Illegal migrants risk their lives in search of a better life in Europe

Although they all have different stories and come from different countries, illegal migrants who make the mostly dangerous and risky journey from Turkey's Aegean coasts aim to make it to the same destination, Europe, with the hope of establishing a new life with better living standards and freedom.

As a Sunday's Zaman photojournalist, I joined some of these refugees during their 10-day-long journey from the popular Turkish holiday resort town of Bodrum on the Aegean to Budapest to experience the reality first-hand because, due to the large refugee influx from Syria which has been suffering from a civil war that has left millions of Syrians displaced since 2011, refugees are a much-discussed topic all around the world.

Tovarnik, CroatiaRefugees walk through cornfields to reach Croatia from Serbia in the wee hours of the day.

Most of the people taking the risky journey, full of many hardships, from Turkey to Europe are refugees who have fled conflict and upheaval in countries such as Syria, Iraq and Pakistan. Not all of them manage to reach their destinations, though, because hundreds of refugees tragically get drowned in the waters of the Aegean Sea due to the unsafe journeys they take in inflatable boats.

Yet, these tragedies do not deter others from daring to make the same treacherous journey, and they even pay a lot of money to human smugglers who promise to take them to Europe.

Currently, there are around 2 million refugees in Turkey, according to official figures, and this country has the highest number of Syrian refugees in the world. Turkey has followed an open-door policy and has established modern refugee camps for the migrants, but not all of them are living in those camps.

Although Syrians are allowed to live in Turkey for an unlimited period of time, most of them are leaving the country due to the high cost of living here and a lack of educational opportunities for their children.

They may have set out for different reasons, but they all want to get to the same place: Europe. Austria, Germany and other European countries mean the beginning of a new life for them.Wars, massacres, unemployment and poverty: all these have made their homelands unlivable. Many of them pass through Turkey while on this journey towards peace, food and freedom. Refugees from Asia, the Middle East and Africa go through Turkey, sometimes staying only for a little while, sometimes for years, but always aware that the road they face as they leave Turkey is both dangerous and difficult.

Many of these refugees pay human smugglers large sums of money to board boats on the Aegean shores, headed for Greek islands. The young, the old; they all set sail, someti mes for what winds up being a deadly voyage. Some ride in inflatable rafts, others in broken-down motorboats; there are definitely no safety precautions on these vessels. If they can make it to places like Kos, Chios or Lesbos, they are registered there by the local police and then they take ferries to Athens. From the Greek capital, these refugees leave sometimes on foot, sometimes by bus and other times by train, hoping to make it all the way to their final destinations.

It is a journey that can last from between 20 and 40 days, and it is one that we spent 10 days on, along with some refugees on this route. We had the opportunity of hearing refugees yelling "I'm finally free!" on the shores of Kos, an important turning point in this journey, which for some refugees is thousands of kilometers. From Bodrum to the shores of Kos, from Thessaloniki to Belgrade, and then all the way to Budapest, we travelled with these refugees as they sought a path to Europe from wherever the y had come.

Hope… A new life, longing for a new personal world… Whether people are fleeing from wars, massacres, oppression, hunger or poverty, it doesn't matter: When they leave their former homes, they pray their journeys will lead them towards new lives with new hope in other places. Perhaps the most dangerous part of the journey for these refugees who come from all over the world is the Aegean Sea. The most common mode of departure from Turkish shores on the Aegean is by rubber dinghies or inflatable boats heading for either Kos or Lesbos. When they step onto the shores of these Greek isles, they at least know they've left the most difficult part of their journeys behind them.

We heard the story of Syrian Huda Matar, 24, who left Bodrum along with 23 other people, including his wife, after giving smugglers $1,400. Wiping tears of fear and perhaps relief from his eyes, he described the terrifying hours spent getting to Kos, including the moment when the Turkish Co ast Guard had to pull their boat onto rocks to save it after it was capsized by waves. Matar, who is from Damascus, said: "We couldn't even think about returning by that point. Because there is nothing for us to return to anymore."

