Face To Face With The Refugee Crisis In Turkey

He pointed to the green silhouette of the Greek island of Samos at a distance, and said that the National Park that we had spent the day exploring, would transform into a transient camp of refugees at night, which is when Syrians fleeing Turkey attempt to cross the Aegean Sea in an inflatable boat. Sometimes, their boats would sink from the bullets from across the marine border, he explained in a very matter-of-fact sort of way. It was unclear if he was sympathetic. We didn’t ask.

There was a knot in my stomach as I walked past clothing shops displaying life-jackets for sale. Inflatable rafts, most designed to carry two people, three at most. Diesel motors lined-up on the street outside shops that sell tourist souvenirs inside. While the rest of the world debates the migrant/refugee lexicon, in Izmir the inflow of Syrians has decisively created a multi-million dollar "raft economy" that supplies provisions for their sometimes fatal exit across the border into the European Union.

We caught the last train out of Izmir that night with a heavy heart. The busy square outside the arterial Basmane station is where a big chunk of the refugee economy ensues, where smugglers congregate and solicit clients. Under the setting sun, men, women and children wait on the sidewalk holding black trash bags – a waterproof solution for their belongings. The apparent lack of guise or pretence was disarming. I naively wondered if they knew what lay ahead. Have they seen the pictures, heard the stories?

As travelers, we are often witness to the geopolitics of conflict. Both best and worst of humanity’s track record is often on display, sometimes lurking behind a façade of tourism. It is tough to be back home now and come to terms with whether I should have stayed and tried to help.