"There's a whole world out there..."

A couple of weeks ago I was interviewing a dear Indian-American couple named Pravin and Fiona. They have been living in the US for a number of years, have two sons born here, and are themselves on the path toward US citizenship. (You can find that interview here.) One simple thing that struck me is something Fiona said in response to my question of what took her some getting used to about life in these United States. She said something to the effect of "Sometimes Americans don't seem to know that there's a whole world out there."

Ouch.

I suppose on one hand our navel-gazing is understandable -- there is so much going on in this country, not to mention in our daily existence, that many might say they just don't have time to learn about the world out there. And I get it. Plus, our country is so vast, with so many beautiful places to see, one could spend a lifetime just traveling within the United States.

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Here's what I suggest: if you like a one-dimensional life, one single perspective on things, a single way of doing things, of viewing the world, and already completely understand why people are the way they are...

...well, then, you're probably not reading this blog! Because this is the place where we have turned up our curiosity, where we believe the world has more to teach us than we can contain, and where we KNOW we are richer for every single thing we learn and experience from the OTHER -- whoever and wherever he or she may be.

Did you catch my interview with Navajo Nation member Dale Tsosie (pron. 'sosie') last week? He had some powerful things to say about his identity as a Native American, and how reading the Bible is what gave him permission to fully embrace his Navajo identity.

In this week's podcast I have the pleasure of introducing you to a wonderful lady named Sarah Lanier, whose book, Foreign to Familiar, is a fascinating and readable look into how different people behave based on the climate of the culture they live in -- hot or cold. You won't want to miss this!

American Subcultures: the Navajo Nation

Last week we began a special series on subcultures in the United States. There is so much to discover -- for Americans and non-Americans alike -- among the different people groups that make up the American patchwork, whether these are defined by geography, ethnicity, or perhaps interests and experiences.

This week we hear from Dale Tsosie, a husband, father, and grandfather from the Navajo Nation, the largest Native American reservation in the United States, covering an area of over 27,000 square miles. I was sobered by some of the things Dale shared from his heart, and I hope you learn as much from him as I did.

Join us next week for a look at another interesting American subculture, and if you have suggestions for this series, don't hesitate to email us at podcast@daviddurham.org.

American Subcultures: Indian-Americans

If you’ve been listening for any length of time to this podcast, you know it has a decidedly international flavor, and unapologetically so! Today, however, I’m excited to announce a new series that comes closer to home — to my home, that is — the United States. The American experiment is comprised of dozens and dozens of ethnicities, we all know that. It is also a vast nation, each region with its own distinct flavor. But the effects of globalization are being felt even at home, as our media-driven culture takes us more and more toward homogeneity.  Is this is a good thing? Or should we work to preserve the things that distinguish each particular group. Today we begin a look into the different subcultures of the United States. A subculture, by definition, is “a group having social, economic, ethnic, or other traits distinctive enough to distinguish it from others within the same culture or society.” (dictionary.com) So we’re not just talking about ethnic or geographic subcultures — there are lots of other things, such as common interests and passions, that bring people together. You might be surprised by some of the subcultures we’ll visit.

Today, we begin this learning adventure with a glimpse into the Indian-American subculture. No, I don’t mean Native American, I mean Indian as in from India. (The US Census Bureau uses the term "Asian Indian" to distinguish this group from the indigenous peoples of the Americas, but we’re trying to encourage the move AWAY from calling Native Americans Indians.)

There are over 2 million Indian-born immigrants who now call the US home, and in 2014 they were the largest group to immigrate to the United States with over 147,000.

I’d like you to meet Pravin Philip Cherukara, a senior software engineer, and his wife, Fiona Dsouza Cherukara, a freelance bookkeeper. I sat down with them this week via Skype to hear their story and learn a little about the US through the eyes and experiences of an Indian couple. You'll hear them tell of their initial impressions of life in these United States, as well as debunk some common misconceptions about their homeland and the Indian people.