Later, I encountered Matar and his wife for a second time during their journey, this time in the Serbian refugee camp at Preshova some 1,300 kilometers from where I first spoke to them on Kos. He told me that for them, Syria was finished as a country but that they hoped to return to Turkey some day in the future. He also related how after the clashes began in Syria, they had made their way to the Turkish city of Mersin and from there to Kayseri, where Matar had worked in the organized industrial zone for nine months trying to save money for this difficult journey. Matar noted that while Turkey was a good country, it was too difficult for refugees, saying: "There are neither rules nor laws. My wife and I couldn't even get legally married there. We were told that if we wanted to open a bank account, we needed $6,000. But how could refugees have that much money to begin with?" This was a new test put before Matar, who had already had a nightmarish previous few years.

The one-kilometer stretch of shoreline that lies near the Kos Police Center is littered with partially ruined rubber dinghies, tipped-over boats, life vests, clothing and shoes. Perhaps more noticeably, the shoreline is also dotted with tents and tired refugees. Everyone here looks absolutely worn out. The first signs that the exhausting journey towards Europe might be nearing an end are experienced here, on this shoreline. When they wake up here, they can see the Turkish coastline in the distance, the bridge between where they came from and where they hope to be heading. Some of these refugees used Turkey only as a transit point, while others stayed for years in Turkey. Most actually have spent some time in Turkey -- whether months or even years -- and many of them already speak Turkish by the time they reach the Greek shoreline. Everyone has their own unique problems, but the reasons for leaving both Syria and Turkey are quite similar: war, unemployment, too much work for too little pay, poverty, hunger and the high cost of living...

In the part of the journey for which we were present, going from Kos to the gateway of Europe, there were only two people in the group who had very different stories. One of these was 35 year-old Pakistani refugee Hussein Han, who told us he was happy with life in Turkey and would have preferred not to leave. With his wife and child, he waited in a tent on the Kos shoreline for 10 days before taking off for Athens on a ferryboat. He told us he had worked for three-and-a-half years in Turkey, noting that "my boss' name was Cebrail Orhan, and he was a fantastic person." He earned TL 1,800 a month and even got Bayram money as well. He added: "My boss even gave me 500 euros for this trip. Ce brail Bey is a Kurdish man from Diyarbakir. He never treated me any differently than the other workers. He was always so careful not to mistreat us." He also noted that he was sorry he didn't get the chance to thank his boss more for all he had done to help him, telling us that "Cebrail Orhan from Diyarbakir always reads your paper, so make sure you mention his name and he will see it." What was the reason that this family of three from Pakistan finally left Turkey, though? The high cost of living in Turkey. Hussein notes that "the poverty drove us under. We got ever poorer in Turkey." They headed out onto the road, knowing that in Turkey they had no health insurance and no path to education for their child, hoping for a better life somewhere in Europe.

Lots of work in Turkey, but no money

The most common complaint we hear from these refugees, many of which have worked in Turkey even if only temporarily, is about the cheap wages that are paid here. Fehim Han from Pakistan, who is now 5,000 kilometers from his homeland, notes, "Sometimes we would work for 40 days but only get paid for 30 days, or sometimes not at all." He continues to say that "I got paid regularly since I was working at a market, but some of my friends did not." Waiting in line for food under the cool shadow of a pine tree along with 19-year-old Bilal Hasan and Shakir Han, Fehim Han tells us that he is one of those rare refugees who didn't give any money to human smugglers. He says: "Along with five of my friends, we bought a dinghy for TL 1,200, and got ourselves to Kos without paying anyone. I've been here now for 20 days, and this evening, I'm getting on a ferryboat for Athens."

Fehim Han lines up with other refugees to bathe using the faucet opened specifically for their group on the shoreline; sharing with us how happy he and the others are that so many Europeans have volunteered to help them with food and other urgent needs. One of the most unexpected surprises he has encountered, he tell us, is that one volunteer even offered to iron his shirt; this was definitely something he did not think would happen during this difficult journey.

The moment refugees set foot on the shoreline of Kos, they step back and take a look around them. We meet 18-year-old Pakistani Ayse Kamil. She tells us her story, at least the part that took place in Turkey, noting that while she and her husband worked up to 12 hours a day there, the most they could earn in one month was TL 1,900. She notes: "Here, people live like humans. They work eight hours a day, but they have time to rest, to enjoy themselves." Kamil says that in Turkey she worked in a shoe factory and that at least she earned an extra TL 100 lira a month, as she had more experience than others. She says h er mother and older brother stayed behind in Turkey but that she is preparing to get on a ferryboat for Athens that evening and is impatient to get going.

