Cristhian

 

“I will continue to believe, even if everyone loses hope.
I will continue to love, even if others distill hatred.

I will continue to build, even if others destroy.
I will continue to talk peace even in the midst of a war.

I will continue to illuminate, even in the midst of darkness.
I will continue to spread, even if others trample the harvest.

And I will continue to shout, even if others are silent.
And I will draw smiles on faces in tears.

And I will bring relief, when we see the pain.
And I will offer the joy grounds where there is only sadness.

I will invite to walk the one who decided to stop.
And I will stretch out her arms to those who feel exhausted”

Abbot Pierre


 

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EXODUS: I am who I am

Notte ora, arrivano i treni, le mani tremanti, coperte leggere, sfiniti, distrutti, si trascinano, ci si scalda bruciando cartoni e sacchetti di plastica, altro non c’è, i bambini piangono. Nel buio, gli occhi sono scuri, trasmettono immagini di distruzione, ognuno storie diverse. È la morte che si racconta, l’incomprensione dell’orrore, il dolore della disperazione.

L’alba insieme ai migranti, un fiume di persone davanti e dietro me si muove in un flusso armonico che non può essere arrestato. Un esodo verso un sogno immaginato, attraverso paesaggi, lingue, persone e costumi che cambiano giorno dopo giorno.

Mi fermo, al tramonto, il sole irradia sui migranti che riflettono calore. Un albero li abbraccia uno per uno.

Non posso andare oltre, io illegale in territorio legale, cammino controcorrente, li vedo uno per uno, ragazzi, uomini, famiglie intere, bambini, disabili e anziani. Visi bellissimi, salutano, sorridono, gli occhi spalancati, brillano di speranza. Il passo è deciso, coraggiosi e valorosi, ormai il salto è stato fatto, nulla li ferma più. È la vita che si manifesta nel suo splendore.

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EXODUS: I am who I am (2)

This 70 years old afghan lady cannot walk. We are waiting a wheelbarrel so that can be transportedy by her sons to Serbia, 4 km on a path along the railroad.

The other part of the family already left, around 15 people, hopefull they will meet at the next refugees station.

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During the wait her sons tell us from what they escaped, the friends and other family members already killed, the fear and the oppression in which they were living.

22 days across Iran, Turkey, Greece, Macedonia. Being shooted in Turkey border, the pain, but also the hope of a human life, of freedom. For the son big dream to access to the studies, for being useful to their country, to the world.

I found out for myself that looking in some person’s eyes, can explain any situation much more better than any news or any personal assumption.
All the thoughts and the discussions around me about reasons, solutions, politics, how the world it is or it should be, loose its importance, slowly like silly mist evaporating when the sun appear.

Thousands of refugees every day, train by train.
There are volunteers, helping to give them food and clothes, and any possibe other help. They are like stars in the night and their work can save many lifes.

Also, there are other few that are able to look people directly in the eyes, withouth judgement, superiority and preconceptions. They are not helping, they see people needs and try to fulfill them, in the same way they could do to any friend.

I was glad to give a little contribute at they arrival, few days ago and lucky to have been at the border with them.

Who knows me also know that I would never give money or ask to give it to charitable organizations. But Jeroen , Merel and Aharon, they are involving themselves in the way I would involve, much more than me. I know that any help will be used in an aware way and will be accompanied by smiles and human contacts. It will be effective, and what they give it will be based about daily needs.

If you wish to support them, you find here all the informations. Please, feel free to spread this to your contacts withouth letting it the privacy options public, to protect this people identity.

https://refugeeinsci.wordpress.com/volunteer-support

Thanks, Cris

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