“Θλίψη”
I heard a woman say to her friend as I walked along Stadiou Ave in downtown
Athens. It is the one thing I clearly heard amid the noise around me – the whooshing
of passing traffic, the honking horns, the buzzing mopeds leaving puffs of grey
clouds in their wake. I was walking past a block of neoclassical buildings that
were burnt and destroyed during one of last year’s protests-turned-ugly.
The two women had
paused to look across the street at the boarded-up, blackened edifice. The protest
long over, the ugliness of the charred buildings is not the only thing that remains.
What’s left is something much deeper: sorrow, misery, heartache, devastation: θλίψη.
The visible scars of
the crisis are everywhere. I walk along the central streets of downtown Athens,
past homeless people who have claimed a spot on low, wide ledges or steps. The
cold marble is covered by blue yoga mats, which are covered by tattered sleeping
bags, on which small bowls have been placed with hand-written signs propped up
against them: help, I’m hungry, or thank you.
Pre-crisis, these
central streets were vibrant and bustling, full of shiny storefronts,
immaculately maintained buildings, well-heeled people. Since the crisis, the streets
began to reflect a surreal picture of what was happening.
***
I continue on my way
to a bookstore in search of a book called σ’ευχαριστώ που
μ’αγαπάς
(thank you for loving me) by a woman
named Dimitra Nousi. As soon as I learned about the book, I went to Patakis on Akademias
St and found it. New purchase in hand, I take a long walk through Athens and
slowly make my way home.
I walk past a luxury
department store which still stands in its polished finery. Next to this -
empty storefronts, dirty windows, neglect. I turn into a side street, it’s
darker and dingier than the previous block. On the sidewalk, I see three men
sitting on a stoop, on a piece of cardboard. They are filthy, their hair is
matted, and their faces are dark with grime. They are hunched over, fiddling
with something in their hands. As I walk past them, I see that one of them has
a syringe and the others are preparing something; I see a spoon, a lighter. They
don’t even notice when I walk by, less than two feet away from them…
***
When I got home, I
spent the rest of the afternoon reading the book. The next day I finished it. The
wounds of this crisis are noticeable to anyone who lives here, or even visits
briefly. But this book talks about the wounds that are not so visible. The
ugliness that is harder to see, and more difficult to ignore. In 2011, Dimitra Nousi, employed by the city
of Athens for over 10 years, was given a challenging new position: director of the city’s foundation for the
homeless and disadvantaged (Κέντρο Υποδοχής Αστέγων Δήμου Αθηναίων). The
foundation acts as a reception center and offers meals, shelter, clothing, a
food bank, medical attention and psychological support.
It seems like an
impossible task to provide these vital services during a time when everything
is collapsing. Austerity measures forced the foundation to slash its budget,
reduce its staff, while the remaining staff is underpaid and/or goes for months
without payment. Morale at the foundation was low, to say the least. Some days
the shelves of the food pantry were practically empty, and donations were
dismal. Sometimes all the foundation had to offer desperate people was plain,
boiled, white pasta.
The author’s frank
narration about a reality that she experiences day in and day out, is overwhelmingly
shocking and tragic. People from all walks of life go to the foundation every
day to receive free meals. The homeless, drug addicts, people with
psychological problems, refugees from other countries, and the ‘nouveau poor’:
the elderly whose pensions have been slashed so drastically that they can no
longer afford food, rent, heat; the newly unemployed whose savings have run out;
families who have been able to stay in their homes but have nothing left for
food after the bills have been paid… Each group has their own needs and their
own set of grievances, triumphs and failures.
Every day, people line up in the foundation’s courtyard to receive
meals, and anything else that can be offered. The author came to some very raw
conclusions about destitute refugees and the Athenian ‘nouveau poor’:
[the refugees] are the strongest among us;
the most shielded. Their only tool of survival was to develop their resistance.
They are ones who can smile impulsively about the small but significant things
they have in their lives… when you see one mother express her joy when she is
given a few oranges, and another express her shame, even though both feel
relieved that they have managed to obtain some fruit for their children, you
realize a simultaneous reversal of the facts of life. One mother feels like she
has managed to attain success and is joyful, the other feels her failure and is
devastated.
Years into this
crisis, the facts about the shrinking middle class and the growing class of
newly poor are well known. People who suddenly find themselves unable to
support themselves, and have used up any savings, find themselves at the mercy
of charitable organizations. The author witnesses people face their new
horrific reality, while at the same time fears that she and her staff may be
facing the same fate, as their pay continues to be reduced, and new austerity
measures only increase the cost of living.
