Hamburg teacher Jan-Christoph Kammann took a break from school in 2016 to travel to the home countries of his students. He wanted to understand their history in this way and traveled to Armenia and Bulgaria, South Korea and Iran, among others.
He is still in contact with some of his students at the time - including Zahra. Originally from Afghanistan, she currently works as a refugee helper in Athens after graduating from high school and studying medicine. Jan Kammann visited her there.
It starts to rain in torrents, the water quickly flows in violent rivulets from the subway station in the east of the Viktoriaplatz in Athens down the slightly sloping terrain. The square is emptying rapidly, it was just full of people waiting for it, hoping, staring at their cell phones, standing together in groups or alone, with life. There are mothers with young children, minors and old people loaded with plastic bags. It is just before Christmas in Athens and it is cold.
Next to me under a protective awning in a café is Zahra. She knows this place well. Five years ago, in September 2014, she arrived here with her parents and three siblings. Behind them was the flight from Afghanistan, through Pakistan, Iran, Turkey, via the island of Lesbos to Piraeus and finally to the center of Athens on this square.
"Even then, this place was a meeting point for refugees, most of them from Afghanistan. Nothing much has changed," she says with resignation. This place is something like a contact exchange, here the onward journey is organized. "You can't do without a tractor, you need someone to get passports, book flights and take care of everything else." We watch a scene on the edge of the square. A man with a headset speaks to a family of four. In the now waning rain we pass the group unobtrusively. Zahra snaps a few words: Passport, flight, Germany or France, she understands in Dari, her mother tongue.
Across Europe alone
Back in January 2015, Zahra went to Milan for 3,500 euros, the family's last money, by plane - in the fourth attempt, with the passport of a 28-year-old Chinese woman. Zahra was 14 at the time and was lucky that the airport employee looked into the passport, but not into her face. Her parents and the three younger siblings had to stay in Athens for the time being. From Italy she took a train to Paris and from there a night train to Hamburg. Her 16-year-old brother had landed here a few weeks before her. From Greece he had made his way through Northern Macedonia and Serbia more or less on foot to Hungary, from there on buses. Now he picked her up from Hamburg Central Station.
I met Zahra at school in August 2015. In the following years she learned German and passed her brilliant Abitur in spring 2019. For a blog project in English, she wrote down her story six months after her arrival, which upset me. I didn't really understand them at the time. That's why I'm visiting Zahra in Athens these December days. In preparation for a medical degree, she does an internship with the Medical Volunteers , an aid organization that provides the essentials for the refugees stranded in Greece.
Her job is translation services, light supplies and addressing girls and women. For her she wrote and printed out flyers on Dari this morning, with addresses for medical treatment in emergencies. She knows exactly how lost and defenseless you feel in this place, especially as a woman. Whenever Zahra spots an addressee, she hurries to hand her a flyer and a few warm words to her. The stories she hears are similar to her own.
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Unusual encounter: Zahra, her teacher and the refugeesZahra's cell phone rings. It is Cathrin, the Irish coordinator of the relief organization in Athens. She asks Zahra to come to the medical volunteers' treatment rooms nearby. Neither the doctor nor the nurse speak Dari. That is why they are happy that there is now a native speaker on site. I can't come with you. Woman thing.
While I wait, I explore the area. The street of September 3rd is a major highway in Athens. It leads directly past Viktoriaplatz. If you look south from here, you can see the acropolis bathed in golden light on the horizon. On your slopes, polished cafes and restaurants. The contrast couldn't be greater. Here absolute despair, only a few kilometers further cheerful groups from all over the world.
I intend to invite my former student there at the end of my visit. I hope she succeeds in being a normal tourist there and feeling that way too. I know from Cathrin that it is difficult for her. On the day of her arrival, Zahra almost had a fit of weakness, triggered by the memories that the sight of Victoria Square made her feel. Attempts to send her back home vehemently blocked her. This task was too important to her, she insisted. My last and probably most difficult lesson for her will be: In view of the circumstances, it is perfectly fine to feel good sometimes. But before that she has a few lessons for me.
It comes with depressing news. A pregnant woman is about to give birth and is deeply desperate. She lives in a small, damp basement apartment and has no idea how to proceed. A father also found his way to the medical volunteers . He needs medication for his little daughter, who is shaken by epileptic seizures. He is absolutely helpless and does not know who to contact. Zahra translated that these kinds of drugs were expensive, but they would all do their best. He should definitely come back. I am beginning to understand: This has been going on here for years and not just in this place. Zahra and her team report attempts at suicide, the most serious infections, broken bones and, much worse, absolute hopelessness.
Refugees as an economic factor
The next day we walk together through the streets at Viktoriaplatz. The building suffered from the economic crisis, many old buildings seem abandoned, often only the facade remains. The refugees are revitalizing the district in their own way. Restaurants have emerged with the names Kabul or Herat, oriental cafes in which stranded people plan their onward journey, travel agencies, shops with nothing but suitcases and backpacks in their display on the street and offices for money transfers: Moneygram, Western Union, Ria on almost every corner , This is where the money arrives for relatives, acquaintances, and friends traveling all over the world.
At the end of our walk, we stand in front of the apartment that Zahra's family shared with another one for almost five months. We peek through a cellar window. At our feet a greasy mattress, an electric stove and a few clothes on a maximum of 15 square meters. Apparently, other people moved into the apartment while traveling. A cord hangs in front of the basement window. Hanging up laundry here is dangerous, Zahra recalls. If the only pair of pants you own is stolen, that's a problem.
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Photo gallery: Unusual trip around the worldIn the evening, the medical volunteers support a local facility. Those in need can get a warm meal and hot tea near the Victoria Square. There is a mobile washing machine, even a library on a trailer. Most important, however, is medical care. Zahra organizes the queue with her colleagues. Everyone who needs to be treated gets a number.
There are people from Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Pakistan, even Myanmar. Many Athens homeless people also queue up. Whenever a translation to Dari is needed inside the container, Zahra is called. The volunteer doctors come from Portugal that evening, they are speechless and need help. I notice how much Zahra is involved in this task. She knows what it feels like to be unable to lead a normal life. Constantly afraid of the police, their questions about papers and impending detention.
Kontrastprogramm
That evening she asked me to share my insights into school. I had always wondered how it was possible for young people like Zahra to learn German so quickly and get their Abitur. "If you know that education is not a matter of course, you learn all the faster," she says.
The next day I get the promised contrast program at the Acropolis. We traveled by subway, a means of transport that Zahra would never have dared at the time: far too great the risk of getting under control. Now we go relaxed up the slope to the entrance and marvel at the ancient scenery. At the very top, stone-old and above all, the world-famous Parthenon. There is a large sign on the ticket booth stating that EU citizens under the age of 25 have free admission. Zahra shows her temporary ID card uncertainly, gets a ticket and passes the turnstile. "The world is small with the right passport," she says, surprised by how quickly she is on the other side.
After the excursion we say goodbye. I hope it's more than lip service to say that she could let go for a few hours. I have my doubts. Christmas is the time when Europeans withdraw into private. Nobody would even work in the NGOs anymore; That's why she is here at this time of year.
I have no choice but to say goodbye - and to take my hat off to her courage.
