Child's Play

Skipping (jumping rope) in our tiny yard at the Orange House

Some of you may know that while I can happily and creatively work with young children some of the time, I can’t do it full time: I need my adults, too!  So, luckily, the “School” program I’ve offered to take over in partnership with the young German volunteer Sophia is only two hours five mornings a week, 12 noon to 2pm. I’ve also decided, though, to make myself available at 4pm for a couple of hours, because that’s when we like to take the children out to the park if we have enough volunteers.  These scheduling considerations radically affect how many and which of the regular six-hour shifts I can now do at the Orange House.  

 “School” is a very loose term: the program was started two weeks ago by two retired schoolteachers from the USA, Mary and Laura, and Sophia and I volunteered to try to keep it going. We’re less academically oriented than the two teachers were, so we’re feeling our way along with identifying farm animals, making cut-out paper owls and masks, and physical activities like skipping (jumping rope) and brief visits to the local playpark. Suggestions for simple, cheap kids’ crafts are welcome.

You might wonder why these school-age kids are not in an actual school. The answer seems to be that the process of enrolling refugee children in Greek schools is long and tedious, and lack of immunizations has to be remedied before enrollment. Zaatar, the organization that runs the Orange House, is working on getting our resident children into school, but no definite date is in sight yet.

In the meantime, our students are a mixed bunch: the serious students – mean the ones who come for pretty much the whole session – range in age from about 7 to about 12 years old. Peripheral students who pop in for a few minutes now and then include both younger and older siblings.  

Sahar hanging in the park with a little help from Sophia

Sahar is a regular: she’s a sturdy, bubbly eight-year-old from Afghanistan, who loves everyone, or at least clings to everyone, indiscriminately. She lives here in the Orange House with her mother. So, too, does Tareek, from Syria, small for his age at 12, moody, but always ready to help and a useful and willing interpreter - his English is the best of the bunch.  

Those two are residents, but we also welcome other children, many of them left with us while their parents  attend language classes here at the Orange House.

There’s clutch of lovely Syrian girls and boys: Rawan, Haia; Taema; Jude; Almar; Mohammed(spellings are approximate) and a whole other gang of boys, also Syrian, who can be unruly, which is not pleasant in the confined and echoing premises of the Orange House. That’s why we need to take them out sometimes!

Sadly, the Orange House has only a tiny “outdoor” yard, hemmed in by high buildings and not suitable even for kicking a ball around.  So we try to go out every afternoon and sometimes in the morning too, to one of three local parks, each of which has a different character: large, small and football (soccer).

Yesterday at 4pm, Sophia and I set out, accompanied by a new Greek volunteer, Sotiria, and very quiet Syrian mother called Rawa carrying a two-month-old baby and leading her shy five-year-old daughter. Our pack of kids numbered seven (eight with the baby) which is the sort of adult:child ratio we aspire to and often fall short of.   We had Ali; Mohammed; two Tareeks; Sahar and Haia as well as little Noor and her baby brother.

We walked through Exarchia Square, the central point of the Athenian anarchist movement and always a colorful experience, especially at night with the bonfires; then up a very steep sort-of pedestrianized street where you have to watch out for the ubiquitous Athenian motor scooters.

Cut and paste is a perennial favorite:
Mohammed is making paper baby owls for our mural

 

The (football) park we were headed for is on the slopes of Streffi Hill, an unkempt rocky outcrop just north of the center of Athens, networked by paths and heavily fouled by dogs as all the streets and green spaces round here are. The approach to the park is up some very long, steep flights of steps. These, and the tree-lined alleys they intersect, present picturesque vistas, but I could see that poor Rawa found the climb difficult though she didn’t complain. She was holding the baby tucked under one arm – I’d asked if she had a stroller, but she’d indicated no, she’d just carry the baby.

So we sat and moderated the children’s play for an hour: the younger volunteers Sotiria and Sophia engaging with ball play and skipping and keeping track of kids wandering between play park and ball-play area, while Rawa and I sat and took turns holding the baby.

Eventually the warm March sun began to sink; the kids began to tire. We headed back down steps and slopes, through the square to the sanctuary of the Orange House. Parents were emerging from lessons, children were being whisked off to other classes, other lessons at other centers. One group of kids at least had had their daily dose of outdoor play.  

Hassan learns geography via jigsaw puzzle.