A dinghy full of Syrian refugees arrives to the north shore of Lesvos, Greece, 2015.
This story follows the paths refugees take during their exodus and migration into Europe. Throughout 2015 and 2016, I travelled with many of them, witnessing first-hand the hardships and obstacles faced in their search for sanctuary.
The summer of 2015 marked the largest movement of refugees into Europe in modern history. War, terror, and poverty across the Middle East and Africa forced millions to flee their homes. Within a single year, more than one million refugees arrived by sea and around 35,000 by land, most escaping conflict in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. While some countries welcomed them with open arms, reception across the continent was uneven, with reports of beatings, arrests, and refugee centres burnt to the ground.
Around the world, people watched in horror as war and extremism devastated lives in Syria and Iraq. Yet at the same time, European nations erected fences and introduced policies designed to keep those same people from finding safety. The impact on Europe has been profound, exposing deep political divides and an absence of coherent response.
This migration, with all its risks and uncertainties, continues today.
Ashes of War
From the island shoreline, the coast of Turkey rests softly on the horizon, blurred by the morning haze. The road I have followed is a narrow dirt track that winds through the hills before tracing the edge of the sea. Along the shore lie the remnants of dinghies, broken boats, and fluorescent orange life vests — ghosts of yesterday’s crossings.
Amid this maritime debris there is stillness: gentle waves, warm sun, a deceptive calm. It is hard to imagine what has unfolded here. I stand and watch the water through my binoculars, waiting for the moment when I, or one of the lifeguards, medics, or charity volunteers, might spot a boat heading toward these shores.
The sun sets over a temporary reception camp set up by the International Rescue Committee. Lesvos, Greece, 2016.
Red Cross volunteers scan the horizon in anticipation of boats and dinghies making the crossing from Turkey to Greece. Lesvos, Greece, 2016.
On the horizon, rising and falling with the rough sea, a dinghy comes into view. Around me, people splash into the water, waving and shouting, trying to guide the overloaded, rudderless craft toward a safe landing. Its occupants battle the current, desperate to reach the shore.
Then all other sounds fade, replaced by the relentless rhythm of splashing as more volunteers wade in to help and passengers fight to disembark. The dinghy grinds onto the sand amid shouts of relief from some and tears of exhaustion from others.
The next moments are frantic. Refugees spill from the fragile vessel as volunteers call for calm, fearing it might overturn. Among the passengers are women and children, but mostly men — and one man paralysed from the waist down, who has somehow made the crossing with his wheelchair. The young press forward ahead of the less able, but on this occasion the volunteers’ voices prevail. Order returns, and one by one the refugees, all Syrian, are helped from the boat to take a few trembling, waterlogged steps onto dry land.
Volunteers rush into the sea to aid landing of a dinghy, Lesvos, Greece, 2015.
A dinghy full of Syrian refugees arrives to the north shore of Lesvos, Greece, 2015.
A Syrian refugee who is disabled and made the journey in his wheelchair is wrapped in a foil blanket by volunteers, Lesvos, Greece, 2015.
Two Syrian boys wrapped in foil blankets reflect on their journey. Lesvos, Greece, 2015.
A Syrian refugee is taken away on stretcher for medical care having collapsed on arrival to Lesvos, Greece. 2015.
Refugees make their way on foot towards one of the first refugee camps, .
Now safely on land, some of the refugees are fortunate enough to be driven by bus for about an hour to one of Europe’s first major refugee camps. Others begin the long walk, a journey of at least a day for the most able-bodied.
When they arrive, the mood changes. Expectations give way to disbelief as the reality of the camp becomes clear. Nestled among olive groves outside a village called Moria, the camp is entirely makeshift. There is no reception for new arrivals and no formal management or security. Originally built to house 2,000 people, it has swollen far beyond its boundaries, with an estimated population exceeding 16,000.
The refugees disembark from the buses and carefully make their way inside. Conversations begin with those already living there, and it quickly becomes clear that each new arrival must build their own shelter. With guidance from residents, they start to scavenge for wood from the olive trees or collect pallets from local businesses, using whatever materials they can find — plastic sheets, discarded bags, scraps of fabric — to create a place of temporary refuge.
