First day
“It’s a large building with seven floors. A former printing works, in the heart of Athens, transformed into a self-managed reception center for migrants. I have just finished my social work studies and I spend my days there, where I volunteer. I immerse myself in a whirlwind of events, solidarity, distress, celebrations and trauma that is as extreme as it is exciting. I don’t have time to think about myself, about my life, and that suits me quite well.
At lunchtime, we find ourselves in the huge kitchen which can serve 250 meals per day. The caregivers come from all over the world, so we communicate in this airport English. He speaks French. And I like him, he’s tall and thin, has shoulder-length brown hair, has dimples and a piercing gaze. On the balcony of the old printing house, we discuss music for a few minutes. He then returns to his post, he does translation. I am at reception and in the legal team.
Thousands of survivors of wars, disasters and famines gather in Athens, people of all ages who have put on the table their last little hope of living in peace. They are stuck there, saved from immediate danger, but without resources and almost impossible to work. We move from one danger to another. Everyone fights for their basic needs, housing, food, for their health but also for their dignity. The solidarity that is created between us, at the community center, is a buoy that allows us to survive.
There are very often big parties on the roof terraces of the apartments where we all share accommodation. The atmosphere there is intense, commensurate with the gravity of the trajectories that we accompany at the center. We party as hard as their lives are hard. There’s a lot of drugs, alcohol, music, it’s about unloading and fighting against sadness. At one of these festivities, he approached me. We spend the evening talking. In the building’s mini-elevator, he kisses me; I feel like this is the first time in my life.
I don’t want him to come to my house. I accompany him to his home, where there is an infestation of bedbugs, so much so that he only has a mattress on the floor. I get home at 5 a.m. At first, it doesn’t make sense to bring up the idea of a couple in the universe in which we live. We are not at home, we do not come from the same countries, I am French, he is Canadian: we simply experience this intense happiness of seeing each other and seeing each other again.
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