Resort haven for migrants
A Greek holiday resort famed for its beaches, seafood and nightlife has become the front line of Europe’s asylum crisis as thousands of refugees fleeing the chaos in the Middle East wash up on its shores.
The island of Kos, with a native population of 35,000, lies barely 5km from the Turkish coast. Each night dozens, sometimes hundreds, of refugees cross the narrow stretch of water in rubber dinghies or simple beach inflatables. Many are caught and turned back, but many more make it to Greece.
‘‘We had some refugees come here last year – but nothing like what we are seeing now,’’ said Kerry Horafiou, a British expat who has lived on the island for 12 years. ‘‘There are about 1500 refugees on Kos at this moment. They stay for 20 days to get their papers and then they move on.’’
Turkey’s peoplesmugglers charge 2000 (NZ$3100) a head for the journey to the Greek islands. Each flimsy boat is packed with up to 30 people, and they know many will sink – but there is no shortage of new customers.
Last year the nearby island of Tilos was the main landing point; this year it is the turn of Kos. As quickly as the Turkish and Greek authorities close off one trafficking route, another opens up.
There are hundreds of Greek islands scattered within striking distance of the Turkish coast, each a potential gateway to Europe’s promised land.
There are now two faces of Kos: one in which tourists from the rich Western World spend freely in the tavernas and trinket shops, and one from which desperate migrants start their journeys to those tourists’ home countries.
These two worlds are like ships passing in the night: the refugees arrive early in the morning and melt away before sunrise, at which point the holidaymakers come out for their breakfast by the waterside.
The migrants gravitate to a forgotten and decaying end of town. A 15-minute walk from the bustling port is the old Captain Elias hotel, closed down and repossessed by a bank when Greece’s economic downturn hit, and now a makeshift refugee camp for 350 people.
From Afghanistan, Iraq, Sudan and Syria, the residents often have little in common other than the torment of the places from which they fled, and their perilous odyssey.
The Greek Government, bound by European laws, is obliged to accept and register the refugees, but can do little more. There is no welfare, and no government handouts – the migrants must rely on the goodwill of local residents.
Tucked away from the view of all but a few bemused tourists on bike rides, the Captain Elias hotel has sheltered thousands of refugees in the past two months. They lie under the shade of scorched date palms, and drink tea around the empty swimming pool. Women scrub clothes under a single outdoor tap and hang them up on the wire fence. There is little to do here but wait.
Once the migrants get their papers they can travel on to Athens, and from there to the countries where they hope to claim asylum.
Abu Ahmed, a former football coach who fled Raqqa – the Syrian city claimed by Isis as the capital of its ‘‘caliphate’’ – dreams of a new life in Denmark. His wife and three children are still in Syria, and he is making this journey in the hope that he can eventually get them visas. He shares a stripped-bare room with eight others.
It has been a tortuous journey. He sold his car, his last possession of any worth, in Raqqa, but lost everything he had when the boat in which he was making the crossing to Kos capsized.
Now he has been told the journey from Athens to Denmark will cost him 3500. ‘‘But I have to do it, for my family,’’ he said.