This Post is Brought to You by the Letter F

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.

Dr. Seuss

the FLU

It's been a busy week, over here at the Naskov house.  We've been fighting the stomach flu!  No fun! I'll spare you the gory details, because I consider you friends.  And that is all I will say about that!

FAMILY

Saturday we visited family in Skopje.  (Nothing like spreading the stomach flu "love" around)  It was a great visit, complete with fabulous food, conversations about faith, a fun game of Farkle, and enjoying family time.  The kids (and us big kids, too) are really soaking in all the missed time with Baba, Dedo, and Aunt Julie.  It's been so many years since we have all been together - actually, for the youngest boys, moving here was the first time they'd met their grandparents on Zo's side.  The Saturdays that we visit seem to go by very quickly!  But we are so excited to have them together.

FIGHTS, FEET, FEAR, and FRIENDSHIPS

Sunday, since we were clear of the "bug", Zo and I took our weekly trip to Gevgelija.  It was the busiest I have ever seen.  Pictures can't describe the crowds.  10,000 people passed through the camp on Sunday alone.  (This picture is part of the line, waiting to get inside the camp, from Greece) The military & police presence was more pronounced than usual. We found out that was because there had been a fight break out between the refugees outside the fence, in the morning, and the situation had gotten pretty tense. We spent about an hour and a half at the camp.  It was amazing what happened, just during that time.

I met a precious Syrian woman, with her seven month old daughter. The mother was so distraught.  The volunteers go outside the camp, and bring women and children into the camp while the men wait in the line. That way, they can help the women with their children - changing soaked and soiled diapers, giving food and water, and a place to sit down because most of them are completely exhausted.  It is also a time to assess any needs they might have - medical, clothing, etc.  Almost every child that comes in needs a new pair of shoes.  I am not exaggerating at all when I say that the tennis shoes they are wearing when they arrive are pretty pointless.  They are held together by strings.  (Remember, they have been across the sea and walked for very long distances in those shoes.)  In the first hour, over half of the 30 pairs of shoes we brought were being worn by grateful refugee children. (Picture is a boy wearing his new shoes) Unfortunately, others went without because we didn't have their sizes. 

Back to the Syrian mother.  She was sitting in the tent, holding her daughter, waiting for her husband to go through the line.  And she continued to wait. And wait.  I spoke to her, trying to get her mind off of her fear for a few moments. She spoke some English.  While I talked, a single tear rolled down her face. She wiped it away quickly, obviously embarrassed. I told her about my children. She told me that her daughter was her first child. I told her that I could see the love she had for her daughter.  The tears began to fall on their own.  She looked at me with so much pain and said, "I am not a good mother. I brought my baby here. I am bad."  She couldn't speak and turned away.  I touched her shoulder, and reassured her, as best that I could, that she was good. That she was doing her best for her baby. I'm not a cry-er by nature, but there are some things that make me an absolute mess. Watching that mother, brokenhearted and feeling so much shame, was more than I could handle. So I cried with her. 

An hour later, she was still looking out the window, desperately seeking a glimpse of her husband, while her baby played next to her, oblivious of the pain and mess around her.  Police officers were making people go straight from the entry gate to the exit gate, so they could board buses. She was getting more anxious, so the volunteers offered to help her find her husband.  I told her I would keep her baby safe. And there was a moment there, where she was so scared, and so torn....I assured her I would not move and her baby would be safe.  Oh my goodness, the fear on that mother's face. She kept looking back as the volunteers escorted her toward the crowd.

Sweet baby girl spent the time sitting on my lap, eating my sunglasses.  After only 5 or 6 minutes, I saw the mother, rushing from the crowd toward the tent.  I smiled and waved.  The anxiety on her face was gut wrenching.  She thanked me, put her baby back in her front carrier, and rushed out to the gate where her husband was waiting.  It wasn't the last time I saw her.  Ten minutes before we left, I was helping Zo and a soldier with a little boy who had lost his family and I heard a woman calling through the fence, "Madame. Madame."  I looked toward the sound, and there was the Syrian mother, asking me for water for her baby's bottle.  I found a bottle, handed it through the fence, and was able to lock eyes with her long enough to say, "God be with you. And may your journey be safe."  She smiled, brushed a tear away. And then she was gone, into the crowd.