As always, your feedback is welcome. Just email us at podcast@daviddurham.org, including any suggestions YOU might have of a specific subculture in the United States that you think we should learn more about.

There Ain't No Good Guys

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I've been reminded so often of the 70's Dave Mason song called "We Just Disagree". In an already polarized culture, most of us are tempted to think in terms of good guys and bad guys. Another terrorist attack -- that's clearly a bad guy. Which, of course, makes us the good guys. My favorite candidate is the good guy, which of course makes the other candidate the bad guy. Just yesterday I was talking with some friends who were grappling with the whole situation in Turkey, where certain elements in the military attempted to overthrow the government of President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. How are we distant onlookers supposed to process events like this? Again, we often default to the question of who are the good guys and who are the bad guys?

If only life were that simple. Understand, I am of course in no way condoning or excusing terrorist attacks just because "we're all human." But life is sticky. And more importantly, we are all capable of the very best and the very worst of human nature. Take the Syrian war, for example. Now put yourself in the place of the US administration and Departments of State and Defense and try to imagine choosing sides. Do you support the rebels fighting against the tyrant, only to discover that they too are beheading children?

But back to our polarized culture. It turns out we're not the only ones. Brexit has not caused but revealed a deeply divided Britain, as the coup attempt in Turkey revealed the same. The us against them mentality only serves to perpetuate this polarization, and, as usual, the voices in the middle are often the faintest.

For me, it comes down to the fact that I am responsible for me, and the way I view those unlike me. And if I do a little appropriate self-examination, I quickly realize all the evil in the world is not out there somewhere.

I often think of G.K. Chesterton's response to the London Times survey question of "What is wrong with the world":

 "Dear London Times,

    I am."

In many cases, it's not so much I'm right and you're wrong, but

 "There ain't no good guy

    There ain't no bad guy

    There's only you and me and

    We just disagree."  

(lyrics by Dave Mason)

Let's Talk Turkey

While much of the public attention in the US -- and other parts of the world, was focused this week on the Republican National Convention in Cleveland, we chose to shine a light on a completely different part of the world -- a land that from where I sit is too unknown by most of us, including yours truly.

One week ago today, there was a failed attempt to overthrow the government of President Erdogan, who was democratically elected in 2014 after serving 11 years a Prime Minister of Turkey. The aftermath has not been pretty. These events only illustrate more acutely the fact that Turkey is, in many ways, a divided country.

But there's much more to Turkey than politics and religion, just like any country, and this week we'll explore some of the other fascinating aspects of this ancient land. Technical difficulties and a sensitive political climate in Turkey prevented us from airing the two interviews we did for this show, so I'm flying solo and attempting to adequately portray a country that has just moved up a few notches on my bucket list.

One of those interviewees, Duke Dillard, has a travel business in the heart of Turkey, Cappadocia, and you can find his website here.

For some fascinating and little known facts about Turkey, click here.

And I highly recommend this book, mentioned in this week's podcast:

Raising Children to be Bilingual

Statistics show that about 43% of the world's population speaks at least two languages. Before you get even more intimidated, however, realize that much of this is by necessity, often because of geographic location or the ethnicity one is born into. In this episode, we sit down with two moms who are teaching their children a second language by choice, although not necessarily for all the same reasons. You'll meet Merry MacIvor Anderson, a Caucasian from Tennessee who speaks only Spanish with her two boys. And Daniela Ciliberti Nichols, an Italian married to an American, who is teaching her three children Italian in the midst of an English-speaking culture.

If you're a parent (or grandparent) interested in exposing your young children to another language, here are some articles I think you'll find helpful and encouraging:

Raising a Bilingual Child: The Top Five Myths

Raising Bilingual Children

Raising Bilingual Children: The First Five Steps to Success

How Your Child Can Benefit from Being Bilingual

As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated! Just leave a comment below or email me at podcast@daviddurham.org.