Volunteers help refugees with their health problems

When these refugees arrive in Kos, they are registered by the local police and later sent on to Athens. While they stay on the island, the refugees' various needs are met by international volunteers who have come from all over the world to help out. Island locals also pitch in to do what they can. Some islanders don't have that much to give, but stop by with fresh fruit and vegetables from the local markets. Bananas are passed out by volunteers here. Some even bring used furniture to help out, hoping that when the temporary guests leave, they do so with good feelings about where they stayed for a while. As for the volunteers who come in from abroad, they do what they can, according to what their professional training might be. We meet Swede Anna Wernerliv and her Dutch friend Liesbet De Bouck, who work day and night to attend to refugee needs. Many of the refugees are in need of medical care; some are children. Volunteers do this, but they also help out with basic things like food lines and making sure everyone has clothing.

Friday afternoon prayers more crowded now in Greece

Most of the refugees we encounter in Kos are from Muslim countries. When they see the mosques on this island, leftover from the Ottoman years, they find it all very familiar. The senior imam at the island's Defterdar Mosque is Mehmet Şakiroğlu, who can't hide his pleasure at the fact that Friday prayers are now more crowded than they've even been due to the refugee presence.

Şakiroğlu, who recalls times in the past when there weren't even three people at Friday prayers, meaning the prayers couldn't be held, says "My son, when the refugees came, our mosque was enlivened again!" Born in 1937, Şakiroğlu is one of this mosque's two imams and has been here at his job now since 1969. The müezzin for this mosque is Süleyman Kavakçı, who also works as a municipal janitor. He notes that the excessive number of refugees on the island has created some cleaning problems, but that municipal janitors are working overtime to try and help.

Bodrum coach station

Refugees who live in a tent near the Bodrum coach station are looking for ways to immigrate to Greece.

Be quiet, the summer people are still sleeping!

It is only a few kilometers from Bodrum, which is one of Turkey's most famous summer spots, to Kos. The trip, when made by fast ferryboat, can take anywhere between 25 and 45 minutes. But of course, when a rubber dinghy filled with too many refugees makes this same journey, the conditions are different and it can last four or five hours, sometimes longer. The moment the exhausted refugees step onto the shore in Kos, though, screams of joy can be heard and suddenly all the difficulty washes away. The captains of these dinghies tend to stop their motors before the boats get to the shoreline, and so furious rowing starts as the refugees approach. Recently, when two dinghies carrying some 50 Iraqi refugees arrived at Kos, the shouts of "Freedom!" coming from the group prompted officials on duty to warn them to be quiet, as summer residents were still sleeping in their homes.

Kos is like a transfer headquarters now

At times, some 700 refugees a day arrive in Kos. The Greek government is now using the island like a sort of transfer headquarters for these voyagers. When leaving Bodrum, the refugees often use the Bodrum shoreline that lies between Ortakent-Yahşi and Turgutreis Mahallesi. The spot where they meet up with human smugglers prior to this is at the Bodrum Bus Station. In the meantime, in the marketplaces in Bodrum you can find all sorts of rubber dinghies, life vests and any other thing you might need on the high seas, though at incredibly high prices. It should also be noted that the general lack of hygiene at the Bodrum Bus Station opens the way to a whole new host of possible health problems for these people in transit. One local merchant who sells single cigarettes to the refugees notes: "They are all dirty. When they hand me money, I go wash my hands." Though his words are tough, this man actually helps some refugees; to wit, he has even hired an Iraqi to work as a guard fo r his business. It is also notable that the lack of portable toilets and running water facilities in Bodrum means that many of the refugees are also now using the bushes outside the city bus station to take care of their essential bathroom needs.

Migrants trekking from the Macedonian border to the northern border with Serbia.

A long journey to an unknown land; babies and grandfathers together Gateway Macedonia

After refugees arriving in the Greek islands have local people register them, the next step is a ferryboat ride to Athens. From the Greek capital, the next leg of the journey takes them to northern Greece, to the Idomeni border crossing, which is the gateway to Macedonia. Here, they are not allowed to use the same border crossing point that travelers with passports and visas use. Instead, they gather in a designated spot, waiting to be registered and then sent down a specially opened corridor to the next country and its police force. We encounter 18-year-old Gita and 22-year-old Hamid Qabadi with their tiny 2-month-old baby girl Benazir waiting in line at the Idomeni crossing point, unaware of much that is going on around them except for their own journey. The family apparently set out when their baby girl was just one month old. When we ask why they are traveling and what they are traveling for, the father Hamid, who is from Afghanistan, points to his baby girl, saying, "For he r future, so she can have a good life."

