“No, no,
no,” said the Iraqi gentleman wisely shaking his head at me.
He looked me up and down appraising my nationality, obviously having serious
doubts about my claim to be American. His eyes lit up and he pronounced,
“You
Alban.” Alban is refugee-speak for Kosovar-Albanian. Now I’ve lived
in various countries in Mediterranean Europe and South America where my
long blonde hair has made it difficult to blend, but this was a first.
I’ve been accused of being Canadian, Australian, German and sometimes Swedish,
but usually most people take my word that I’m American.
Given our location
though, it wasn’t hard to understand this man’s doubts. We were standing
in the quarantine of a refugee camp on the outskirts of a town called Debrecen
in eastern Hungary. At that time, I was the only volunteer at the camp,
and certainly the only American. Even in town, most of the foreigners were
the ones that lived at the camp. Debrecen hasn’t yet made it on the Lonely
Planet’s top ten attractions in Central and Eastern Europe.
It lies on
the Hungarian putsza, the great plains region, that conjures up images
of Dr. Zhivago-like winters and the mighty Magyars galloping off on fierce
horses with missions of conquest.
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The refugee
camp itself is at the end of the line on bus #19 in the former Soviet
military barracks of Debrecen. I often got the impression that the Hungarians
living near the camp weren’t altogether certain as to what the place was.
But inside
those barbed wires, I found a culture lover’s paradise of over a thousand
asylum seekers and refugees from more than 30 countries living together
side by side. It is its own very different little ex-pat community.
I’m often asked
how and why I went to the camp. It’s relatively simple, my background is
in human rights and international relations. After bartending and waitressing
my way through Europe, I was interested in doing something a bit more meaningful.
I’ve always felt the need to give something back to the countries I’ve
traveled through and lived in. After all, those countries have given me
some very profound experiences.So when I arrived in Budapest, I grabbed
a telephone book and found out the Hungarian Red Cross was just down the
street from my hostel. I went there with an interest in refugee work anywhere
in Eastern Europe and they in turn dropped me off at Debreceni Menekült
Tábor, the Debrecen Refugee Camp.
I moved into
the camp for my first four months there and it was fascinating. Getting
to know the people and faces that lie behind international headlines is
what real traveling is all about to me. And after all, refugees are
travelers themselves, though their motivations are quite different from
most of ours. My stories of being spit on by camels in the Sahara and catching
a piranha in the Amazon pale in comparison with the stories of the people
I met at the camp. I know a pregnant woman that basically walked
from Afghanistan to Hungary, giving birth along the way. There was a group
of people from Sierra Leone that arrived via banana truck, freight ship,
and a van that dodged bullets through Yugoslavia to get across the green
border to the camp. Suddenly my rainy nights on the decks of ferries on
the Aegean Sea didn’t appear to be nearly as harrowing.
On the surface,
I suppose the scene of a refugee camp may seem dismal. In reality
however, it is an amazing and surprisingly warm place. The strength
of the human spirit and a person’s capacity to give even when they have
nothing at all was astounding. My most memorable nights were not
spent in Budapest (where I often went to harass one organization or
another), but right there in the camp.
I was invited
to Ramadan feasts, had my future told by traditional Bosnian coffee readers,
danced at an Afghan wedding, was serenaded in Urdu by a large group of
Pakistani men, and carried around on the shoulders of Kosovar-Albanians
happy that my country had decided to bomb theirs.
As I learned
more about the institution of asylum in Hungary I was able to accomplish
more than I initially expected. I can honestly say that when I left, the
situation was better than when I arrived. Perhaps not everything was due
directly to my own actions, but just feeling that you are part of the changes
and movements that benefit so many people is very inspiring. There is a
group of ex-pats in Budapest that now regularly visit the camp, there are
textbooks in the classrooms, more people are aware of what was largely
a forgotten situation, and there’s actually an internet room inside the
camp. I helped people to better understand and stand up for their rights.
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They would
then teach these things to others in their own language. Even as
they move on, I believe they will continue to speak out. I learned
that helping people learn to use their own voices is far more empowering
than simply being a “voice for the voiceless” myself.
Sometimes I
learned even more from the children than from the adults I met at the camp.
They might draw machine guns with far greater precision than they should
be able to at their young age, but at heart they’re still just kids. The
children at the camp are intensely creative, as they don’t have the luxuries
of electric toys and dolls that talk like American kids. They re-taught
me the wonders of mud, of following a butterfly, and of how to make anything
into a jungle gym.
I met a lot
of travelers and ex-pats alike that seemed very interested in what I was
doing. I always got the feeling though that it seemed like a daunting challenge
to them, that I was somehow unique to make it work. But I don’t think
that’s true. Anyone can start anything anywhere. It doesn’t require
previous experience in refugee work or human rights, but simply a diplomatic
nature and a desire to help and listen. Refugee work is only one aspect
in a broader range of social justice and human rights issues that travelers
and ex-pats anywhere can get involved with.
Although it’s
obviously not a lucrative profession, volunteering or starting a volunteer
group can be done with very few resources. And the rewards can be far greater
than any monetary profit you might make elsewhere. When I arrived
at the camp, my bank account had just slipped below $400. However, as I
developed my ideas, I was able to find funding. All it takes is a little
creativity.
One of the
most interesting challenges of this type of work is that that you can define
your own goals and objectives. Volunteers can work as much or as
little as they want. At a refugee camp, they can teach, counsel,
organize activities and projects, or just play with the children.
The only limit is their own imagination. There is a lot of room for new
ideas and for independent people with initiative and creativity.
The wonderful nature of volunteering is the mutual benefit that comes from
it; while helping people that truly need and value your assistance, you
are developing your own skills and receiving a very unique education about
other cultures and people.
There’s also
always the option of joining already established volunteer programs.
But for those people like me that are more attracted to ideas far off the
beaten path, the possibilities are endless.
