She's smiling, grateful sitting nearby her friend.

She's dressed all in black: the colour of the pain. But the  pink and grey silk scarf that covers her hair let us know her feeling a woman. This scarf is cheering loudly to us : DO I have a chance?... I HOPE in a chance... No: I WANT a chance!

Sitting at the long table behind her, three children are drawing, looking at us. Amira's children.

Their eyes are black, black and so wide... The eyes of a continuous fear. Young eyes used to see bombs, awful shadows around their family and upon their heads. Eyes that are still shouting: "BECAREFUL: LOOK AROUND YOU! DANGER! DANGER!".

These are faces, real and human faces: real icons representing refugee children. Amira's children ...

They could be our children... My children.

Could I look at them, at  their wide eyes, without crying?

Amira smiles with all her body and we can see her bright soul also. She starts to tell us her history.

Her personal Esodo with her youngest 3 children.

She's from Palestina: she born, she grew up and still she lives as a refuges here, in Larissa.

I don't want to repeat her history: it's in my heart. I will repeat it in the right moment.

I want to preserve it in my heart, as a jewel, to remind me how lucky I am, in despite of my problems.

I know how strong can be a woman, but Amira's history hurts me in the deep.

How could  she bear to escape from her home without 1 of her  children, without her husband, who are living in a dangerous country? How  could she manage with the  fear of sailing in a fragile boat, praying (I think also smailing) God for a safe trip? I think she could only because of the will of a safe live.

How can we help her? How can I help her?

I'm listening to her voice: it sounds like a sweet lullaby. I can hear the waves, the wind and the night in her voice.

But in her smile I'm reading the most important thing. It is saying: I don't have a chance, I don't hope in a chance... I definetely have a chance! 

Article by Laura and based on Anita, Serkan and their own feeling

• Zeynep*, do you know how to count in Greek?

• Ena, dyo, tria, tessera...

4 were the children of Amira, a woman from Palestine that I met in Larissa, in a training programme against Islamophobia and Xenophobia. Her face was calm, but determined. It reflected the faith of the humanity  Her words were peaceful like the sea the day that she came to Greece. Amira was afraid of the water, after hearing about all the hope (and families) that drowned in the Mediterranean Sea. But that day she reached Europe, the spirits of the sea did her the favour she was asking persistently. She was talking to us while her eyes were beaming with an unusual light, emitting peace, like the one that she dreams of for her children. Three of them were behind her, drawing the future in bright colours. The other one is with his father, waiting for the reunification. Amira doesn't want to talk about the future, though. It is shattered already. 

• Pente, eksi...

6 were the countries that Amira has fleed from in her life. When she was young, she kept asking her father “What does it mean to be a refugee?” Now she knows it herself, in the hard way. When the same question came out from her son's mouth, it didn't hurt any less. He was harsh with his father, that kept waking them up in order to pack their stuff and go. “You are a bad man”, he moaned at him. And children are perfectly honest with their emotions, unlike adults. They can not believe that “everything is gonna be ok”. Because the time they hear it, everything is not ok. And on the other hand, people are not gods. They are not able to cater for all your wishes. But Amira believes in God. She continuously says that everything is in his hands and whatever might happen, the solution will eventually come from Him. That's why she can see Him everywhere, in the helping eyes of Danai or in the tight embrace of the volunteers in the refugee camp. 

• Efta, okto, ennia, deka..

    10 biscuits were served to the participating girls in the hair salon of the refugee camp in order to celebrate all together the Eid al adha, or else the Feast of  the Abraham son's Sacrifice. But  these women also sacrificed a lot. Many of them sacrificed family members like Abraham. However, although it seems awkward, life has its own pace and tries to go on in Koutsohero. People smile to the others exchanging “kl aam wa antom be hyar” wishes. The girls in Koutsohero comb or dye their hair and exchange their stories as if they were in their own neighbourhoods. A hair salon is a sacred place for their womanhood. They're not supposed to be mothers, sisters, daughters. Just women. 