In the meantime, there is also the 17-person Caferi family from Kirkuk, in northern Iraq, with young and old members all finding the same difficulties on the road. First, this family traveled from Iraq to İstanbul, where they stayed in a hotel for some 20 days. After a tough sea journey from the Turkish coastline to Greece, they made it up to the border with Macedonia. When we ask them why they are on the road, the answer is: "There is an explosion every day in Kirkuk. There is terror every day. There is no peace, no serenity… Why shouldn't we set out for somewhere else?"

Iranian Leyla Sarayi, who is a teacher, is another who has set out on the road, with her husband. She explains, "We are looking for freedom."

Sarayi notes that their dreams for when then get to Germany are quite specific, but they are also big things, "Let there be work; let there be freedom and if we also had a child it would be wonderful!" She wipes away tears while saying this and her husband holds her hand and tries to comfort her.

Telephone calls from the border with Macedonia

After the refugees leave Greece behind, their first stop in Macedonia is the border town of Gevgelija. This little town is around two hours from the capital city of Skopje; oddly, one of the first things you notice here is the prevalence of signs advertising dentists. As it turns out, it's because the most prestigious dental faculty in the Balkans is located here, and lots of people come here for cheap and good dental care.

At the same time, this means there are also lots of hotels and social facilities in Gevgelija. Of course, this doesn't mean much for the refugees. The first people to greet them when they cross the border are the itinerate vendors who sell water and cigarettes and who are always on the run from the police. After about one kilometer of walking, the refugees arrive at a temporary shelter set up near the train station. When they get to this center, the refugees are given packages of food, some blankets for the cold nights and clothing for those who need it. In the tents that have been set up here by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), it is the plugs for cell phones that are most sought after. Everyone wants to plug in their phone and call those they've left behind to let people know they are all right, healthy and moving forward.

During the night, families cluster at one side of these tents, while the young and the single stretch out on the other side. The cold of the Balkans is beginning to become apparent. The night air is pierced by the crying of a child. With summer coming to an end, the journey has become more difficult for these refugees. And the deeper the winter becomes, the more serious a trip it becomes. Official data from the International Organization of Migration (IOM) tells us that 224 Syrians trying to reach Europe from Greece have already died due to drowning in the Aegean this past year. And the statistics get even more shocking if you include all the refugees who have died trying to get t o Europe via the Aegean: 2,224. And if you expand this to include all the refugees who have died in all the water crossings over the world, the number shoots up to 3,840 this past year. Up until now, around 500,000 refugees have made it to Europe. And nearly half of them are Syrian; 200,000. The number of refugees who entered Greece in 2015 is 340,000. And those who do make it here do so with the knowledge that the road ahead of them is still long and difficult.

A Syrian toddler, despite making it to Europe, lives in deplorable conditions.

A long road to an unknown country 'Do you hear me, Mother?'

There is no one visibly on duty at the Berkasovo crossing point between Serbia and Croatia, near the city of Sid. Volunteers from international agencies and citizens from the Czech Republic who have organized via Facebook arrive here to provide this mass of refugees with food, water and other urgent necessities. The police here show the refugees the way to get to another police station, another three kilometers or so of walking, and from there to the international refugee camp where they will be sheltered for a while. Walking in groups, the refugees pass through cornfields and agricultural farmland, some going from morning to evening trying to find where they are meant to go. We hear Kurdish musician Muhammed Hesso sing as he walks, "Do you hear me, Mother?Let the doctors and nurses come, MotherMy problem is big, MotherI am not free, how painful it is, Mother,Where are your white hands, Mother?"

Hesso tells us his story as he walks. "I composed that song. My family is from Al-Qamishli [northern Syria]. For five years I worked in Aleppo. I had three homes, three cars. I had loved ones. I had a country. But now?" He hits the ground with his hands. "Right now, this is my country. And tomorrow, somewhere else. No, actually, I have no country anymore… I have no mother, no father, no home. Actually, if you have money it's the same life, if you don't have money, still the same life. Maybe it's better like this," he says.

