Masomeh – mother, sister, daughter, and a life-long refugee.

Masomeh’s story; told by Masomeh Etemadi, written by Ella Lambert.

Masomeh’s baby spent his first year in a tent in the Moria refugee camp where, on the coldest nights, their generator cuts out as too many people plug into the limited supply of electricity. “When the winds get up, it doesn’t matter how many blankets you have, it’s impossible to keep warm and my baby doesn’t like being under all of the blankets anyway,” 31-year-old Masomeh relays candidly. “In camp, we have so many problems, but nobody wants to go back, not even if you paid us – Iran was like a prison.”

Masomeh’s son

In 1985, three years before Masomeh was born, her parents fled Afghanistan for Iran, where they built a life for themselves and their daughters. When her parents arrived, they received refugee cards from the UNHCR but, what they did not know is that those cards would render their children stateless for at least the next 30 years. Iran would not recognise them as citizens but, as they were born in Iran, neither would Afghanistan.

Masomeh with her family in Lesbos, Greece

To keep their cards, they would have to pay a monthly fee to the state and, as refugees, they would have to pay a further fee every 10 days to have permission to leave the city and move around freely, but at least they were able to work and the children were able to go to school. But, despite being born in Iran, growing up speaking Farsi with an Iranian accent and being educated in Iranian schools, when the time came for Masomeh to go to university, she was still considered a refugee and not entitled to further education. With dreams of studying law and becoming a judge, Masomeh fought for her place and was able to trade her refugee card for a passport which would allow her to study. Yet, when she received her passport, she saw that stamped in blue were the words ‘only for education’ – Masomeh had lost her right to work in Iran. She graduated from university with top marks in Islamic knowledge and law but as a refugee, she would never be able to practice as a lawyer and, as a woman, would never be able to pursue her dream of becoming a judge – what’s more, her refugee status would be inherited by her children and, without her refugee card, they would be denied schooling. 

Masomeh’s baby

Seeing how a life in Iran would limit her children, Masomeh and her husband made the decision to leave Iran to give their seven-year-old and new-born baby a better future; to give them an education and the right to work in whichever field they choose. So, they left, without knowing where they were headed, rushing towards the Turkish border at high speed, changing cars several times before walking through the Turkish mountains for hours with a child in toe and a newborn in their arms.  Then, they were hurried onto a boat full of people and were told that the police were coming. That there was no time to collect their life jackets, setting off into the sea in a heaving rubber dinghy. She realized later, the police weren’t coming, the smugglers had lied to them to fit more people in the boat. Masomeh was so frightened she felt sure they would all die, and all she could hear was the sound of her breath and her heartbeat drumming in her ears.


Thankfully, Masomeh, her husband and her two children touched down safely on dry land and have been living in a tent in Lesbos ever since and despite all the woes of living in a refugee camp, she does not regret the journey for one minute. Masomeh grew up and lived in Iran for over 30 years and in all that time, she couldn’t get a sim card, open a bank account or even leave the city without permission, all because of her Afghani heritage. She has friends in similar circumstances but with Pakistani heritage who received ID cards easily but “in Iran, Afghanis aren’t welcome,” Masomeh explains. “We share a language, religion, traditions and so much history but we face so much discrimination.” 

Masomeh and kids

After the fire in the Moria refugee camp in September 2020, Germany pledged to take in 1000 refugees from the camp, and Masomeh and her family were amongst them. Due to the pandemic, they still haven’t received their passports to be able to travel but, after 18 months of living in a tent with several other families, a baby and an 8-year-old, Masomeh can finally look to the future. 

Masomeh playing with her baby

After a year without work, Masomeh has now joined the Azadi team, representing the organization on the ground in Lesbos and using her English skills and training as a psychosocial group facilitator to support other refugee women. Since arriving on the island, she has been volunteering with the Red Cross to support other members of the camp. Masomeh has faced adversity at every turn and yet continues to look forward with resilience and optimism. You can see her overwhelming love for her children and determination to give them a brighter future. Masomeh still dreams of becoming a judge one day and her eldest son – well he wants to be an inventor!

