“My wife is six-month pregnant; yet, she has not been either treated or examined by any doctor since we have come here. She is about to give birth to our fourth child. In Syria, we don’t have doctors anymore, they have all left the country because of the war. I didn’t expect that things here would be even harder for us. We live in a tent, into the mud. I must wait in a queue for at least two to three hours to get some food. Sometimes, if there are conflicts in the queue while waiting we go away empty-handed and hungry.

What is my wish? All I want is my children to go to school and live in safety. I want my pregnant wife who is in pain not to live under these nasty conditions. In the tent, it’s as if we live in a plastic bag. If we leave the tent open, it really grows cold; when we close it, it is cold again. Every so often I wonder; could anyone of the decision-makers bear his family to live in a tent?

What does festivity mean to me? Home. Safety. Dignity. Here, someone loses their dignity as humans. We have forgotten what celebration means. Any kind of feast is meaningless if you cannot offer your children the least of what they ask; a sweet.”

The 37-year-old Ahmed comes from Deir ez-Zor in Syria where he worked as a

shoemaker. He has been in Lesvos for a month with his wife Rasinta, 34, six

months pregnant, and their three children:

Basar, 11, Usar, 9 and Asma, 2 years old.