The rest of the time we spent at the camp, I organized the donations we brought, while Zo attempted to get arrested by one of the people in uniform. (not cool, Zo)  That's not a story for a public forum.  Just know that Zo spent a lot of years in America, and has a strong sense of justice and has forgotten the cautiousness (rightly, so) that people in Eastern Europe have toward those in authority. Alas, he came home with me and we have interesting stories to tell our children.

Moments before we left, and because he obviously hadn't gotten a clue from his first encounter, Zo stepped in between an irate police officer and a refugee who was refusing to leave the camp, saying he needed medical help. To be fair, much of the struggle between the officer and the refugee was because of language barriers. Because the man spoke English, Zo was able to convince him to sit on the outside of the gate, while I ran for a doctor at the Red Cross tent.  He said he was seeing black. When the medic arrived, she recognized the man because he had been in the medical tent a few hours before. She immediately realized that he had taken a turn for the worse, and called for an ambulance.  While we watched, they loaded him onto a stretcher and took him away.  He was going into diabetic shock and having heart problems.  We didn't have enough time to get his name. But God knows who he is.

One good event from this trip was that Zo made contact with a very kind police office who is from Skopje, and invited us to dinner.  I am sure that will be a call we make, in the not too distant future. It seems, by what he says that his heart is for the elderly in Macedonia, and he has a dream of opening a private retirement home.  Definitely someone we want to keep in contact with!

Also, when standing in the children's tent, one of the volunteers came up and  recognized Zo from childhood!  Wow!  They were friends as children.  Pretty crazy, eh?  Especially since we were two hours away from his hometown, and it's been 25-30 years since he's seen her.  She said he hasn't changed at all.  (I can't imagine a 300 lb, 6 foot 3 inch ten year old boy!  No wonder he stood out!)

FLIGHT
Because this is becoming more of a book than a blog, I'll try to keep this section short.  Tonight, Zo left for a 10-day business trip to the USA and Mexico.  YIKES!  Keep us in your prayers over the next few days. It is going to be really fun!  If nothing else, it will make for interesting conversation between the waiters after we leave restaurants.

We went to a restaurant tonight, and after I struggled through the whole meal with my Macedonian language skills, the waiter told me at the END OF THE MEAL that he speaks English. Thanks, dude!!!  No wonder he was smirking the entire time!

FUTURE
Before we left the camp yesterday, we asked for specific supplies that they need.  Here is what they said:

• shoes (definitely)
• socks (no one seems to donate those)
• diaper rash cream (the babies wear the diapers for a really long time, out of necessity, so rashes are common)
• warm pants (they are heading North, and the temp is dropping this week)
• 2 plug-in water pitchers (to warm water and milk for bottles)

Large organizations, like the Red Cross, are keeping them stocked with diapers, wipes, and feminine hygiene items, which is why we have stopped providing those items.  Instead, we try to fill in the gap with items that they don't receive normally, but desperately need.

I will not be going to the camp while Zo is out of the country. We decided that it was too far away for me to go alone, while the kids were 2 hours away.

Will post again soon.  Thanks for being a part of this journey!  We would love to read your comments and thoughts.

A difficult week...

"I will lift my eyes to the mountains. From where shall my help come?"  

Psalm 121:1

This has been a difficult weekend, on many fronts.

First, we got a call Saturday morning that a young man we knew (and who our daughter, Nattie, was friends with) had passed away, unexpectedly Friday night. Though they hadn't seen each other in 6 months or so, Nattie still felt very fondly of him, and it was hard, as a momma, to break that news. It was the first time that she has been through this type of tragedy.  I have been told by other people living abroad, that deaths are very hard to comprehend from the other side of the world.  They were right. So much of it doesn't feel real. I don't know that it will, while we are so far away. And with that, comes the guilt of "not having strong enough feelings" (if that even makes sense).  It's definitely something that we are processing differently than we would've had we been "back home."

Saturday, we decided to take Nattie with us to Greece and leave the boys at home, so that we could spend some time with her and break the news about Stephen.  It was a good trip, and I'm thankful for an easy first time through border control and no issues that would cause any more pressure on an already heavy conversation.

Zo and I went, alone, on Sunday, to the refugee camp. I noticed, as soon as we drove up that something was different.  Without trying to sound overly poetic or dramatic, it was strange how the clouds overhead seem to cast a shadow on the mood of the camp, as we pulled in the gate.