Hesso's dream is to make it to Berlin. To set up a new life there for himself. To start again, with the three children and wife he left behind. Maybe he'll continue with music, or maybe he'll do designing like he did in Istanbul for a year and a half.

Berkosovo, Serbia

Refugees who arrived at the Berkosovo border gate feel joyful after overcoming their weeks-long voyage from Syrian soils.

Suffering from hunger and thirst on the way to Serbian borders

A group of youths from the Czech Republic who organized themselves through Facebook, arrive to help the refugees at the border crossing. Jakup Kyr says: "This is actually the Serbian area, but there is no one from Serbia on duty, no police or border officials. The only people helping are some like us, and some from international agencies." These youths plan on being here for a few days to assist however they can.

One step left to freedom

The refugee camps in Croatia have tighter security than those in other countries. Journalists are not allowed into these camps. The refugees are first registered and then brought under tight security to train cars waiting at the Tovarnik train station. They head off now to either Austria or Hungary. Some of the refugees have been waiting for five hours at the train station and are hungry and thirsty. Complaints begin to rise from the crowds. People are surprised at one point when well-known Syrian composer Malek Jandali, dressed in a red jacket, starts to hand out food and drinks to the refugees while balancing himself on crutches. One Syrian at the train station notes: "I worked for one-and-a-half years in Istanbul's Ikitelli. I couldn't do it anymore, though; I headed for Bodrum. And from there, I made it here. Back in Syria, our homes were bombed, my younger brother died. There is no electricity, no water, no life in Syria. But life in Turkey, in Istanbul, is very difficult, very expensive. Everything is there, but it is so expensive."

Doctors, musicians, scientists

Jandali tries to calm everyone waiting on the train wagon through the night: "Just be patient, wait a little longer, there's only a little while left." This is the second time Jandali has headed out to try and help refugees. In 2012, he also visited refugee camps in Syria. This time, though, he's on a train wagon in Croatia, where men, women and children have been waiting five hours in the dark to move. He listens to their problems and tries to convey their questions and fears to officials. He says: "These people are my family. They are all my relatives. There are doctors, scientists, musicians on this train. There are journalists too. But we look at them, some look at them, and just call them 'refugees.' But they are people too."

Jandali is one of the first artists in Syria who began to openly oppose the regime, in 2011. He was actually living in the US city of Atlanta at the time, but the rest of his family was living in the Syrian town of Humus, which was caught in the crossfire of the civil war there. Jandali, who was only able to return to Syria for the last time in 2012, decided that his goal would be to help those who had set out trying to flee Syria for new lives elsewhere. These days, he is using all his energy and resources to try and draw attention to the crisis at hand, and in particular, to the fate of the children stuck on the road. He calls on people everywhere to donate to international agencies trying to help the situation. And his song "Ya Allah," which contains elements of both the Middle East and the West, draws attention to this war-torn country of his.

Jandali notes that Turkish treatment of the incoming Syrian refugees is something all Syrians are grateful for, and he expresses thanks for this.

These trains carrying the newest refugees towards the more western reaches of Europe start to move. The next border crossing will be into Hungary. Here, it is quiet and calm. But the tanks and soldier reinforcemen t in place at this border crossing give some important hints as to the security precautions in place. When the refugees arrive at the Mohaç plains, there is another cause for panic: there is a great deal of work under way here on these historic plains. Hungarian soldiers are busy installing sharp-wired fencing, undoubtedly the result of growing nationalist waves that have inspired Germany to announce that their borders are being tightened. Might this nationalism stop the flow from east to west that we are seeing now? It does appear that the journey from east to west, ultimately a journey of hope for so many of these people, is going to be tougher than ever in the coming times.

Refugees arriving at Budapest's Keleti train station are first registered by police, and then scramble to get on trains headed for Austria. Hadil, just 7 years old, cries as he looks for his mother and father and three siblings, lost in the crowds and chaos. After a while, when Hadil is unable to find t hem, it becomes clear that the rest of his family already left on the previous train for Austria.

(Graphic: Adnan Sarıkabak)

Source: Illegal migrants risk their lives in search of a better life in Europe