Living on the Edge of the Inside

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I heard a friend of mine yesterday reference one of my favorite columnists/commentators, David Brooks, on an article I had missed. Brooks calls it "At the Edge of Inside," borrowing from Fr. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan monk and writer. And then I came across this quote from Seth Godin, whom I quoted just last week. Rohr and then Brooks talk about three groups in any organization: the insiders, the outsiders, and the ones on the 'edge of inside'. Those at the core of the inside are those who are the loyal diehards -- and perhaps know nothing other than that organization. The outsiders have it easy in the sense they can lob bombs from the outside without much concern for the wellbeing of the insiders. Those on the edge of the inside know, love and understand both the insiders and outsiders. Their loyalty and commitment are sometimes questioned by the insiders, but the "edgers" are in a unique position to evaluate and critique the organization.

...or the culture. If you have been exposed to other cultures (or subcultures), you have hopefully learned something not only about the new culture, but also about your own (sub)culture. This gives you an objectivity that is badly needed if positive change is going to happen within the organization or culture. You are sometimes misunderstood or disregarded because you are not on the core inside. But this does not mean you have nothing to say or that what you have to say is not valid or important. Many times it's about how you say it.

Maybe you are an insider who is feeling the need to broaden your horizons a little. Let me encourage you: step outside. You'll only be the richer.

Do I find myself in this group? You betcha. How about you?

Summing Up the Summer

In this episode, I give a brief wrap-up of the six-week discovery trip in Europe that my wife and I undertook in order to better understand some big issues. Some of these issues we are also dealing with here in the US; others are perhaps particular to Europe, but there is an interesting dynamic often at work -- what happens in Europe very often affects us here in the US and other parts of the world. It is my hope that what Becky and I saw and learned -- and the stories we relate -- will help you get a better handle not only on the refugee crisis in Europe but also inform your thinking on similar issues and challenges you face wherever you live. 

As always, your feedback is welcome. Just leave a comment here or email me at podcast@daviddurham.org.

A Tide of Nationalism

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Brexit

Very few saw it coming. We were in France when it happened. We had spoken to a number of Brits from multiple generations before the day of the referendum, and they were unanimously in favor of #remaINing in the European Union. So it was as much a surprise to us as to anyone that Brexit became a reality. It reminded me of the Trump phenomenon in the States -- I don't actually know anyone who voted for him in the primaries, but someone obviously did. It would be mistaken and simplistic to point to one single motive behind the results in favor of Brexit; ever since there was such a thing as Britain, there has been a prevalent island mentality. (The word "insular" comes from the same word as "island".) Great Britain opted out in 1992 of adopting the euro as its national currency, even though it was a part of the newly formed European Union. There has always been a sometimes comfortable / sometimes uncomfortable distance between the UK and the European mainland, in spite of the fact that the 31 miles between Dover and Calais has not changed recently. 

But there was more at play here. The working class north of England, as well as Wales, has apparently been feeling disenfranchised and unheard. But the wave of migrants flooding the European continent, already in progress before the Syrian war even broke out, then overflowing because of said war, has certainly played a role in this 52% to 48% vote. There is concern, some of it understandable, about migrants taking British jobs. (This has been going on for some time -- in my experience, chances are very good that your order in any British pub or cafe will be taken by a foreign national from another EU country.)

Combine this situation with a rising tide of nationalism -- not only in the UK, but in many European countries -- and you have a volatile mix. There is a circle-the-wagons mindset taking hold across the continent. Not unanimous by any means, but significant. The day after the Brexit vote, the Dutch anti-immigration leader called for a similar referendum in the Netherlands. Greece has long had a major chip on its shoulder vis-a-vis the EU, as my wife and I heard first hand during our recent time there.

It's anyone's guess exactly how Brexit will play itself out, and some of our distraught British friends may decide in the future that they over-reacted on June 24, 2016. I don't pretend to be an economist or an expert on international affairs; but I am concerned about the growing resistance to anything foreign, whether in the US or Europe. It is a little too easy to take legitimate concerns about jobs and terrorists too far and turn them into irrational, fear-driven conclusions.