The volunteers were struggling. They told us that Saturday was "the worst day so far" at the camp. With three straight days of rain, and a downpour Friday night and all of Saturday, the camp flooded. We were told that there were parts of the camp where the water was up past the knee.  One of the children's tents was completely flooded.  There were 150+ children in the other tent, trying to stay dry.  It was mass chaos.  We asked the volunteers what they did. They said, "we did nothing. What could we do?"  They had zero drinking water all day Saturday and until noon on Sunday. When we got to the camp on Sunday, they were still trying to assess the damage and pick up the pieces.  This job would be difficult enough if the camp was empty, and clean up began. Unfortunately, all of the clean up, assessment, organization, supply runs, etc have to be done while there are still refugees pouring through the gates.

One positive note.  When the volunteers were telling us what they had run out of, the first three things they listed: baby rash cream, pants for children, and shoes for children were what we had in the van! Praise God!  We filled up the shelves with the donations (knowing they would run out again within a day or so).  But 64 children will have warm pants.  That is a step.

We went into the working children's tent, where I handed out candies to the 10-12 children inside.  As I was walking back out, I noticed a family sitting off to the side, with a stroller.  Assuming they had a baby, I walked over to say "hello."  When I got to the stroller, a tiny little hand reached out and grabbed my hand.  His wrist was 1/2 the size of Malachi's (my 6 year old who wears a 4T).  There was no meat on his hands, just bone and flesh.  He smiled up at me.  He was beautiful.  Rotten teeth, food tube into his nose, big dark eyes, misshapen head. But absolutely beautiful.

He immediately started talking to me in Arabic. His mama told him that I was an American, so he started counting to 10 in English. After he was done with that, he said, "I love you." and any other phrase he knew.  I asked him how old he was.  Nine. Just like my Josif. A nine year old, with a winning smile, in the broken body the size of an average 3 year old.  Fleeing from Syria. Hoping to make it to Germany. With his mother, father, seven year old brother, and four year old sister.

I talked to them for a few more minutes.  I told them I have four children. They asked to see a picture. So, I took out my phone and told them the names and ages of Nattie, Aleks, Josif, and Malachi.  My little friend, who wouldn't let go of my hand, smiled even bigger when I showed him my Joe and said, "He's nine. Just like you!"

I couldn't bear to ask to take their picture. But I do ask you to pray for them. God knows their names. I realized, when I got home, that one of the pictures I took of the tent, as a whole, shows a little snippet of my little friend, in his stroller, sitting off to the side. I'm grateful for that. I want to remember them. I don't know how I could ever forget.






One unusual sight at the refugee camp this time, was a clown group from Spain.  In the midst of heartache and loss, and with the language barrier,
still these three clowns were making people laugh. It was so beautiful to witness. Grown men were belly laughing. Children were clapping. It was awesome. I wish I had the opportunity to say thank you, but I didn't dare interrupt the magical moment that was happening in the middle of the dirty, rocky camp.



Monday, we decided to take a family trip to Thessaloniki, Greece. It's a three hour drive, but we heard they have a Cinnabon and a KFC, so we decided it would be well worth the trip.  Zo was not feeling well, but we decided that if we didn't go on Monday, we wouldn't be able to go for quite a while (long story - visa related). We piled in Ethelina, excited for the adventure, after several difficult days.


Because Zo was ill, I volunteered to get out at the Greek border. No problem, right? Well. Between the emotions of the past weekend, illness, and being over tired, I wasn't prepared for the added "fun" of the cultural differences between me (I realize now that I might have a tinge of Southern Belle in me) and the Greek border guard. I was trying really hard to answer any questions he might have and "do a good job" at whatever I was supposed to be doing at his window.  There was only enough space between his window and the edge of the sidewalk for the length of my feet. One step backwards put me in the lane of EU card holders, driving through, waving their passes. Of course, I didn't know this, because I can't read the signs, in Greek, or understand the border agent who was speaking to me, in Greek.  <insert "it's all Greek to me" joke>

So, I was leaning toward his window, when a car pulled up behind me to show their EU cards.  He couldn't see them because yours truly was blocking his view. Apparently this upset him, quite a bit, because he stood up and started waving his hands and yelling at me. (Remember, I have no clue what he is saying) When I asked him what was wrong, he proceeded to mimic me, by crossing his arms and leaning out of his window saying, "oh, sorry. oh, sorry." Silly me, I realized what he was saying and what was my insanely intelligent reply?  "Oh, sorry." To which he rolled his eyes, threw his hands up in the air, and said something (that I'm glad I didn't understand) to the guard next to him.