• enteka, dodeka...

12 were the times Amira and her family tried to enter Europe. She doesn't want to remember the  attrocities she saw. She witnessed the boat driver getting murdered before her (and his mother's) eyes. She witnesses her children suffering from a post-traumatic stress disorder, which doesn't let them sleep at night, or when they hear an airplane flying above their heads. She recalls their being stolen from the authorities, from people who tried to find their way to save their lives at the expense of them. But she still smiles.   

• Dekatria, Dekatessera, Dekapente, Dekaeksi...

16 refugee boys and 5 “grown-ups”, the privileged ones, from Turkey, Italy and Greece played together football in the refugee camp, two days after Amira's visit. Everyone of them might have had different beliefs about what they would meet in the Koutsohero camp. After, their football game, all of them had a real smile, reflected on their eyes. Because they saw the refugees surviving from all this chaos, from all this tragedy and seeing life as it should be. A game where language barriers, animosity and differences have no place. 

• Dekaefta, Dekaohto, Dekaennia, Eikosi... I don't know how to continue. 

It doesn't matter, my precious gem. You and all the other refugee children have already reached the infinite, without knowing. Because the love, the hope, the peace you gave us was infinite. The value of your gifts like Ali giving his hand to Apostolis to walk together from the football court, to the basketball court, Yusuf giving me a “No hate” balloon to keep it myself, or Ali going after Massimiliano and looking like father and son was infinite too. 

    But the most powerful moment is when I see you smiling, I see my responsibility to keep     you and your siblings, your children, maybe even your grandchildren safe. I can see heaven     (however each of us might define it) in a deserted land like Koutsohero. Because, you've     taught me to see it this way. And I will be always grateful for this, Zeynep.

Stay safe.

*Zeynep is a female given name meaning “a father's precious jewel”. 

Article by: Deniz Arslan, Apostolos Moschopoulos, Danai-Katerina Vallianou, Alessandro Vinati

How is ito be a refugee? That's the kind of question Amira asked her father many years ago and suddenly she is forced to deal with this problem in the last couple of years.

    Not only she had to leave her home behind but also her husband and her oldest child. And then from Palestine she crossed all the Middle and East Asia to reach Turkey and from there to cross the sea, so she can reach Greece…

    But life isn’t a fairytale and the road wouldn’t be paved with rose petals. Needless to say, Amira knew that already. Did she know how hard it is to look in your children’s eyes and say to them that everything going to be okay? It’s not easy at all to hide yourself and your emotions from children, it's like they know everything. And above all they are not afraid to express their feelings even if they ‘’face up’’ their own ‘’blood’! 

The feeling that Amira’s husband felt when one of their sons yelled to him right before the beginning of their journey that he is a terrible man must 'have felt like a stab right in the heart. And maybe when you realizethat you can’t protect completely not only yourself but especially your children it’s the time that you feel that maybe you have failed as a good parent and you are afraid for them.

Amira felt it also when she and her 3 children had to cross the Aegean Sea in order to come to Chios, a greek island from Turkey’s coast. And by the third time she tried, finally she reached her goal even after, in the meanwhile, she witnessed her children suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) which didn’t let them sleep at night. Even when she saw with her own eyes the boat driver getting murdered in front of her. Even when the authorities and some malicious ‘’people’’ stole her money…

But, the uncertainty for Amira didn’t end at Chios island. From there she, along with her children and a lot more refugees from the camp were moved by the authorities near to Koutsohero, a small village of Larissa.

Despite the help from the people of the camp, Amira hopes that she and her family won’t stay there for a long time, she excepts that’s something temporary and in the very next months they will go to somewhere else in Europe…

She may overcome the feeling of fear to the sea by touching it but now she must overcome the feeling of precariousness, for her and herchildren future…

As-salāmu ʿalaykum…

Article by : Tziolas Stylianos Apostolos