With all the anti-immigrant rhetoric coming from both sides of the Atlantic, I can't help wondering what the Native American community must be thinking. Do they laugh or cry to hear white-dominated Americans deciding who can and who cannot land on these shores?

On this Independence Day 2016, may we realize our DEpendence as well. Our interdependence. In the 21st century, there is no more such a thing as a pure American than there is a pure Briton or a pure Frenchman. Not that we can't celebrate our national identity as we do today; but we must not forget that our strength is not in our sameness, but in our diversity.

Taking the Pulse of Paris

Even though Becky and I had as one of our main purposes for this trip to Europe to observe and document the refugee crisis and its effect, along with other factors, on the European continent, the original prompt to make plans to be there were the November 13 attacks in Paris. So we made plans from the beginning to end our time in Europe in the City of Lights -- to take the pulse of this great city seven months after the attacks.

I sat down with an old friend, Marie Breton, who spoke candidly about life in Paris and her memories of the night of the attacks. Not something any of us would want to live through, but it's part of our current reality.

What do we do in the face of such atrocity? I share some of my own thoughts at the end of the interview.

Next week we do a wrap-up of this six-week European odyssey and we've learned from it.

The Jungle, Part II

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(For Part I, click here.) Once we had been waved through, we had to decide which of two dirt roads was the more passable in order to get to the small cluster of makeshift buildings marked by a couple of signs saying "Ecole" or "School" on the edge of the camp. There were a few other cars parked, all with French license plates. Our eyes landed on a white, middle-aged woman talking to a handful of dark-skinned migrants. She was a local volunteer, giving several hours per week to teach French to anyone who asks. It was immediately evident that she has given her heart and soul for the people of the Jungle as she answered our questions. It is in many respects a small city. Although there are some tents, many of the dwellings are makeshift houses, although that word is really saying too much. There are shops, of sorts. (As you look at the photos, remember all our observations were from just outside the camp.)

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There are a lot of reasons the Jungle feels different. For one thing, none of the camps we visited in Athens come close to the number of people all in one place. But the biggest distinction is that the migrants at the jungle can almost SMELL their desired destination, just 33 kilometers (20.5 miles) away. That makes their quest seem a little more dramatic and perhaps a little more urgent, with almost daily attempts at hopping a truck.

We were chatting with Dominique, the first French volunteer teacher we met at the school, when we  were invited inside for a video presentation by a young lady from a performance art company from the  city of Nantes. She does advance publicity for a traveling street performance called Long Ma, or “horse dragon” in Chinese. The company builds huge mechanical figures in the form of a horse dragon and a giant spider, and they draw huge crowds on the streets of European cities as well as on other continents. It was her idea to interest as many of the Jungle inhabitants as possible, which we agreed would be a great diversion from their daily existence in the camp. When she found out I was a French teacher, she asked if I would be willing to interpret for her in English. I found myself wishing that more from the camp had heard about the presentation, but I’m sure the word about the street show traveled.

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After the presentation, we were standing back outside when we suddenly saw and felt our first ever tear gas attack. All of us were immediately seized with burning and tearing eyes, coughing, and stinging nostrils. Becky and I thought about making a run for the car, but quickly realized that would be no escape. So we ran back into the makeshift schoolroom to wait out the worst of the gas and its effects. The French volunteers were saying they had never experienced tear gas in all their time of coming here.

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And yet, it is apparently not all that uncommon. The riot police have their orders: to contain the migrants in the camp and prevent them from attempting any more stowaways. As we eventually got in the car to leave, the visual was striking: the police in full riot gear in a face-off with several dozen migrants. I was reminded of the video a Palestinian refugee from Syria showed me in Athens of Turkish police with knives boarding the inflatable boat they were in with orders to puncture the boats. Like the French riot police, they were following orders to stop the flow of migrants leaving their shores.

In spite of the contrasts between what we experienced in Greece and France, the parallels are undeniable. The great majority have crossed water under perilous circumstances, be it the Aegean or the Mediterranean. Most of them have someone waiting for them in a prosperous European country, having gone ahead to seek a better life. And most of them still in the camps have nothing left.

