Welcome to Ireland’s happy hotel
Jackie Mullen found her calling turning an abandoned low-rise into a home for those fleeing Syria, reports Guy Kelly
Late last year, Jackie Mullen felt something she can only describe as “a bit of a calling”. After a 25-year career managing luxury hotels around the west of Ireland, she didn’t feel any satisfaction from her work, deciding instead she’d seek an opportunity more in line with the volunteer work she enjoyed in her spare time. Then, an unusual job offer arrived: would she like to become general manager of a centre for Syrian refugees?
“I’m not a Holy Mary. I do not lick church altar rails or anything. But I have my faith, and people told me this is what I had been waiting for,” she says. “I knew I had to hang up my suit. The idea of doing something humanitarian appealed. Plus, I had seen the horrific images on the news.”
Things moved quickly. In December, the Irish government – in search of sites for Emergency Reception and Orientation Centres (EROC) to host asylum seekers while they had their claims processed – announced they had chosen Ballaghaderreen in County Roscommon, a small, rural town, to accommodate more than 200 refugees on a two-year contract. The first batch would arrive in three months. And that was that.
Despite having a population of only 2,000, Ballaghaderreen provided an easy solution to the government’s immediate problem. The Abbeyfield Hotel, a sprawling, low-rise building with 35 bedrooms and 29 apartments built at the end of the Celtic Tiger years but left abandoned after the economic crash, had all the facilities that families would need. “The people in the town didn’t have much notice at all, which meant not everyone was happy, but that was mainly due to not being consulted,” Mullen says.
Within weeks, she had taken up part-time residency (she lives an hour away but prefers to stay on-site) and hired a small staff, ready for the first load of 80 asylum seekers – many of whom had come directly from refugee camps in Greece. More followed until the hotel reached its capacity of 240 guests. Unsurprisingly, the manner in which Ballaghaderreen, and Mullen, responded to the challenge of hosting became a national story, and drew the attention of film-makers. The resulting film, Hotel for Refugees, which airs on BBC on Tuesday, is a charming and even-handed account of the local reaction to a resolutely Catholic town’s population becoming 12 per cent larger – specifically, 12 per cent Syrian.
As the documentary shows, there was a small amount of ill-feeling at first, culminating in some anti-Islamic leaflets fluttering around town, but it never really took off. One couple, Ann and Martin, are sceptical at the start as they realise they’ll have to share a pavement with Arabic-speaking strangers. “If you cannot talk to them, you get afraid of them,” Ann says. “They have done nothing to me, and I hope they won’t but I’m afraid of them. I will not go walking like I used to.”
On the whole, however, the Catholic welcome proved overwhelmingly generous. The priest threw open his doors, shops donated what they could, and the hotel was inundated with volunteer offers.
“We got unbelievable support,” Mullen says. “The two town pharmacists made 200 welcome packs with nappies, toothbrushes, wet wipes, sanitary towels, all the basics; another firm gave colouring books and clothes; and dozens offered to help in any way they could.”
A permanently chipper Mullen, 53, who asked to be described as an “unclaimed treasure” in relation to her romantic life, doesn’t have children but enjoys the madness of kids running around (when they’re not at the local primary school). Around 50 per cent of residents at Abbeyfield are minors.
Among the locals offering to help was The Irish Fairy Door Company, which specialises in creating small, colourful doors for children. When they have a worry, parents encourage children to “tell it to the door” by writing it down, and posting it inside.
On a grey day in Ballaghaderreen this week, the quiet calm familiar in the town had extended to the hotel. In the reception, many basic signs were written in English and Arabic, necessary until the English classes held for all residents on and off-site do the trick. Fiddle classes, trips to Gaelic football matches and Irish dancing lessons are all advertised.
Ghassan, a 21-year-old Syrian who fled Deir ez-Zur with his aunt, cousins and grandmother last year, arrived in Ballaghaderreen in March. Travelling on foot to Turkey and on a packed boat to Greece, they spent months in a chaotic camp before he received a phone call from the UN in October.
“It said, ‘Hello Mr Ghassan, congratulations, you are moving to Ireland’,” he says, “I was so happy we were safe. I didn’t know much about Ireland, but I was so excited.” After a week or two in Dublin, he was one of the first to move, and has taken to the culture so much that Mullen calls him “Ghassan Paddy”. In his room, an Irish flag and photos of his travels sit alongside reminders from home, including photos of his parents and siblings, who chose to remain in Syria.
“I miss my family like crazy, but I have friends in every city now, and loads in the town. My grandmother has joined the knitting group, too. The best thing is the people in Ireland, they are so warm and friendly. The worst thing, I say, is the weather.”
The centre strikes a balance between making the residents – who are majority Syrian – feel at home and preparing them for potentially living and working in Ireland. By and large, the idea behind EROCs is that adults can gain refugee status after six months, allowing them to move independently and gain work, which would likely see them leave the town, where there are few opportunities. After five years, they can apply for citizenship. But while they are here, meals are provided and cooked by Middle Eastern chefs, sheesha can be smoked in the courtyard, and families are grouped together. Access to schools is provided, travel within Europe is permitted for two weeks at a time, and buses to the local mosque pitch up every Friday.
“We do what we can to make them feel welcome, because the horror they’ve been through is unthinkable,” says Margaret Fields, a receptionist. “I know what it’s like to be new and feel like an outsider; a lot of Irish people do. I don’t want them to feel unwelcome, because they’re not.”
In the film, even those who were staunchly opposed to the idea of hosting scores of refugees are seen having a change of heart. “That’s what’s been nice,” Mullen says, “the Syrians have really given back and got involved. I know there isn’t much to do in this town, but they’re safe.”