A future inventor!

Renowned Journalist and Refugee Rights Advocate Arwa Damon on the Importance of Refugee Mental Health

By: Ayushka Anjiv

The Azadi Project’s Priyali Sur interviewed Arwa Damon, CNN’s Senior International Correspondent and humanitarian to discuss the importance of mental health support to displaced populations and in particular refugee women and children. Arwa is also the founder of International Network of Aid, Relief and Assistance (INARA) which focuses on providing medical assistance to children from Syria, including Palestinians, who are the group in greatest need.

She tells us a heartwarming story which took place in a province in Syria, about a little girl,  wearing plastic slippers in freezing weather, who had been walking all night. The striking thing was that she wasn’t crying. “In many ways that the fact that they (the children) weren’t crying was just so telling about the psychological impact of what it is…” describing at length about the kind of trauma that shapes a child. Arwa spoke about the journeys of young women with the backdrop of conflict in their lives who have an additional societal pressure about their bodies. 

Global estimates from the World Health Organisation suggest that one in five of the adult population in conflict areas suffer from mental illness. At least one out of three asylum seekers and refugees experiences high rates of depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). International Rescue Committee has reported that between March 2018 and July 2020, 45% of their clients receiving mental health support in the island of Lesbos, were women with the most common vulnerability being gender-based violence. Women in Lesbos have shared stories of rape and sexual assualt, depression, retraumatisation at the camp. 

Arwa shares the story of Yusuf that she covered in Baghdad. Yusuf was just 5 years old when masked men poured gasoline on his head and set him on fire, in front of his house, where he was playing. His reaction was anger and he was lashing out, however with proper psychosocial care Yusuf forgot the trauma and the incident did not affect his psyche. 

Covid-19 has worsened the mental health crisis in Moria. The existing infrastructure to provide mental health care support, isn’t enough. IRC has only five psychologists and therapists on the ground at Moria Camp. Moreover, only 3% of refugees are referred to mental health services after initial screening. According to UNHigh Commissioner for Refugees Filippo Grandi, there are reports of increasing mental health issues and needs among those displaced. Fear of infection, confinement and isolation measures, stigma, discrimination, loss of livelihoods and uncertainty about the future are all contributing factors to the increased 

When Yusuf’s family decided to put their story out there, the response was tremendous. “… my email exploded and the phone was ringing off the hook.” says Arwa. This story inspired her to start her own charity, INARA. Azadi’s Mental Health Care Support also aims to provide psychotherapy and counselling to women at Moria. 

Arwa’s proposed solution was ‘collective impact’. She says, “we’re not going to change the world alone…never dismiss the sort of collective impact of what a large number of small acts of kindness can actually do, you know, no donations are too small no gestures too insignificant”.


By Alison Waldman

November 2020

I think I’ll need to change my name if I ever get to the US. It may frighten people,” was the first thing fourteen-year-old Jihad said to me. As an unaccompanied minor, his name was his only remaining connection to his parents and former life in Syria, both of which he had already lost. His name, he explained, does not signify war or violence. Rather, it refers to a “great accomplishment resulting from a struggle”. His mother was in labor for thirty hours. He was her “Jihad”. So much loss for a child. How unfair to even contemplate relinquishing the beautiful name chosen by his parents. I choked back tears, struggled to find comforting words and was grateful for the healing and relaxing experience that my drawing workshop would hopefully provide.

There is a familiar bustle and rhythm to life in a refugee camp that is at times not altogether different from life outside the barbed wire. Meals need to be cooked, clothes need to be washed, diapers need to be changed, wood for the make-shift mud ovens needs to be chopped. Routines, laughter, games to occupy the time — all offer an occasional sense of normalcy. But first impressions mask the harsh reality of life in refugee camps: the overcrowded conditions, inadequate shelter, lack of privacy, susceptibility of women and children to sexual assault, shortages of water, food, toilets and showers, and of course the interminable uncertainty. Yet the refugees I have had the pleasure of meeting are some of the most positive, resourceful and self-reliant people I have ever encountered. And none more so than the unaccompanied children I worked with in the spring of 2019 in Lesvos, Greece — the Gekko Kids. 