Our oldest son and his brother-in-law, also a dear friend of ours, wrote a song about the plight of the refugees in this latest wave of the past year to two years. I leave you with a rough audio recording, along with the lyrics, below.

We did not come away from our experiences with specific ideas or strong opinions about what should be done to stop the Syrian war, or solutions for solving the massive challenge facing Europe at this time. What we did come away with is a renewed awareness of the senselessness of war, as well as not one but dozens of stories — stories that put a face on this crisis and have left an indelible impression on us. We know we cannot remain indifferent — including to those in our own city.

[audio m4a="http://daviddurham.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Row.m4a"][/audio]

"Row"

by Jonathan Durham and Brian Beise

So the plan has changed, so we quit the land,

So we lost our home, I still have your hand

So the dark is deep,  and our vessel shakes,

I will call your name, and the day will break

See there's the sunlight;  it was never really gone

It's travelled far and it has farther still to go

The wind has died but we will set our sails, love

There is no tide so we will row

So waves of our friends crash onto the shore

Everyday we choose another last resort

So the borders close and the waters rise

We will ride these boards and find the sea's good side

See there's the sunlight; it was never really gone

It's travelled far and it has farther still to go

The wind has died but we will set our sails, love

There is no tide so we will row

We haul on frozen ropes, salt-soaked to the bone

But when you say my name you and I are home

(c) 2015 Brian Beise and Jonathan Durham

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A Day in the Life of the Jungle

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We didn't really know what to expect. We had been following an organization called "l'Auberge des migrants" on Facebook for several weeks. It is a UK-based nonprofit that mobilizes volunteers -- largely from the UK, but from other countries as well, including a few Americans -- to sort clothes, cook and deliver meals, teach English lessons, and generally help meet the daily needs of the roughly 4,500 migrants that find themselves in a place called the Jungle.

I'm not at all sure who gave this refugee camp that nickname. In a way it seems to me to dehumanize what is already a cauldron of needs, hopes and aspirations, not to mention abhorrent living conditions.

Becky and I wanted to visit the camp, even for just a day, to observe and compare this situation with what we encountered in Greece. We decided to apply as volunteers for a day with the Auberge (which means "inn"). Not having heard back from them (it turns out they only accept volunteers for a week or more), we decided to just drive to Calais and see what we could see.

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On a tip from the staff at the restaurant where we had had lunch, we drove to an area near the port of Calais, where hundreds of vehicles line up every day for the car ferry that will take them across the English Channel. Not surprisingly, the Jungle is right there, below the overpass leading to the ferry, although it took what seemed like forever to figure out how to get there by car. One young man at a nearby animal shelter, where we stopped to ask more questions, told me where I could find the warehouses where most of the volunteers work.

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Under a chilly drizzle, we arrived at the warehouse, given away by the number of British license plates on the cars parked in the street. We were welcomed by a smiling young man from  Manchester, wearing a high-vis raincoat. Dozens of other young volunteers scurried about, many of them finishing up a coffee break and getting back to sorting supplies, setting up donated tents to make sure all the parts were there, and loading a large truck with clothes. Mostly English was spoken, with a little French or German here and there.

After a few more minutes of asking questions of whomever was available, we were told that we couldn't actually go inside the camp, but that if we showed up at the gate at 6:00 pm, we could visit the makeshift school on the edge of the Jungle, where anyone can go and volunteer their time to give lessons in English, French, and other things.

We arrived at the entrance to the Jungle, guarded by a strong contingent of police. Having set aside my natural reluctance to ask strangers questions (I suppose I'm becoming a self-styled journalist in my old age), I struck up a conversation with one of the troopers while his colleague was running my passport through the system. He told me this unit is part of the national riot police, called in anywhere in France where there is a need to restore order. It wouldn't be long before we would see part of how this is done.

