the radar and seal up the radar dome as best as we can, but seeing Mo Chara hurt is a horrible feeling. The boat is in our care and even though none of us knows how the damage happened, we feel deeply responsible. (Later on, we piece together the story from various pictures we took. The damage happened at the shop where the engines were serviced. The owner was very apologetic and worked with us to fix the damage the next day.)

Another low, followed by relief: On the way back, someone spots something unusual a way out from Thermi towards the Turkish border. When we approach to investigate, we find a partially submerged refugee boat with deflated tubes. The boat has not been in the water long and the discovery at first sends a chill down our spines: We are worried that there might be people in the water nearby. After a look around without seeing anything, we come alongside and stretch out the mangled carcass of the inflatable boat. Fortunately, there is no debris and there are no people in the water anywhere near the boat. We determine that we are looking at a refugee boat that had been beached and that had its tubes slashed to make sure it doesn't get reused. At some point, the boat must have re-floated and drifted out to sea with some air still in the tubes. We relay a latitude and longitude of the boat's location to HRC and then resume our course home. Our relief is palpable.

A high: Only a few minutes later, we see dolphins near our boat and get to witness a beautiful sunlight and sunset on the way home. We arrive back in Skala Sikamineas at dusk, tie up the boat, and refuel. Afterwards, we temporarily fix the mangled light extension that had broken off completely on the way home with some bungee cords and zip ties under the glare of our head torches. Ugly doesn't begin to describe the result, but it works and our coordinator Daisy clears the boat to go out on SAR patrol at 5:30 AM the next morning. We've already lost one day, and not losing another due to this latest problem is a good feeling.

It's the same story over and over again here: We are in an idyllic slice of heaven, at the mercy of so many things we have no control over. Highs and lows often happen within minutes of each other.

 photo credit: Nikolaj Richers

photo credit: Nikolaj Richers

Shared stories vol. 2: a simple gesture (Nikolaj)

Nikolaj thought about volunteering in December 2015 and joined us in October 2017. Thank you for sharing, Nikolaj.

"A night at a UNHRC temporary refugee camp. A refugee touches my soul."

Oct 5: We rotate boat crew and I'm not on tonight, so I join the land crew to be on call for the night. The land crew helps refugees get settled in the "Stage 2" camp, a temporary UNHCR camp in Skala Sikamineas before people get sent to the much bigger Moria camp here on Lesvos.

We get called out shortly after 9 PM to help set up the camp for the people arriving on the next boat picked up by Frontex. I help get blankets and sleeping bags ready whilst others are putting down sleeping mats and making hot food and drinks. The mats are thin, unpadded carpets bearing the UN crest and the sleeping bags are flimsy. The blankets are much better and should provide some warmth in the large, unheated tent that is at the centre of the camp. Next to the camp are a number of plastic temporary building housing supplies, washrooms, and more. There is a tall metal mesh fence all around the camp, and one of the flood lights is flickering off and on, adding a slightly surreal atmosphere.

As refugees come in, I hand them a blanket and sleeping bag each. There are 30 of them, including a number of families with kids. People are young, they are old, and they come from places like Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan or further afield. They all look like they could be your neighbours back home in Canada ... except they are refugees. Many have wet pants, some are barefoot or are wearing only socks and are hobbling over the crushed gravel in the camp. Some are clearly distraught and I try to welcome them with a smile as I hand them their things. We've been asked to be cheerful and smile, but it's an unnecessary request: it's hard not to feel a deep sense of empathy for other human beings so clearly in distress. Parents ask their children to say "thank you" and at some point a little boy just walks from person to person and repeats "thank you" over and over again.

Once we have everyone in the main tent where they will sleep for the night, we pick out those who need dry clothes the most, such as the little boy who is clearly hypothermic when I hand him his blanket and sleeping bag. I point him out to another volunteer who approaches his parents to take care of him first.

