Mitilini 811 00
In the summer of 2015, tens of thousands of refugees arrived on the Northern coast of Lesvos, the island I grew up on. After the dangerous and often fatal crossing of the sea between Turkey and Lesvos, these people had to walk the distance of 45 kilometers under the burning sun to the refugee camp. It was a constant stream of exhausted people walking along the road. Among them were many women, children and elderly people. Together with a couple of locals and tourists we transported as many people as possible with our own cars. One day, my car was packed with an unlikely number of people. I was very nervous, because the local authorities had started to intimidate locals who helped refugees. Rumours went that transporting them from one point to another on the island was likened to human trafficking. One of the people in my car, a young woman from Afghanistan, was wearing a head scarf. I asked her if she would be willing to take it off for the ride as I didn't want to attract the attention of the police. I felt really bad about it, because I realised how important it was to her. At first she was reluctant, but she understood the necessity of it and agreed to take it off. Once we arrived at the camp, I wanted to give the scarf back to her. To my surprise, she wanted me to keep it as a present. I told her that I couldn't accept it, because I knew how important it was to her. "I want you to have it, exactly because it's so important to me," she said. I still keep the scarf with me, hoping to maybe meet her again some day.