Location 29
A Year at Ellinikon
Artist Georgia Kalkanis documents the refugee camp at Ellinikon Airport in Athens from October 2016 to June 2017.
‘All those moments will be lost in time. Like tears and rain.’ - from Blade Runner.
It’s these words that haunt me when I think of my photographic work that began in October 2016 through June 2017. Nothing could have prepared me for the emotional journey that ensued after a photography workshop with photographer Nikos Economopoulos, member of the renowned New York-based consortium Magnum Photos.
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During the five day workshop, I roamed the streets of Athens looking for a compelling subject and ended up on the seaside of Athens in the sweltering heat. I had an hour left to take some pictures, when suddenly I saw a teenage refugee and her family in a park.
‘Come sit and eat with us,’ she said in remarkable English. I was apprehensive at first but then thought this may be your subject. And so, I took off my shoes, accepted a plate of food, and was introduced to Marzia and her sister Razia, who kindly allowed me to take their portraits. I was so touched by their kindness and openness.
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I rushed back to Nikos’ studio for the evening appraisal session. Nikos’s eyes lit up when he saw the images of the girls. ‘Run with this,’ he said.
The following day, I decided to try my luck at the infamous Ellinikon Camp. Set in an abandoned airport hangar, Ellinikon was renowned for its squalor. Full of trepidation, I arrived by taxi to the front entrance, but was immediately struck by the exuberant energy of the children playing outside.
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The words of Nikos ran in my head about not getting too close to my subject. The workshop had finished by the end of the week, but I continued visiting the camp with camera in hand.
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Access to the camp was restricted to refugees and NGO workers, so I captured segments of life from the outside. Graffiti covered the walls, and most of the buildings were in a dilapidated state. It was a wonder how the children didn’t fall from the derelict buildings they climbed or injured themselves with the shards of broken glass. Their resilience was inspiring.
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There was so much joy, so much hope, so much deep sadness in the faces that I saw. Their playfulness transcended the bleak living conditions that surrounded them. I ended up trading printed photographic images with the children in exchange for their trust.
Over the weeks that ensued, I befriended Marzia and her family. One day, they even smuggled me into the camp so I could see their living quarters. They were nestled in the Hockey Camp, a site built for the 2004 Olympics and a stone’s throw away from the airport hangar. They were house-proud, even when it came to visiting them in their tents. I conversed with them over a cup of tea and then as night began to fall, they disguised me with one of their head scarves and oversized sunglasses so I could exit the main gate.
I wanted the girls to experience the joys of Athens that lay outside, to give them memories that they could cherish. I took the family for a day out to the Acropolis, and we visited other historical sites including the Agora.
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Marzia and her family had their sights on moving to Sweden where her brother had gained residency. They applied for asylum and months later their application was approved. As a farewell, I organised a day out at the Attica zoo. I remember it was one of our happiest outings, so full of laughter and joy. The family left that summer with so much hope for the future.
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Meanwhile, the numbers of refugees at the camp dwindled. Some families were granted asylum, but as the months passed more and more families attempted to flee via illegal smugglers. Large sums of money were paid for their perilous crossing. The ‘singles’ (teenagers and young men) braved their lives on lorries that travelled from Patras to Italy and then onward to other European destinations. Some ended up in Serbia, others in France, while the fate of some still remain unknown. What became certain was that Greece was seen as a dead-end. Their hopes were set on reaching places like Austria, France, Sweden, Germany and the UK.
Parents risked their children’s lives for a shot at a better life. Some were sent to attempt the Patras crossing alone. I vividly remember a particular chubby 9-year old, who was returned by police after a failed crossing attempt and yet, his father was intent on giving it another try.
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In the camp, there were sordid tales of rape and even murder. In the final days of the camp’s operation, security became more lax, and I ventured into the airport terminal. The colourful tents and bed sheets that were used to divide living spaces all looked like a giant patchwork quilt. The lights in this area never went out for security reasons, and unescorted youths slept side by side next to families. I wondered how they endeared the life all those months under the blaring lights and those constant noise. Their ordeal was protracted. Some had lived in those squalid conditions for over a year.
Then in June came news that the camp was to be closed. They were to be relocated to the town of Thebes, 45 miles away. A new purpose-built camp had been constructed with shipping containers as residences. I rushed to Ellinikon, intent on capturing my last images. While at the camp- it was about 1:00 AM when I realised that I had missed the last tram out. As I pondered my options, a young lad I had befriended named Elyas offered to make me tea and so cups of tea it was until waiting for dawn. I took my last shots in the dead of silence as the refugees slept.
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June 2nd 2017, at day break, I walked out of the main gates just as police began swarming the area outside. Special forces lined up to raid the camp. The refugees in the airport terminal were considered the most unruly, the most likely to resist being relocated. Many hadn’t packed their belongings and it was to be a brutal awakening, but there was no violence in the end. The refugees, still half asleep, one by one peacefully boarded the buses.
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I witnessed all the events from the perimeter, alongside the journalists covering the story. I was never to see the faces of many of those children or families again, nor discover the fate of most of them.
One of the boys featured in my images is Farhad Hgr. He fled with his family to Serbia, where they were granted citizenship in 2018. Known as ‘the little Picasso,’ he had gained media attention for his gift of painting. My portrait of Farhad is one of the images I cherish the most. It’s a whimsical image of him with one of his paintings on his head as he gazes at the artwork of renowned Greek graffiti artist Sonke Wia. Sonka’s depictions of woeful females are iconic and can be found on building facades around Athens, and in upscale galleries alike.
Fast forward to 2021, the buildings of Ellinikon have been razed to the ground as part of a grand multimillion dollar redevelopment scheme. The Greek government has plans to turn it into one of Europe’s biggest tourist resorts, complete with skyscrapers and a casino.
As for Marzia and her family, what has become of them? We had remained connected through Facebook, so I thought I would pose the question. Marzia replied, ‘I have bad news to tell you.’
And my heart sank.
After four years in Sweden, she faces deportation. Her sister turned 18 this year and now the Swedish government has served the sisters with papers saying that they should return to their homeland.
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Marzia sobbed on the phone, ‘we have no one back in Afghanistan,’ she said. The family had fled to Iran when the girls were children, where they had spent five years before making the perilous crossing to Greece. A life on the run. With their distinctive facial features of the Hazara ethnic minority, the sisters should they return, would be targeted by the Taliban.
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I was crushed by the news. I had hoped that in Sweden, the girls would have received a proper education and a future. I felt so helpless.
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A generation of youth so full of promise, if only given a chance. It’s an ordeal that the refugees themselves would choose to forget. To quote Elyas, ‘I don’t want to think or focus about Ellinikon. It was something that doesn’t exist anymore.’ Forgetting is a luxury he can afford. Elyas was one of the few who chose to stay. He was granted asylum in Greece at the end of 2020.
I thought of the news story that ran on June 7th, of the body found in Norway of a 15-month-old boy who died crossing the channel. It’s the bodies of children that wash up on our shores that gain media attention. Only to be forgotten again and again. With this photographic project, I hope to shine a light on the plight of these young people. To quote the writer, Eudora Welthy, ‘a good snapshot keeps a moment from running away.’
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Georgia Kalkanis
19 June 2021