After blanket and sleeping bag duty, I end up helping a family and a couple find dry shoes and pants. They know only a few words of English and I know no Arabic or other languages they speak, so we make it work by gesturing with hand signals. It's incredible how quickly you can build a rapport with someone even if you don't share a language and all you need to talk about is shoes and pants. We use our fingers to indicate sizes and once I know what fits them, I walk over to the clothing store stocked with donated clothes, ask for what they need, and then take it back to them.

I can tell people are relaxing as we are helping them get more comfortable. The dry shoes and pants after their dangerous boat ride are clearly a relief. At some point, another volunteer and I lug a big barrel of hot, sugared tea from the kitchen to the tent. Later, some hot food in styrofoam cups is also handed out. If I had apprehensions about working here tonight, they vanish as I spend more time with people. Everyone is willing to help, including the refugees who often translate for each other. There is even a camp cat called "Boo" cozying up to people who are taking turns to hold her.

The pants for one of the women I am helping don't fit, so I try to figure out with her what she needs. She gestures something bigger and I try to mimic her gesture to show I understand. At first, I gesture something bigger somewhat carelessly and then worry that I am indicating to her that I think she is fat. I quickly change my tune and gesture something just a tiny bit bigger with my fingers when my blasted brain finally kicks in. She catches on and we both share a smile.

We are wrapping things up outside for these latest arrivals when the father of the family I had helped earlier comes back out and taps me on the shoulder. I first think he needs a bit more help and I turn towards him, but he only looks at me, takes my arm and places a handful of pistachios into my hand. We share a moment together looking at each other. Lost for words, I thank him somehow. Then he's gone.

It's a simple gesture, but it completely caught me off guard. I still don't fully comprehend what happened in that moment. All I know is that his gesture touched me profoundly. I lack the words. For someone to share what little they have felt undeserved. In me, gratitude and shame, in equal measure. Shame for what I have and for going home to a comfortable bed whilst he ended up sleeping on a thin mat with his family in an unheated tent, on his way to the overcrowded Moria camp in the morning. There was nothing remarkable in what I did that another human being wouldn't have done.

Afterwards, I walk around Skala harbour with my soul on fire, thinking about what just happened. I know I will remember this night.

Meanwhile, there's another black boat exactly like the one we beached before, tied up in the same spot in the harbour. No two days here are alike, except the crisis continues.

Press release: Turkish Coast Guard attacks refugee boat in Greek waters

On the morning of November 10th,  the Turkish Coast Guard harassed and allegedly fired shots and injured refugees, while being in Greek waters. When the Hellenic Coast Guard arrived on the scene, 17 refugees jumped out of the dinghy and swam towards the Hellenic Coast Guard. The Turkish Coast Guards loaded the remaining people who could not swim, mainly women and children, on their boat and returned them to Turkey. Mochara assisted the Hellenic Coast Guard in transferring refugees.

At 3.47am, Refugee Rescue boat ‘Mo Chara’ received a request by the Hellenic coastguard to assist in transitioning people to the port of Skala Sykamineas. Upon arrival, Mochara was informed that 17 people had been taken on board from the water and were likely hypothermic. Hellenic coastguard given out emergency blankets, but everybody was distressed and in shock.

Once people made safely to Skala port, they were met by on-shore landing teams, including Lighthouse Relief and Refugee Rescue. Two unaccompanied minors and five people requesting medical attention were identified amongst the arrivals.

Several people told that the original vessel had had up to 37 people on board. Allegedly the Turkish Coast Guard was shooting in the air and threatening the dinghy by shooting into the water. They also allegedly rammed the boat. The Hellenic Coast Guard intervened at that point as the Turkish Coat Guard and the refugee boat were in Greek waters.

According to reports by the arrivals, the Hellenic Coast Guard requested the Turkish authorities to stop firing and assured the people on the boat that they were now in Greek waters. At that point, 17 people jumped from their dinghy into the water and swam to the Hellenic coast guard vessel for safety. According to accounts told to our lifeguard, Richie Heard the Turkish Coast Guard tried to apprehend refugees by using some sort of stick to reach them. In consequence one man suffered a head wound and was later treated at the temporary camp stage 2 in Skala.

