Jamil is a friend we met quite a few months ago.
He has some vulnerabilities, that cause him to not always be lucid.
He doesn’t talk much about his past, but the scars on his arms speak for themselves and tell his pain.
We know that he is nearly 30 years old, that he left Aleppo 10 years ago and that, despite seeming often rude and ill-tempered, he exhibits a great need of someone who will stand by him and show him love.

Here in the project in Greece, in these first weeks full of encounters, exchanges of glances and silences, I have thought many times about the words of Pablo Neruda's poem: “Being born is not enough. It is to be born again that we are born”.
These words come back to my mind my mind every time we go to the camps of Ritsona and Malakasa, and I see the walls made of concrete and barbed wire demarcating the space, I smell the smell of the chemical industry wafting through the air, and I see the guards at the entrance of the camp watching attentively every move.
I have always been convinced, and I am even more convinced now that I am carrying a life in my womb, that the gift of life is a great thing, a shout of joy towards a new dimension, where everything gets a new shape, a new sound, a new smell and a new colour. We gradually learn to know this immense world and understand its magical dynamics.

The Camp Network Group is an informal network of collectives, assemblies, grassroots associations and individuals working in solidarity with people forced to live in isolated refugee camps (Ελεγχόμενη Δομή Προσωρινής Φιλοξενίας Αιτούντων - Controlled Access Facility for Temporary Accommodation of Asylum Seekers) around Athens and all over Greece. We believe that refugee camps are inhumane and degrading. They violate people's human rights and freedom of movement by hindering access to basic services and enforcing control and isolation instead of inclusion and support. No one should be forced to live in these conditions!

Enforcing isolation has been a key policy of the Greek authorities in managing migrant populations through the camp system on the mainland and on the islands. For the residents of Ritsona camp, transportation to and from the nearest cities, and especially towards Athens, has always been a crucial issue. Ritsona camp is 19km (a 4.5 hour walk away) from Chalkida – which has the nearest hospital – 20km from Thiva and 75km from Athens.

Failing to provide consistent and free public transport to and from Athens and Chalkida turns the camp even more into a prison-like structure. Moreover, access to the city means access to basic and life-saving services, which are severely lacking within the camps as has been widely reported.

When J., our friend who lives in Ritsona camp, video-calls us, we do not immediately understand what she is saying, but we see she is outside the camp with many other people. We hear a big confusion in the background and we perceive from her voice that she is worried.
No doubt: something is happening at the camp and we need to be there; we do not wait longer and immediately take the car.
The police stops us few kilometers from the camp because the way was closed, we leave the car and go forward by foot: our friends are waiting for us and we want to be there with them.
Once we arrive we see many Congolese people outside the camp, especially women; some of them shout, some others cry, some pick up rubber pieces to light a fire: “a guy’s dead, he has four kids”, they say, “it’s just carelessness, this is mere racism”.
They say the evening before they called the ambulance at 5 p.m. but it only came in the morning, when it was too late.
He died in the meantime.
“There’s no food, there’s no water, no international protection, this is the result, people die in here”, women voices keep shouting and saying to Congolese people to come out.