He finished my paperwork (6 passports and 1 car "green card") and handed it all back to me, while waving me away, quite dismissively, I might add.  I walked back to the van, got in, gave Zo a very abbreviated version of what had just happened (he saw most of it from the driver's seat).  And then I did what every strong, intelligent, confident, red-blooded American woman would do. I cried. Like a girl.

Great start to our adventure!  While I pulled myself together (in my defense, it only took 4-5 min), we continued on our journey.

The drive to Thessaloniki was uneventful (thankfully).  Zo didn't say three words the entire time. I realized, as we were driving, that he was really not doing well. The fact that he asked for medicine was a clear indication.  But, he's a trooper, and we continued. Maybe it was because he wasn't ready to attempt me seeing the border agent again! haha!

We found Cosmos mall, which is a HUGE mall in Thessaloniki. When we pulled into the parking lot, something made a loud noise under the back of our van. Sounded like we dropped something, and it was dragging.  We got out, nothing to be seen. But driving, wow! It was special. Zo was in no shape to crawl under the van, so we decided to go inside the mall and in the words of the great Scarlett O'hara, "Think about it tomorrow."

We got to the food court and the kids were wound up.  Really. Wound. Up.  But I was proud of them. They were very well behaved.  Zo left us for a while, to take care of some business. Ahem.  So, I sat them all at a table and took them one-at-a-time to whatever restaurant they chose in the food court.  It was fun to watch them make their decision.  Nattie - Greek food.  Aleks - Cheeseburger and onion rings. Josif - Asian food. Malachi - Dominos pizza.

We ate. Zo watched us. Then we went for a walk around the mall while he took care of some more business. We took one lap. I found a pharmacy and bought Zo some meds. He found us. Took the meds and decided it was time to go home. Kids were bummed, but they could tell their Tato was not doing well and we all knew we had a broken van and a 3 hour ride to get home.

We left the mall. I was starting to feel yucky. Zo drove cautiously (ie - 70 kph in a 120 kph zone) the entire way home, because the noise was persistent.  For what it's worth, we think it is the brakes. We have the van at the shop right now, and are awaiting the "verdict".

All in all, it was not the amazing adventure we planned it to be. We barely made it home, before Zo was sick again. I woke up Tuesday morning, joining him in his misery.

Today seems a bit better.  I decided to give up my perfectionism and guilt and cancel school for the rest of the week.

Zo leaves on Monday for a 10-day business trip to the States.  That should be interesting for us! I'm actually looking forward to it. It should be fodder for a lot of laughter, as I attempt to shop, eat out, and handle life in Macedonia without him.  At least the waiters will laugh a lot.

I started this blog with a question from the Psalms, "Where does my help come from?" The next verse answers it perfectly.  "My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth."

We are grateful for the "help" we see all around us during this international transition. He has given us new Macedonian friends (who speak English, yay!),  text messages from friends back home (that always come at just the right moment), a strong family connection, and a roof over our heads. Most importantly, we have a purpose and a hope.  What more do we need?

UPDATE: Right before I posted this blog, Zo came in to tell me that the mechanic said nothing is wrong with the van's brakes. There was a metal plate that had bent and was rubbing. No big deal.  Thank goodness!!! Another provision He gave.

One Refugee Camp....Three Perspectives

“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.”  Abraham Lincoln

Yesterday, Zo and I took our weekly road trip to Gevgelija. We had spent Saturday in Skopje, which is a 4 hour drive, round trip.  So Nattie graciously agreed to stay home with the boys (outside children aren't allowed in the refugee camp, so when they go with us, they ride for 2 hours, sit for 15 minutes, and then ride for 2 more hours!  Bless them! No complaining, at all).  This made it so that Zo and I had more time inside the camp than we have had in previous visits.

We were able to talk to several people, specifically:  a NGO employee who has worked at several different refugee camps, a young Syrian mother with a sick baby, and an older man, whose property backs up to the camp.  This post, for the most part, will be my take on their varying perspectives.