There was such a different feel between the camps we visited in Athens and the Jungle here in Calais. A majority (by how many I'm not sure) of the migrants come from Africa, notably Sudan, Eritrea, and Ethiopia. There are also a number from other African countries, along with Syria and other Middle Eastern countries. Many have attempted to jump aboard a truck bound for the ferry. Some of those waiting in the Jungle are following legal procedures for applying for asylum, but their chances are usually slim. And now with the Brexit, many in France are calling on England to protect their own border -- in other words, to relieve France of the responsibility of holding them back.

If many of the refugees in Athens have family waiting for them in Germany, many of those in the Jungle have people waiting in the UK -- hence the hope of somehow making it across the Channel.

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In Part II, you'll read about the surprise that awaited not only us, but some of the volunteers who happened to be at the Jungle at the same time....

Germany: Promised Land?

Becky and I continue our European odyssey by following the "refugee trail" from Greece to Germany, where so many of those in Greece have loved ones waiting for them. Our first stop was Berlin, where we had a couple of important errands: delivering hand written notes from their loved ones still stranded in Athens. You can read about that in this blog post.

We also met a singer-songwriter from New Zealand who lives in Berlin named Mathew James White(pictured at right with girlfriend Christine). Mat was invited to do a songwriting seminar this past spring. To his surprise, all but two of the participants ended up being refugees. By the end of their time together with Mat, they had written a song to thank Germany for taking them in. You can read about that on Mat's Facebook page in his post dated June 1.

In this podcast episode, you'll meet our friends Andreas and Anya Krause (pictured left), whose story tells of friendships that came from reaching out to a handful of some of the hundreds of thousands of recent arrivals in their nation of Germany. They also share many insights about being on the receiving end of such a huge influx of displaced people. I hope you enjoy their compelling stories.

Next week we come to you from Paris, where we take the pulse of the City of Lights seven months after the November 13 attacks.

Following the Stories to Berlin

Abu Ahmad

If you've been following us the last few weeks, you know we had quite an eye-opening and moving time in Athens, Greece, where thousands of refugees are suspended in a sort of no man's land, hoping for a life where their own lives are not threatened. Most of them have lost friends or family members in one of the many conflicts in the Middle East; many have family members already waiting for them in Germany. Although we were there less than two weeks, we will not soon forget the warmth with which we were welcomed every time we visited one of the camps. Most of the people we met were Syrians, but there were also Afghanis, Iraqis, and Palestinians.

Since we were planning on Berlin as our next stop on this European odyssey, we offered to visit the fiancee of one young Palestinian man who grew up as a refugee in Syria. His fiancee is in Berlin with her family -- one of the few intact families we've met. We also arranged to visit the 17-year-old son of a Syrian father (pictured above) of nine in the Athens camp, who is in Greece with another son and two daughters while his wife and other children are scattered across Germany. (We still don't fully understand why family members are so often split up in different cities in their host country.) In this account, we are using made-up names to protect the identities of the people involved.

Yara

Adara, a 19-year-old Syrian girl with large brown eyes and long, beautiful hair, lives with her parents and two sisters in a plain apartment building in a southern suburb of Berlin. I had reached her father by phone to arrange the meeting, but he was away visiting his brother in the hospital when we arrived. After handing over my passport to the guard at the entrance to the shelter for asylum seekers, Becky and I waited until a young man in his thirties arrived to welcome us. With a kind manner and very good English, Abdul introduced himself as Adara's uncle. He took us to the family's small, no-frills apartment, where Adara greeted us at the door. She was not wearing a hijab (head scarf). Abdul and Adara led us to a bedroom, where we sat on twin beds facing each other, with a small table in between. This was the only room we saw in the apartment. But it was an apartment, complete with plumbing and electricity -- not a tent. Becky gave Adara the card written by her fiancé, Jalal, along with some chocolates and flowers we had picked up in Berlin. She fought back tears after reading Jalal's brief note, and went on to offer us glasses of water -- even though it was Ramadan, and neither she nor her uncle would have a drop of water or anything else until after sundown. She then brought us glasses of some kind of tasty grapefruit soda. (We've learned by now that it does no good to say no, thank you.)