There are approximately five thousand unaccompanied minors living in Greece. Some are hoping to reunite with parents, older siblings or family members in northern Europe; some are sent by their parents to escape violence at home; some are separated or orphaned en route to Greece. Among refugees and asylum seekers, these children are among the most vulnerable to physical and sexual violence, rape and trafficking. Many run away from the camps, fall prey to traffickers or are living in dangerous conditions in order to avoid deportation. The Moria Refugee Camp in Lesvos was home to the largest number of unaccompanied minors, over one thousand, before it burned to the ground in September earlier this year. Most were boys between the ages of fifteen and seventeen. Many girls were pregnant or had infants as a result of rape in the camps. Months turn into years for these children, as delays in the registration and family reunification process are compounded by the lack of legal support and the overburdened asylum service. And while Greece has urged the EU to share the burden of relocating and resettling these unaccompanied children, only a handful of countries has pledged to receive some of them. 

Determined to address the lack of access to safe living conditions and an education, the nonprofit Together for Better Days launched a magical and transformational program for the hundreds of unaccompanied children in Lesvos. Their Gekko Kids program offered the physical and emotional space for unaccompanied teens to connect with one another and learn, among other things, English, computer skills, photography and math from certified volunteer teachers. And perhaps serendipitously, only a few blocks away two women, who founded and operate the Poliana Arts Center, decided to offer art workshops for these refugee teens. Katie and Anique recognized the restorative power of creative expression to heal the emotional and physical trauma experienced by these children. 

On June 1, 2019, I walked into Poliana’s cozy stone art studio and met my students, thirteen boys ranging in age from twelve to seventeen. (Most unaccompanied minors are boys, as it is considerably less safe for girls to travel on their own.) Equipped with a translator and hundreds of markers, acrylics and watercolors, I slowly explained why I had traveled from Washington, DC to meet them. 

I had repeatedly rehearsed in my head what I would say to and request of the thirteen students seated at tables in the Poliana Art Center. I told them that this was an opportunity for them to speak to the world via their art. What did they want the world to know about their lives and their hopes and dreams? If they could say one thing to people everywhere, what would that be? I told them that their drawings would be part of a traveling exhibition to promote awareness of the continuing and worsening refugee crisis and to encourage tolerance towards the millions of forcibly displaced migrants. I was not surprised by their perplexed stares when I explained that many people in the US do not realize that the crisis remains unresolved. And I hoped that they would be pleased and proud that their artwork would travel to universities, nonprofits and businesses throughout the US — a journey to open hearts and change minds. The irony, sadly, that their artwork would travel to places they would likely never see was not lost on me. 

I had envisioned a noisy room full of typical teenage chatter but instead was surprised by the silence in which they seemed most comfortable. Perhaps a much-needed respite from the chaos and unpredictability that permeate their lives. I also expected that they would need time to think about what they wanted to draw. Yet they began to sketch immediately, as if their bottled up parts had suddenly been uncorked. Released from years of muteness, their stories and journeys spilled onto paper. And then it dawned on me. They had begun conceiving their messages to the world years ago. 

When the middle school he attended in Syria burned to the ground with most of his friends inside. 

When the Taliban came to his northern Afghanistan town and “removed” his teenage sisters. 

When at the age of eleven and oceans away from Lesvos he witnessed his mother’s murder. 

When he had almost made it to Lesvos and he was robbed of all of his belongings, including photos of his family, on the Turkish side of the sea.

When the overcrowded rubber dingy he was in capsized in the Aegean Sea and he watched helplessly as a toddler slipped under the water. 

And despite the availability of watercolors, acrylics and colored pens they gravitated towards the pencils. In truth, the messages in their drawings need no embellishment. Perhaps years of deprivation had taught these children a truth that often eludes so many— that sometimes less is indeed more. 