Tragically all those who were not able to swim to the Hellenic Coast Guard were loaded onto the Turkish Guard vessel and were brought back to Turkey. Those that made the crossing recount that whole families were separated this way.

These reports demonstrate several clear violations of international maritime law by the Turkish coast guard. Namely, Article 98 (1) of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) calls for every state to assist any person in distress at sea, and the Guidelines on the Treatment of Persons Rescued at Sea (2004) calls for governments to provide safety to people recovered in their search and rescue territory (Resolution MSC.167 (78), para. 2.5).

This report adds to a long list of human rights violations and so-called push backs by the Turkish Coast Guard. We urge the UN Refugee Agency to fully investigate this incident and other similar incidents where people were taken back to Turkey even though they had reached Greek waters.

As shown the EU-Turkey Deal still threatens lives every day. Now it the time to put pressure on authorities that undermine their international obligations and needlessly put lives at risk. This abdication of responsibility by the EU and its member states has no basis in international law.

Shared stories vol. I: What am I doing here? (Nikolaj)

Nikolaj first thought about volunteering in December 2015. Now in September 2017 he stayed with us for a couple of weeks to support our boat crew. Thank you, Nikolaj for allowing us to share your experiences.

Nikolaj's diary

September 2017: I'm sitting in our small Nanaimo airport waiting for the first of several flights that will finally take me to Lesbos myself. I've been up for several hours, but it's still dark out. I am deploying with Refugee Rescue for two weeks. It's been two years since the pictures of Alan Kurdi went around the world, and things in many ways are just as dire on these islands as they were before:

"In Lesbos, the island on the frontline of the human drama in 2015, the main camp at Moria is currently at twice its holding capacity with 4,825 people registered. ... The latest surge is placing growing strain on Greece’s eastern Aegean islands where reception centres in Lesbos, Chios, Kos, Leros and Samos are vastly overstretched." (Read the whole article here: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/sep/29/surge-in-migration-to-greece-fuels-misery-in-refugee-camps

To which the corollary is: What are we doing here? Do these human beings not deserve dignity and our help, rather than being stockpiled in ill-equipped camps, their lives in limbo? Why do we still need to rely on NGOs to help save lives at sea? It's not nearly enough. We need more, much more. And we're undoubtedly on the wrong side of history.

"The NATO warship looking for refugees and the chapel offering refuge."

I've been with Refugee Rescue on Lesvos exactly a week now and whoever said that it would be like nothing you've ever experienced was right.

Oct 1: Got my vessel orientation, SOPs, and gear sorted today. First SAR patrol tomorrow at 6 AM.

Trying to shake off jet lag after arriving from the west coast of Canada, I went for a morning run to the landmark simply known as "The Chapel," about 3.5 km due west from Skala. There's HCG, NATO, and Frontex all patrolling up and down the coast, 24x7.

The Mo Chara crew operates out of Skala Sikamineas on the north shore of Lesvos. Of the 4500+ refugees who arrived in Greece in September 2017, 2300 came to this northern stretch of coast on Lesvos alone. Almost a thousand (out of 2300) were children, many unaccompanied.

In reality, no one ends up at the chapel. Refugees are helped to shore by volunteers like the Refugee Rescue crew or by government vessels and then brought up to the "Stage 2" UNHRC temporary camp with the help of the land crew provided by organizations like Refugee4Refugees and Lighthouse Relief.

"Area familiarization run and first SAR patrol"

Oct 2: First time out on the boat, we went looking for early morning arrivals at 6:00 AM just before dawn.

Refugees tend to arrive either between 10 PM and midnight or early in the morning at the moment, and we look for arrivals that might need help. Many boats land at Korakas lighthouse, which is easily visible, but not very accessible, and refugees can end up stuck on the rocks, exposed to the weather. The past few days have been rough, with high winds and big waves.