The NGO employee (sorry, the picture didn't turn out)
We have gotten to know "V" during our trips to the refugee camps.  He is a great help to us and has the added benefit (for me) that he speaks English very well.  He told us he has worked in Germany, Bosnia, Kosovo, and other places during past refugee crises.  "V" is a fountain of information and very pleasant to talk to. He works 3 days at the camp, and then is home 3 days with his wife and toddler.  He said they have asked him to spend more days at the camp, but laughed and said his wife would probably divorce him if he stayed there any longer. Yesterday, he told us that in his approximation, currently, only 1/3 of the people in the camp are Syrian refugees. He has ideas of things that need to be done - many of them quite good - and ways that "Americans" can help.  He said, if the Americans don't help, he guesses the next best thing would be the Chinese. He is worn out, but not giving up. His heart is for the refugees and making sure they are treated with respect.  Each week, when we leave, we ask him, "What do you need us to get this week?" And he gives us a list.  Life would be easier if it would stay hot or stay cold.  The "on" and "off" of the weather is making deciding on the most necessary donations a difficult task.  Yesterday, they needed short sleeved shirts.  We had all long-sleeved. Last week, they were overflowing with diaper rash cream.  This week, they were completely out.  It's difficult to plan.  But he keeps plugging along.  He's a good guy.  But he looks so tired.

The Syrian mother and her son

While we were there, one of the volunteers asked for someone who spoke English, because there was a Syrian mother, whose son was throwing up, and she wasn't following their directions for medicating him.  Zoran, "V", and I went into the tent.  Her sweet baby boy (11 mos old) was bright red, and obviously struggling. The mom looked tired, and concerned.  She showed us the water bottle that she was given at the Red Cross, which contained "medicine" inside, for her baby to drink.  (It appeared to be electrolytes, to keep him from dehydrating)  She was frustrated because she said the medicine wasn't working.  Zo asked her how long he had been throwing up. She said it had started that morning, in Greece, and that someone had given her medicine for him and it didn't help. She kept showing us that she wanted to give him a shot.  "V" told her that they could take her, and her son, to the hospital in Gevgelija, for him to get better medicine.  That really upset her.  She kept saying, "No, no. I know my baby. He will be fine. No hospital."  Poor woman.  I spoke up. I told her how beautiful he was and that I have 4 children. Anything to try and give her comfort.  "How do you do that?" she asked me.  Gosh, lady.  I smiled, but all I could think is that my life is pretty simple.  I didn't have to flee my country because it's not safe, carrying my 11 month old with me.  My life is very, very cushioned.  Still, she asked me how I do it. Pfft. I offered to look for a short-sleeved shirt for him, to help him cool off.  When I was walking off, she called behind me, "Can you please look for shoes for him? We lost his in the sea."  I found a t-shirt, but no shoes. I also found a batman tshirt for her, so that she wouldn't be covered in vomit.  She was very grateful, and kept thanking us.  By the time we left, her son was playing with the jars of baby food the Red Cross had given her.  Please pray for her and her son.  They have many miles to travel before they are done.  God knows her name.

The Macedonian man and his grapes
We found this gentleman, walking up and down the railroad tracks, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. I must relate his story, third-hand, because Zo spoke with him entirely in Macedonian, and I only understood half.  The rest, Zo told me on our drive back home.  I'll call him Dedo, just for simplicity sake (Dedo means grandpa in Macedonian).  Dedo owns approximately 20 acres of grapes.  His property backs up to the camp. Let me rephrase that.  Dedo owns approximately 20 acres of grape vines.  All of his grapes are gone.  3 tons. Gone. His entire year's crop.  When the refugees walk through his fields, they eat his grapes.  Imagine, between 3,000 and 10,000 people, per day, walking through, grabbing a couple grapes a piece.  It didn't take long for his vines to be empty, and his crop to be gone.  He told us he tried, at first, to put the grapes in baskets and sell them at market price to the people walking by, but he was told he was not permitted to sell food to the refugees. So, he watched, as his income (of grapes), disappeared. His property line is trashed. He stands, looking at what once was, and he is discouraged. He plead his case to the people in city government. They told him that "God will repay him."  He talked to the officials in the camp about the garbage. They told him that they were only responsible for garbage inside the camp - not outside. What does one say to this man? Zo listened. He apologized, on behalf of those in leadership who wash their hands of this entire mess.  It's easy to feel pity and want to help the refugees.  But they are not the only ones who are being hurt by this "crisis."  The ripples, that turn into waves, that grow into tsunamis are reaching far and wide.  Unfortunately, the end is not yet in sight.

There are so many more stories I can tell - stories of corruption, heartache, greed, and pain.  

But today, I will thank God for the sweet baby, who was playing happily when I left. 

And for the little boy, who posed for this picture (left), with a smile on his face and chocolate in his teeth (courtesy of yours truly). 

And a mother's love for her baby (right). 

And I will pray for peace, for healing, and for safety.  

And thank God for the thorn bushes that have roses.