Dear friends and readers, here I am again to catch up after this long silence. I don’t even know from where to start. But I will give you a short summary.
After more than 2 years and a half in a stable job and living in my ‘hometown’ in Spain, I finally decided to resign and move forward. I did try to settle down and undertake an ‘ordinary’ adult life. But I could not. Translating technical texts, contracts, handbooks and machine instructions turned out to be even more boring than I imagined… Even the small commercial part of my duties in contact with foreign companies became annoying.
So, that was it. I went through a long selection process to be part of the Spanish version of Teach for America. I was selected and confirmed. I quit my office job and got ready to start the program… however something unexpected happened with the master’s thesis I had pending. End of June. I was not able to present it. A mix of slow university bureaucracy and my own over-optimism in the system. Anyways, a week before departing to Madrid I was said that I could not participate in the program. Hence I was all of sudden jobless, with no future work at sight and a mortgage to pay… Awesome, right?
Unexpectedly, two weeks after I received a message via LinkedIn from a translation company. They were looking for an interpreter to work in a refugee camp in Greece as a freelancer. Never would I have thought that speaking Lingala would be a profitable skill in the future. Anyhow, my Congolese father was very proud and happy. I was just speechless when the job offer seemed to eventually worked out. One month after missing a job opportunity, I was recruited to another one at the European Asylum Service. Wonderful, right?
A better salary and an unbelievable life experience to come.
I went to the Greek island intially for one month. I ended up staying 4 months!!! Life in the island was full of contrasts and intense emotions. I arrived in late July and started working in August 1st, in the peak of the tourist season.
On the one hand, we city was full of European tourists from Northen Europe, Turkey and countries like Russia. On the other hand, there was a wide number of European staff, from administrative civil servants, military personnel deployed there just as the interpreters’ team, police officers everywhere and… a small but visible amount of specially vulnerable asylum seekers/refugees accomodated a bit everywhere. People living in a relaxed and luxurious style along with others hosted in a precarious settlement, kept by the army and sometimes under a strong security.
Contrary to what I thought, there were many women and children. Entire families living in plastic tents or metal containers. When I arrived there were some 3 thousand asylum seekers living there. Four months later, there were more than 6 thousands. Eighty percents came from Arab speaking countries, with the top countries being Syria, Afganistan, Irak,Palestine and Yemen. The biggest African groups were formed by Somali and Erythrean people. And in a lesser level, one or two hundreds of Congolese, Cameroonian, Nigerian people …
I worked exclusively with Africans. From Congo to Ghana through Sierra Leona. Interestingly, I had to ‘interpreter’ between non-native European English and local African Englishes. At first I was shocked at the idea. But later on I understood the need of my presence. Most of the immigration experts who were in charge of the interviews were either Greek, German or Dutch nationals who spoke English as a second language; similarly to me, the interpreter and to the applicants who, as the majority of Anglophone Africans, have their own native local language before English, which is the official language of instruction and national communication. In this complex linguistic frame, achieving a successful communication is almost a miracle. As a linguist myself I was pushed aback when I noticed it. But then, this is about interpreting in a humanitarian context. Accuray is important, but communication is the main challenge and goal. And I should tell you that with effort everything is possible. Even if the Greek cannot understand the Ghanaian despite both speaking English because their accents are so different. Their grammatical constructions are distant and their cultural backgrounds become a border against effective communication. In that context my job was mostly to mediate and to help each other understand that ‘sexing’ meant having sex, that ‘washing my self’ meant taking a shower, that for an African, an aunty or an uncle is not necessarily a sibbling of your parents, but any elder person close enough to deserve that title. That a brother is not a matter of blood, but of brotherhood and affection. That every respectable Congolese woman is called a ‘mama’, regardless of her having a child or not.
But the worst part was listening to terrible life stories. Women who had been repeatedly raped. Men who have also been raped by other men despite been heterosexuals, mothers who have seen their children killed, young students who have been jailed for polictical protests in their quest for fair presidential elections in DR Congo. LGBT Africans running away from a continent that considers them to be allien and an abomination. Many applicants crying while remembering. Experts making tough and detailed questions. Tense situations in the interview booths. And you as an interpreter are the man in the middle. Repeating each others words. Taking notes, writing, mediating… There may be something traumatic about this. Too many days I returned home wondering how people can be so cruel and inhumane towards each other. It’s absolutely crazy and sad. Really.
Applicants were to stay in the camp for around 1 year before been given the documentation allowing them to move to Mainland Greece. Even more to get a resolution from the Greek Asylum Service. Many got tired of living in these tents with no utility at all, queuing everyday for food from the UNCHR organisation, health service from Medecins Sans Frontieres, waiting to be heard, to be registered, fingerprinted and given an asylum seeker temporary ID… Months and months, stuck in the island, with no possibility to leave or move forward. Some rioted from time to time. Arabs, because they were many and had to wait longer. Erythreans, because they had not interpreters to faster their cases… Children could not go to school, but were entertained by some volunteers coming from countries such as Spain or England.
I got tired of living surrounded by tragedy. Of witnessing situations of certain mistreatment from Greek officers, of seen humans cry, defeated and sick, begging to be given refuge in this part of the world that has become a fortress.
Fortunately, not everything was pain and sorrow in the camp. You could hear them laugh after queuing for an hour for food, you could see fathers playing with their children, unaware of the hardships of life, mothers cooking yummy food in wooden fires, you could see young interratial couples dancing tunes from different continents, and we could experience part of the Greek food, music and mesmerizing landscapes. I loved the weather and the tranquility of the Greek people. The apparent ease with which they merged with refugees in the city center. The arab influence in their music played in discos and pubs. A word in between West and East. I also loved my Greek supervisor, his calm temper and kindness I will miss the international, qualified and integrated team of interpreters from 3 different continents and a handful of countries. Mostly Egyptians and Syrians for Eastern Arabic, Lebanese for French and Arabic, Afganis for Farsi/Dari, Moroccan for African Arab and French, Somalis, etc. Most of them were multilingual and well-travelled. Former refugees, international students, children of international couples, residing all over Europe, from Spain to Romania or Italy.
After 4 months I decided that I was ready to move forward. I paid my gentle Greek landlady and came to Cameroon, after a short break in Belgium and Spain to say goodbye to friends and family. December 2019 ended in a new light, country and continent. I spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve surrounded by my great Cameroonian family who is fortunately safe in the French speaking part of the country. Life in Cameroon was going to be equally eye-opening. Another image of life in this part of the world where poverty, war, and sorrow mix with luxury and humanity and gayness.