We went east from Skala, past the spotters at Korakas lighthouse and towards Palios Harbour, then turned around and went west all the way to the lookout for the spotters next to Efthalou Beach and the hot springs.

From the Mo Chara, there's evidence of refugee arrivals everywhere. The beaches are covered with life jackets, discarded boats, and other debris. Many of the life jackets are fake, sold to desperate people. There is a life jacket graveyard on Lesvos with thousands upon thousands of these, each worn by a human being looking to escape war, abuse, or oppression. On SAR patrols, you quickly learn to ignore those that clearly have been there for a while.

I've been here all of 24 hours and I already know that I will be back. The group of volunteers that has sprung up here and the sense of community draws you in like you've finally arrived and found your tribe.

"A long run, an encounter with a harbinger of many deaths to come, and a first encounter with refugees at night. Then we beach a boat."

Oct 3: I've been here two days and feel like I haven't pulled my weight, yet, but that feeling is about to change.

Trying to shake off the tail end of jet lag, I run west to the RRS lookout near Molyvos in the morning, about 17k on a dirt road from Skala and back. Lesvos is achingly beautiful with olive trees everywhere and scenic views of the Turkish coast across the strait. I run past the cats and dogs in town, past the end of the paved road and then on a dirt road that runs all the way to Molyvos. Near the far end of my run, I explore a rusty shipwreck we saw the day before and the lookout. Just as the day before, you find evidence of refugee arrivals everywhere, with discarded life jackets dotting the landscape.

The rusty ship wreck was a harbinger of many deaths to come. This vessel shipwrecked early on in the refugee crisis, and a number of people drowned. It was these early deaths that prompted groups like Refugee Rescue to form and bring in volunteer SAR crew. Atlantic Pacific brought a boat down at the same time. Without them, there would often be no help for people in desperate circumstances who get dumped on a shore cold and wet, with nothing more than they can carry.

RR lookout is one of two lookouts used to spot incoming boats with refugees. Refugee Rescue needs more spotters that work in shifts during peak hours during the day and night to find boats and relay their position. If you want to help, get in touch with Refugee Rescue. (Seriously, want to become a spotter? We need more of you.)

At night, a Frontex boat comes into Skala as we are about to leave on a night SAR patrol, with 30-40 refugees on board and a black dinghy in tow (one of three that landed yesterday). We delay our departure and stand by to help. I end up filming the process of getting the new arrivals off the boat for Refugee Rescue with a helmet-mounted GoPro some 12 feet away from the Frontex boat. Surprisingly civilized, but slightly surreal. Suddenly, this is no longer something you read about in the paper. Men are separated out and sit near the bow. Women and children sit on the back deck. There are armed maritime policemen guarding them as the landing of the refugees unfolds.

Skala is a little slice of heaven that turns into a refugee processing centre at the flip of a switch. Volunteers set up a landing station with a lit path towards the buses to take people to the Stage 2 camp, a doctor from IsraAID examines the refugees on the Frontex boat and determines who needs help quickly, and then the refugees disembark down the lit path. It takes a while and there is a lot of waiting initially, but as soon as the last refugee has walked to the bus, the switch gets flipped back and Skala turns back into a sleepy fishing village.

There are little signs of humanity showing through the cracks. An armed policeman with a shaved head on the back deck makes faces to cheer up a child cradled by its mother. A little boy really needs to pee and is taken to the side of the quay by another policeman. The policeman holds his hand as they climb off the boat and walk to make sure he is safe, speaking in a reassuring voice. A refugee with a bad limp takes a wrong turn from the lit path and stumbles towards the bus to take him away. I put my arm under his and walk with him, until another volunteer from the land crew takes over.

Afterwards, we go for our SAR patrol, have an interesting encounter with an unlit border patrol boat stalking us, and at the end of our patrol we take the inflatable boat the refugees arrived in and beach it near the To Kyma hotel for disposal. It was quite the evening and we are all beat after four hours on the boat.

