Yesterday, Le Stadio Seawatche held the FIFA World Cup for people held hostage at sea. Teams came from Sudan, South Sudan, England, Senegal, Ivory Coast, Holland, Ghana, Guinnea Conakry, Guinnea Bissau, and the Central African Republic. The winner was everybody. But mostly me. Football is an international language which bonds and unites communities. You can be from anywhere in the world and have nothing in common, but drop a ball, and we play. Don’t have a ball? No problem. We’ll make one out of rags and tape. And we will play.
The mood shifts of the boys are very real as the warmer weather disappears and the colder weather moves in. It’s harder to find time to really chat and find out what life is like as they are so cold and so hungry, but I also have found myself thinking that very real fears of how they will cope with sickness and surviving the cold and sleeping in ditches are more tangible.
About a three hour drive south of Athens in Greece, lies Patras Port - one of Europe’s remote dark corners for refugees. Disused factories complete with broken glass, crumbling ceilings, no electricity, water or other facilities. Life as a refugee in Patras is tough.
Rando got back from his monthly trip this morning…