Note: Jihad has not changed his name, as it would complicate the paperwork essential to the asylum process. Only a few of the teen artists remain in Lesvos. Most of them were transported to mainland Greece or flown to countries in northern Europe following the fire at Moria. As of the Fall of 2019 Gekko Kids is no longer operational in Lesvos. Together for Better Days has relocated to mainland Greece. The exhibition, Hope in the Face of Despair: The Power of the Pencil will be debuted and displayed at Hamilton College in Clinton, New York in 2022.

Alison Waldman is a Washington, DC-based international aid worker and refugee resettlement and employment specialist. She has worked with the IRC, HIAS, Lutheran Social Services and Catholic Charities to resettle refugees throughout the DC-Baltimore region. Her first trip to Lesvos was in January 2016 and she is looking forward to returning post-covid.


Saputara, is a 19 year old woman currently living in the Kalindi Kunj camp in New Delhi, India. I spoke with her on the telephone via her husband Halal, a 23 year old Rohingya man whom she met at the camp. They have two children together. The only word we could directly exchange,sans translation,was Namaste, a common greeting in Hindi language.

The family ran towards near the nearest hill, when got to know that their neighbours were attacked. Young Saputara was scared that she will die too at the same time she did not want to leave her house. 

She was just 10 when she left her village, Bondu near Mangdau, Northern Rakhine, for good. She fondly remembers the spot near the pond where she would play, often with friends. She lived in a crowded household of eight members including herself. When a house close to hers had been attacked,the family knew they had to leave. . Several families including hers ran towards ‘Moora,’a big hill. They left barely with any possessions, merely the clothes on their back and a couple bottles of water to satisfy the entire family. They hid behind the hill for a while, watching their back and then eventually decided to take the boat to Bangladesh. 

Saputara’s family left their village with no belongings. Their sole possessions were two plastic water bottles.

I asked her if she had ever been on a boat.She chuckled sheepishly told me that was the first moment she felt like she might die. Although the sea was close to her village, she had never been on a boat so massive.  She and her family were dropped somewhere along the Bangladeshi coast before walking towards their first camp.

They reached Cox Bazar and settled in Kutupalong Refugee Camp. They met others from their community there. Saputara and other children played at the camp. She told me about her dreams of studying and making something of herself. Saputara saw other children going to school and thought that one day she would too. Things were deteriorating at the camp; they lived in make-shift tents and had to stand in long lines for drinking water or to go to the toilet. There weren’t many employment opportunities for her ageing father. 

Saputara would hear school bells at near her camp at Cox Bazaar and she would dream of studying one day. She wanted to go to school like other kids. 

The family therefore decided to migrate to India in hopes of getting a job and securing a better and stable life. They traveled in a truck, walked to the border and reached Kolkata in the neighboring Indian state of West Bengal. From Kolkata, they took a train to New Delhi where she is currently settled. 

Saputara’s loss is fresh; it isn’t a distant memory. In addition to her home, she lost two of her siblings on the  journey.

I asked Saputara if she understood why they had to leave their home.  

“They were killing us because we are Muslims,” she said, unable to elaborate on who ‘they’ are. “[India] is not my country. If I go back, they will kill me.” The only thing that matters, she says, is that she now feels safe. 


Alex Kor is the son of not one, but two European Jewish Holocaust survivors. Alex is a doctor in Indiana, where he was raised. Being the son of two survivors imbues him with an obvious yet unspoken sense of compassion and wisdom. His mother, Eva — famous for her work ensuring that the lessons of the Holocaust would not be long forgotten –was a force to be reckoned with. Eva, along with her twin sister Miriam, survived Auschwitz camp, one of the most deadly concentration camps under Nazi control and was a victim of the infamous Dr. Josef Mengele twin experiments. 

            When Alex recounts his mother’s story, you cannot help but be impressed by the willpower and survival instincts of a young girl who was only ten years old. While in the camp, Eva was injected with a substance and became very sick. She was so sick that she was relocated to the “barracks of the living dead”, where Nazis sent victims when they were likely to die. Eva developed a fever and knew if she couldn’t get her fever down, she would likely be removed from Mengele’s experimental cadre and her odds of survival would diminish. Eva was determined to survive and fooled the Nazis into thinking her fever had gone down by tweaking the thermometer. She was reunited with her twin sister and the experiments resumed. To Eva’s knowledge, she was one of the only survivors of the barracks of the living dead. 