Moria Refugee Camp, hidden amongst the Olive Groves of Lesvos, north of the islands main city, Mytilene, Greece, 2016.
Refugees wash at a bathing station in Moria Refugee Camp, Lesvos, Greece, 2015.
Energy is a highly valued commodity in refugee camps. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
The next realisation for many is the availability of food, or rather, the lack of it. In the absence of any organised relief and with only a handful of small charities working in the camp, food is scarce. New arrivals are told by residents that they will be served the same meal three times a day, if they are lucky enough to reach the front of the queue before supplies run out.
The queue can stretch to more than 2,000 people. Many begin lining up immediately after their last meal to secure a place for the next, several hours later. Breakfast is a pre-packed croissant; lunch, butter beans with rice; there is no evening meal. The food is tasteless and repetitive. Some refugees walk several miles to a local Lidl supermarket, spending what little money they have brought with them, and cook beside their makeshift shelters.
During 2015 and early 2016, most refugees passed through Moria quickly. The camp lacked both capacity and security to handle the constant influx. Those who could moved on, hoping to catch a ferry to the mainland and continue north through Europe. But after borders tightened across the continent later that year, movement stopped. Refugees arriving from late 2016 onward were forced to remain in Moria for months, sometimes years.
Refugees hope in anticipation as an Athens bound ferry docks at Mytilene, Lesvos, Greece, 2016.
We take a ferry to the mainland, then travel north by bus to the Greek border with Macedonia. This is the next major stop — a makeshift settlement known as Idomeni Refugee Camp. Its population is estimated at more than 20,000 people.
Once again, people make their homes wherever they can. Conditions are no better, though food seems to be in slightly greater supply. Small charities have managed to provide tents, which is vital in this barren landscape where there is little material to build with. The ambition here is clear: to cross the border into Macedonia as soon as possible, then continue north through Serbia and on to Hungary.
A Pharmacist from Syria and his wife, a doctor, take the bus with their two daughters from Thessanloniki to Greek-FYROM border, Thessaloniki, Greece 2016. ,
A makeshift barricade seperates the trainline that ran between Greece and FYROM, stopped to make it harder for refugees to make it north. Idomeni, Greece, 2016.
Pakistani refugees use a railway sleeper to warm themselves in the winter of 2015. The men originate from a town close to a Taliban enclave in the White Mountains that make a natural border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
Refugees attempt to cook in the pouring rain, Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
Refugees charge and queue to charge mobiles. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
Refugees queue for thin soup being served by a group of volunteers. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
A Syrian families encampment. Idomeni, Greece, 2016.
With thousands of people wanting to cross the border, Greek Riot Police manage a line that will eventually move forward. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
Refugees huddle in the cold against the FYROM’s recently erected border fence separating Greece. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
A FYROM Police Officer examines a refugees documents before allowing them to continue their journey north. Idomeni, Greece, 2015.
Checks continue as we progress north and contend with Europes new borders, countless barbed wire fences aimed to prevent refugees from reaching their destination or finding sanctuary.
Throughout Europe, fences have been erected by governments to prevent refugees from making their journey further north into Europe. Serbia - Hungary border, 2016..
The ‘Jungle’ Refugee Camp, Calais, France, 2016.
Many continue north to Germany and beyond, but we follow the route to the “Jungle” refugee camp in Calais, France. Walking into the camp, the senses are struck first by hope and anticipation, then by confusion and dread at the overcrowded and chaotic conditions.
The Jungle had grown to an estimated population of around 20,000 people, supported only by a handful of small local NGOs. Here, many wait in hope of making the crossing to England. The camp is home to Afghans, Syrians, and Iraqis, as well as refugees from countries less visible in the headlines but equally torn by conflict, such as Somalia and Sudan.
Syrian refugees in their makeshift home, Calais, France, 2016.
This is where I leave the trail, and the people I have met along it, soon to return to the Jungle to see what awaited these lost but hopeful souls.