I saw Syrian refugees walking on the side of the road in my hometown [Samobor, Croatia]. In all honesty, I was afraid of picking any up in my car. It wasn't because their skin, religion or culture was different than mine but because I never EVER pick up hitch-hikers. Even women, even though I have years of training in classical boxing. I simply do not trust strangers.
But I saw them and my heart hurt. They seemed exhausted. I decided I would find a family and give them a ride to the border.
But I saw them and my heart hurt. They seemed exhausted. I decided I would find a family and give them a ride to the border.
I saw 3 male refugees signaling the car in front of me at a red light to roll down the window perhaps to ask for a ride or for directions, but the driver refused, probably afraid. I didn't want anyone to spread another twisted story about violent refugees so I rolled down my window and called to them, telling them to hop in.
That group of refugees I picked up were 3 boys that looked like they could be around 18 with a cart of bags. My foot was shaking on the clutch and I hoped they wouldn't notice. I could tell by their faces they were kind and respectful as well as young and tired. Too young to fight in a war, as some people in my country claim they ought to be doing. They didn't speak any English so we drove in silence, but it was a very kind silence. I could sense their gratitude in the air.
When we came to the border, I saw a very large group of refugees so I stopped the car to let the boys out. Immediately, I was surrounded by Syrian men thanking me deeply for dropping the boys off. I looked around and saw women and then I saw a small child run across the path and my heart froze. Children shouldn't be refugees. I wished them all good luck and drove into the direction I came from.
When I drove back I made a U-turn to pick up another group of 4-5 strong sturdy men of different ages that were walking that road earlier but I was previously afraid to pick up. Suddenly, I felt more brave. These men immediately piled up into the trunk to which I exclaimed: "No, you can sit in the front!" It moved me that they were so determined not to trouble me that they equated themselves to luggage. The eldest of the crowd sat next to me and spoke to me. He told me that I saved them for they had been walking non-stop for 2 weeks. I could smell their sweat and could see utter exhaustion on their faces. He told me he had a little child at home back in Syria.
There could be many reasons why men are traveling and leaving parts of their families at home but one thing is for certain: war is often worse for men. Men are slaughtered upon sight, while women and children are often spared. There is rape, there is also slaughtering of women and children, but more often than not, it is worse to be a man in a war. In Kosovo this was the situation. Women answered doors, gave money and jewelry for the aggressors to leave, while men hid under beds and in basements. This was necessary for entire families to survive. Also, this road to asylum is difficult and dangerous. It makes sense that a family member would go first, find a place to live and send for the rest of the family.
When I dropped off these men, they thanked me so many times and said that they hope God will bless everything I do. As they exited one of the men who thanked me earlier for dropping off the 3 boys became ecstatic and extremely emotional and thanked me repeatedly. He told me he lost these friends/family members somewhere on the way to the border. They were all so very cheerful and grateful, I cannot even put it in words.
The next group I picked up was very different. There was a woman with a child and a few men. The woman was crying and screaming at one of the men. It seemed she did not want to enter the car at first. This made me realize that these refugees were perhaps also extremely afraid of who was stopping next to them on the road. As she sat next to me holding a smiling toddler, she calmed down and thanked me by sending me kisses when I dropped them off.
I drove to the bus station to see if anyone needed a lift to the border. There were many refugees, mostly women and children with a few men waiting for some kind of transportation or to regroup with other refugees. I came up to a policewoman who was holding a child and asked her who to take to the border. She pointed me to a family just arriving carrying a newborn baby and a toddler. The father immediately asked me how much I was going to charge him. This is how respectful they are. I told him nothing of course and the family of 4 piled in. The baby cried, the toddler was irritable and I could tell both parents were exhausted out of their minds. I told them I didn't know if the border was opened but I'll take them there. They thanked me deeply.
All of the refugees were extremely careful with how they handled my car. They opened and closed doors gently and moved the flat toolbox on the floor of the car so they don't step on it. There was a very strong essence of respect and gratitude in the air around us as we drove in silence to the border.
After I dropped them off, I headed home but then stopped to pick up a large group traveling with a child on foot. They piled into the trunk as well as the passenger seats. In the front sat a woman with a toddler who was quite squeamish. The woman thanked me immediately and I could hear her exclaiming every time we drove down another road. Her skin was entirely shiny from sweat and I could tell she was extremely grateful to catch a ride to the border since she had clearly been walking all day.
It was already dark and refugees were fewer. I hoped they had found a place to spend the night. I drove back to the city and then home. There wasn't a refugee in sight. As I pulled up into my street I looked around at my familiarly peaceful neighborhood. It was as if nothing was happening on the roads to the border.
[Friday September 18th, 2015]
[Friday September 18th, 2015]