            Alex’s father was less vocal about his story until much later in life. Alex says he’s surprised on occasion when he learns new details about his father’s experience. Mickey hailed from a larger city in Latvia. In 1940, he was moved to the Jewish ghettos when the country was occupied by the Germans. His father already passed away and his mother was killed in the Rumbula Forest Massacre, where Nazi death squads killed over 25,000 people on two separate days in late 1941. Eventually Mickey was brought to Stutthof Camp in Poland and then Buchenwald. While in the camps, Mickey focused on finding ways to survive from one day to the next. Eventually, he was led on a death march by the Nazis where he escaped and hid in a barn for two days. Mickey was eventually liberated by US soldiers and befriended an American Army colonel, Andrew Nehf. Colonel Nehf eventually arranged for Mickey to come to the United States and stay with a local family in Terre Haute, Indiana, where Mickey remained for most of his adult life. 

            Eva’s journey to the US was less straightforward. Eva and her sister Miriam were liberated from Auschwitz camp and then sent to a convent to live. The girls had yet to find out the fate of their immediate family, which included siblings and their parents. Unfortunately, everyone perished during their imprisonment except the young girls. While at the convent, an aunt discovered they survived and arranged for the girls to come back to their village, which was now under Soviet control. Conditions under Soviet rule were harsh and Eva immediately recognized the efforts the Communist regime undertook to sell their propaganda. On a stroke of luck, their aunt was able to secure Israeli visas and the family moved to Israel in the mid-50s. In Israel, both Eva and her sister served in the military and adapted to their new lives. Eventually, when Mickey visited Israel,  Eva met Mickey and luckily for Terre Haute, moved to the US where she undertook her life’s work of advocacy for Holocaust survivors.

Eva and her sister served in military once, they got a safe passage to Israel before moving to the 
United States. 
Picture courtesy – CANDLES Holocaust and Education Center, Terre Haute, IN

            There is a gravity to being the child of genocide survivors that most of us will never understand. Alex says  it made him more aware of the world and that from a young age. While he never faced intense anti-Semitism Alex says he was always aware of its quiet pervasiveness, even in the relative safety of his community, where his mother was a well-loved public figure. Early in his career as a medical doctor,  career a patient who had visited his clinic a few times implied that because Alex was Jewish he was likely going to take all of the patient’s  money. Instead of lecturing the man or kicking him out of the office, Alex told him that he was not going to take all his money and in fact Alex would provide the rest of his treatment pro bono. The lesson was one Alex’s mother would surely be proud of.

Eva and her sister Miriam were liberated from the Auschwitz camp but they had lost their entire immediate family. 
They went to live with their aunt who had survived the Holocaust and ultimately arranged for Eva and Miriam to move to Israel. 
Picture courtesy – CANDLES Holocaust and Education Center, Terre Haute, IN 

            Prior to her death in 2019, Eva Kor established herself as one of the most prominent Holocaust survivor activists in the world. With a relentless veracity, she worked to preserve artifacts from the Holocaust and took students to the remnants of concentration camps across Europe. Eva even opened a Holocaust museum in Terre Haute, Indiana, that sits on an unassuming site off Highway 41, or “third street” as known by the locals. With an unbelievable amount of grace and character, she also led a campaign aimed at forgiving Nazis that had participated as captors and killers during the Holocaust. Her husband continued this work, as recently as last July, publicly declaring his forgiveness for a Nazi guard from Buchenwold. 

Alex Kor recounted his mother, Eva’s story. She was about 10 years old when she was injected with a substance that made her extremely sick. She had high fever was unlikely to survive. Picture courtesy – CANDLES Holocaust and Education Center, Terre Haute, IN

Although Eva passed, her family continues telling their stories to ensure that the Holocaust will not be forgotten and to preserve  the lessons for future generations.