The author describes
what it’s like for the families that have been hit hardest by the crisis. She
talks about the time a well-dressed, educated woman came to her office to ask
for food, without completing the required forms so as to remain anonymous:
Tears kept falling from her eyes, but she
wiped them away. The fact that she was able to control the tone of her voice
gave her courage as she told me about her hardships. For some reason, she
insisted on speaking with me specifically and not with the social workers….
When I asked her why, she replied: “because I cannot stand it, I can’t take the
feeling that my family and I have become a statistic of the social services. We
have our health. The only thing we don’t have is food. We have everything else in
our home. We have love, understanding, my children are [college] students here
[in Athens]. They don’t know I came here. If you give me food today, they’ll
never know I came here. They shouldn’t know that I came here, isn’t that
right?”
I didn’t have an answer to give her. If I was
a psychologist would I have been able to answer her questions? Perhaps… Should
her children know the truth? “We have everything else in our home…” Do you have
honesty? …
….”Do you have children?” the woman asked…
…“A daughter” I replied.
“…you are a mother. Don’t you agree with me?
I have a duty to protect my children from this situation I am faced with. They
know we are struggling. They understand. They don’t ask for things. But if they
found out I came here today to ask for food, how will they feel? Am I not
right?”
I didn’t know how to answer her. The only
thing I thought about was how this woman, whose entire world fell apart so
suddenly, sat before me, wiping her tears to get a bag of groceries, had every
right to feel justified.
All of the author’s
personal accounts of her experiences are compassionate and thought-provoking. The
one that stands out the most, I think, is the exchange she had with Fatma, a
small refugee child who would often show up at the foundation with her family
to eat.
Fatma was a shy child with green eyes. I am
not sure of her age, perhaps 8 or 9 years old… She would never push and shove
when in line to get a chocolate bar or a pair of shoes, she didn’t talk as much
as the other children, she didn’t approach me often, nor would she fall into my
arms to give me a hug and kiss. On the contrary, I always approached her… Only
one day she approached me and said, “ma’am, do you love me?”
“I love you Fatma, of course I love you. Would
you like to go play with the other children? Over there in the circle.
Panagiotis has a ball…”
Fatma looked around as if she wanted to tell
me a secret. First she made sure that no one could hear us and then she asked, “I
stay here with you, ma’am, ok? Mama and Baba leave for Germany. Everyone. And
my siblings. I stay here with you. Here – with food, with courtyard, ma’am. I
want you and courtyard. No Germany. Do you love me, ma’am?”…
I hugged Fatma and was not sure if the child’s words were
what hurt me more, or my own memories [of immigration and uprooting] from my
grandmother. When your heritage is migration and hunger, condemnation and
failure… how difficult is it to not identify with the ill-fated? In the end,
that which shields us is also what makes us more vulnerable…
“Fatma, I love you very much. But your
parents love you even more. Do you understand what I’m saying? Children belong
with their parents. You have to go with your parents to Germany. You, your
siblings, you will go all together, and you will have a better life there. OK? Why
don’t you go play now with Panagiotis?”
“OK”
She left to join the circle with the other
children. As soon as Panagiotis saw her… she turned and ran back to me. She
hugged me and said again, “I, ma’am, love you very much. Do you love me?”
“I love you, Fatma.”
“Thank you for loving me, ma’am.”
This time, she went running back to the
circle happily, determined to join them. Panagiotis held out his hand to her
and she smiled.
I don’t recall how many minutes it took for
the conversation to sink in. It is the most significant combination of words
and meaning that I have come across in my entire life. Did she understand that
she managed to stun me?... with what power did she manage to simultaneously deliver
both a deep blow and such a warm caress? Such contradiction…
***
In the sixth year of
the financial crisis, life in Greece continues to be a series of powerful contradictions
on every level. Burnt-out buildings on Stadiou Ave, a luxury department store on
the next block; drug addicts shooting up in a dark corner, a crowd of young
people eating at a trendy new burger joint on another corner….
Dimitra Nousi’s book
offers a haunting glimpse into the depths of the crisis, on a most personal
level… Another view of (new) Athens, one that goes beyond the visible surface, a story
from the very heart of Athens.
***
-
Τhe book
is available in Greek. (I have taken the liberty to translate a few short
excerpts for the purposes of this article.)
σ’ευχαριστώ που μ’αγαπάς…
μια ιστορία από την καρδιά της Αθήνας, Δήμητρα Νούση, Εκδόσεις Πατάκης, 2013.
- Purchase at Patakis online bookstore
- Link to the
foundation
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