One big difference to our RCM-SAR SOPs: RNLI-trained SAR crew is not afraid to get wet, and they have rescue swimmers. When we beached the boat, we put two people in it, ran it up to speed towards the shore, and then let it run aground. Afterwards, the crew we put into the inflatable boat simply swam back out and we retrieved them safely.

Please think about contributing to our cause to help us to continue our life-saving work on and around Lesvos:


Documentary on Refugee Rescue to air on October 30, 2017

Why would a musician leave Northern Ireland, fundraise to purchase a boat and set up an organisation with friends to rescue people on the Mediterranean Sea? “The crossing”, a documentary that airs on October 30 at 10.40 pm follows the path of Joby Fox and Jude Bennett, the founders of Refugee Rescue. The documentary is directed by Sam and Ben Jones. They followed the work of Refugee Rescue for some time and we are looking forward to the product of their work.

“I recall Sam calling us at the start of the crisis and asking us where we were going to be at a certain time and date and whether they could film us. I remember just saying: I have no idea. How would we know that?”, recounts Joby Fox, founder of Refugee Rescue.

During this time, there were countless calls and questions at all hours. Often these media requests did little but increase the stress of our volunteers on the ground. Sam Jones and his crew were persistent, but also respectful and patient. “We said, as long as you don’t get in the way, you can follow us. My god, they worked for it!” recalls Joby Fox.

While Joby, Jude and the crew at that time will be featured in the documentary, Refugee Rescue truly lives through the spirit, energy, time and resources that all our volunteers and supporters have dedicated to our cause. “I recall one of our earliest volunteers giving out cookies to traumatized people after a landing. It is these small gestures of kindness that make a difference”, says Joby Fox.

We thank Sam and Ben Jones and their team for their efforts to pain the full picture of our organization. As Joby says: “To me they will always be part of Refugee Rescue”. We encourage all our supporters and followers to tune in tonight BBC 1 NI, North and watch “The crossing” at 10.40 pm. You can also watch it on October 31st, 2017 on BBC 2 Northern Ireland at 22.00.

You can now also watch the documentary in the bbc library until November 30th. Check it out now: bbc.co.uk/programmes/b09cf9ct

 Joby Fox, founder of Refugee Rescue. 

Joby Fox, founder of Refugee Rescue. 

Shared stories vol. 4: Tired out of our brains (Nikolaj)

"Another SAR patrol, we're tired out of our brains, and the weather turns nasty. Mo Chara gets mostly fixed. Polychronos reminds me to talk about life in Skala."

Oct 7: Early morning SAR patrol, nothing found.

We start at 5:30 AM, well before dawn, and work our way eastwards from Korakas lighthouse towards Palios, then return westwards, past Skala and all the way to the RRS lookout near the rusty wreck described in one of my earlier posts east of Molyvos. (I'll cover what you do on a SAR patrol in more detail during my Oct 10 update.)

After we return from our SAR patrol and refuel Mo Chara, Daisy and I undo our hack job made up of bungee cords and zip ties and disassemble the lights to remove the broken A-frame extension pieces so that they can go into the shop to get welded up today. It's a delicate operation, as we can't really afford to drop any pieces into the harbour. We have to stand on the rear arch with the boat tied up to the quay, carefully undoing bolts and removing cables one by one until we have the two broken extension pieces safely in our hands. Shortly after, Jan and Daisy drive back to the work shop to get the pieces welded back up.

The whole crew is fatigued. Yesterday was a long day followed by today's 5:30 AM SAR patrol. All of us are short on sleep and everyone on Mo Chara's crew catches forty winks at different times during the day. It helps, but only some. We've been switched on for so long, it's hard to get a proper rest. People in Skala have mentioned volunteer burnout to me, and I think we're getting a taste of it.

Whilst having a belated breakfast at Goji's, Polychronos the dog pees on my left foot to remind me that I haven't really talked about life in Skala much. Time to fix this oversight! (Also, bad Polychronos, bad! It took my fatigued brain a few moments to figure out what the sudden sensation of warmth meant.)

Life in Skala in a nutshell: A community amidst a small Greek fishing village that sprung up spontaneously in response to human tragedy, with people from all over the world descending on Skala to help. There are several volunteer organizations here, such as Refugee Rescue, Lighthouse Relief, and Refugee4Refugees, along with IsraAID, all joining in for a common cause, from all walks of life. Mo Chara's current crew is a good example of this: We're made up of an RNLI member as our team coordinator, an ex-Royal Navy diver and submariner, an ex-Forces member, and a mountain rescue specialist, plus myself from RCM-SAR 27 in Canada. People here connect with an immediacy that is rare: I've met so many new people in the past week and a bit that it feels like I've gotten to know a whole new world. Everyone is friendly, everyone takes an interest in what is going on, and there's a common bond created by the desire to do good. Ages range from university students to retirees, with everything in between. Some people are here for months, others only for a couple of weeks. (There are other lifeboat institutions represented here as well. For example, a Dutch KNRM member helps run the show in the Stage 2 camp.)

Life in Skala often revolves around Goji's, a small café right near the harbour. Goji's is open from early in the morning to late at night and people trickle in and out of there all day long. Meetings are held, food and coffee are consumed, and there's friendly banter and discussions to be had all day long. Most locals are accepting of the influx of volunteers and some are clearly very supportive. Besides English and Greek, you hear many other languages spoken every day. If you ever get to eat at Goji's, I highly recommend the Greek yoghurt with fruits and honey, which has turned into a bit of an addiction for most of the boat crew. The coffee here is excellent.

There are cats that belong to the community in Skala everywhere, plus a few dogs like Polychronos and some geese. Near Volunteer House, there's also a braying donkey.

The community of volunteers has come up with all sorts of ingenious names and programs, like Suspected Fitness and Confirmed Yoga, named after suspected and confirmed refugee boat sightings. One problem with Confirmed Yoga: It's difficult to confirm the time for it, since its name implies it's always confirmed. They are currently working on sorting that out.

The crowning glory of Skala is Dimitri, the Queen of Skala. Every day, this gentle soul prances through Skala in a different outfit, greeting people and adding a certain flair to this place that is unique. Skala would not be complete without her and I am grateful that she was kind enough to let me have my picture taken with her. (She looks great and I look ... tired. Also, I'd just been peed on by a dog. You really can't predict what each day brings here on Lesvos.)

There's evidence of refugee arrivals not just on the local beaches but also in Skala itself. Refugee boats get recycled in all sorts of ways. For example: The cover for a large pile of fishing gear right next to where Mo Chara is moored is the recycled skin from a refugee boat. You can tell from the inflation valves that are still present. This rubber skin was part of a boat that carried somewhere between 30 and 50 people across from Turkey to Lesvos. Elsewhere, I've seen part of a recycled emergency blanket used to cover a drain, weighed down by a metal plate. The aluminum floor boards are also a valuable commodity and used to make all sorts of things. As each boat arrives, it's disassembled bit by bit and reused until very little remains.

That evening, we fix Mo Chara just before dusk, reassembling all the pieces we took off earlier. We're goofy tired, but happy that the boat is back in one piece. We still need to open up the radar dome and make sure it seals properly at some point, but Mo Chara more or less looks the same as before she got damaged at the shop. The completed repair gives us all a much needed boost, and we laugh and crack jokes as we wrap up for the day.

The wind picks up again that evening and then the weather turns downright nasty. During the night, a torrential downpour sweeps over Lesvos and washes all the dust off the streets of Skala into the ocean. No boats arrive during the night, a first in quite some time.

 photo credit: Nikolaj Richers

photo credit: Nikolaj Richers

UPDATE: Surge in arrivals and improved cooperation with authorities for the time being

Refugees are still arriving on Lesvos every day. Lesvos remains the main point of landing for people crossing from Turkey. UNCHR statistics show that while considerably less people arrived in the early months of this year, the opposite is true for the months of May, June and July. During these months 37% more people arrived than during the same period last year, most of them women and children.

We wanted to share this video to remind you and everybody who sees this that cooperation is possible. It is our primary goal to avoid shipwreck and make crossing the Aegean Sea safer and our work remains as important as ever. Cooperation between authorities and NGOs is possible and should be a key component in achieving our goal.

Increasingly we have been helping when people land on rocks and parts of the island that remains inaccessible for the Coast Guard and its boats. We often assist to transfer people from bigger boats straight to the coast to help them reach safe land faster.

Over half of the people arriving are women and children. We often witness boats that have more children than adults on board. On August 18th, such a boat landed in Korakas, with 7 men, 9 women and 17 children on board.

Families often try several times to cross the Aegean Sea as they stopped by Turkish authorities. The potential risk of being stopped by Turkish authorities contributes to the fact that crossing the Mediterranean remains dangerous. In order to avoid being stopped by Turkish authorities, people take high risks when crossing. The EU-Turkey Deal is still risking lives of innocent people fleeing war and violence every day.

We also observe that children are often dehydrated leading to vomiting upon arrival. Many adults that arrive also suffer from pre-existing chronic conditions. Conditions like diabetes or high blood pressure do not only form a risk in themselves, but they furthermore lead to anxieties that often result in panic.

First medical aid and professional search and rescue is more important than ever! We commit to providing those in need with help and work hard to make the Aegean Sea safer.

Here a little glimpse of what this cooperation looks like:

PRESS RELEASE: A dangerous turn in rhetoric against NGOs may cost lives

As the rhetoric within Europe takes a turn towards criminalizing NGOs, rescue teams on the ground, in Lesvos and elsewhere, are facing harsher interference that puts a strain on their life-saving operations. Refugee Rescue has been operating on Lesvos since 2015, always cooperating with other NGOs, rescue organisations, and the Hellenic Coast Guard.

During the past months, the Hellenic Coast Guard and local authorities have made operations increasingly difficult for Refugee Rescue and their SAR boat, “Mo Chara”. This has now reached a point where lives may be at risk.

The Hellenic Coast Guard has threatened fines should Refugee Rescue fail to give 24 hours notice before launching a rescue mission. A 24H report requirement is unworkable, since a refugee boat may appear at any given moment. This has prevented Refugee Rescue performing immediate rescues and has greatly constricted their operation.

Crew on land have been met with threats and demands to leave their posts. These posts are vital for spotting any incoming boats. In one incident, Refugee Rescue volunteers were threatened with a firearm. Previous threats were less brutal, although all threats are a challenge to diplomacy on the island.

After a long period of diplomatic difficulties with the Hellenic Coast Guard, the land crew has now been forced to leave their positions. This is despite compliance and successful collaboration in the past.

The safety of the Refugee Rescue crew has been compromised to such an extent that rescue missions are in danger. These arbitrary conditions, imposed by national and EU-authorities, ultimately put the lives of refugees at risk.

Refugee Rescue is present in Lesvos because refugees keep coming in. The crossing in unsafe and unseaworthy, overloaded vessels can be swamped with water, gasoline, or both. The people who arrive on these boats are heavily traumatized, physically injured, and are often in shock when they reach the shore.

Refugee Rescue is a professional SAR team with the ability to provide medical aid. There is no doubt that NGOs are needed, as, to date, they have saved thousands of lives. Governmental rescue-institutions and most of the larger help-organisations have left Lesvos, which leaves refugees under perilous and life-threatening circumstances.

Refugee Rescue is here to help and ready to cooperate. By remaining in Lesvos, we help ensure compliance with international Search And Rescue standards, as well as international human rights.

For more information, please contact info@refugeerescue.co.uk.