We spent the next few minutes in a trilingual chat with the two of them -- speaking German to her and English to him, and he sometimes translating into Arabic for her. She was warm, poised, and gracious, just like all the other Syrian women we had met. She spoke of her intensive German language study, never letting on that this is probably the biggest ordeal she's ever been through. (Note: this week's podcast will include the aspect of German language learning as an important part of new immigrants' cultural integration.) Abdul, whom we took an immediate liking to, talked mainly about how grateful he was for the option of being safe in Germany.

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After 30-45 minutes, Adara's parents arrived from the hospital. The dad was much larger in every way than his brother-in-law, Abdul -- more outspoken, more demonstrative -- a big teddy bear of a man. His wife was young-looking, all smiles, and wore the traditional hijab. Our time, by then, was unfortunately growing short, as we had to reach the opposite end of the city for our next appointment.

After photos, we said our goodbyes a little earlier than we would have liked, and headed back for the train station. I had set up our meeting with young Nabil with one of the social workers who staff the group home where he lives along with other under-age immigrants. It is a fairly nice-looking building in a quiet northern suburb, although we didn't see the inside. Not seeing a main entrance, I rang a buzzer and was answered by a male German voice, who said Nabil had gone out to run errands or do some shopping -- even though it was now the agreed upon time of our meeting. A little discouraged, we walked a few feet down the sidewalk and discovered an entrance we hadn't seen, and there was Nabil taking his bike out. Although his father had shown us a photo of him, we needed no photo to recognize him. He had much the same handsome face as his younger brother (pictured at the top) whom we had befriended in the Athens camp.

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Nabil has been in Germany about a year, which means he was sixteen when his parents sent him ahead to find some kind of new life for himself, and hopefully his family would follow. This is an apparently common strategy. As we talked with this soft-spoken young man with broken German, I could only imagine what it was like to come to a completely foreign land as a sixteen-year-old, not speaking a word of the local language and entirely dependent on survival skills and the kindness -- or not -- of the German staffers who handled his case. It turned out that the staffer I had spoken to, a young man named Robin, who joined us a few minutes later, was indeed kind and works for a private nonprofit to integrate under-aged immigrant arrivals.

Nabil was reserved, and because both his German and mine were limited, our communication was not great. I was frankly not even sure he was glad to see us, although his father had told him to expect us. He did manage a weak smile from time to time. God alone knows what this young man has been through and the survival mechanisms he has had to put in place. As we parted ways after no more than half an hour of chatting and trying to understand more of his story, Becky and I came away with more questions than anything else. How long would it take for Nabil to be integrated into German culture? How long before he could be reunited with his mother in the eastern German city of Leipzig, not to mention his father and siblings still in Greece? Coming from a group-oriented culture and then left on his own for so long, how would his eventual reunion with his family go? No one knows. Again.

The refugee situation in Europe, and indeed on other continents such as North America, is so complex that it is pretty much impossible to get your mind around it. What we can get our minds around is stories -- stories of families and individuals whose lives have been permanently altered.

Stay tuned for the next post, where we share a song that captures much of this tumult and uncertainty, written by our son and his brother-in-law/bandmate.

A Family Ruined for the Ordinary

Meet my friend Dwane Thomas. Dwane and I have known each other for a number of years, and both live and work in the greater Nashville area. But this interview comes to you from Athens, Greece, where Dwane and his family, along with Becky and myself, have been volunteering with and observing some of the work going on among the many refugees stranded or waiting here in Greece. (You can hear more about that in my interview with the amazing Eleni Melirrytou.) But there's more about this remarkable family of seven. Before coming to Athens, they spent two months on the Greek island of Paros. I'll let Dwane tell you how he and his wife Gretchen came to lead their kids on that adventure, as well as how their contact with the refugees here in Athens has changed them. Dwane is also a language freak like yours truly, and we compare notes a little during this interview. He has some advice that you'll want to take to heart, especially if you're student or parent of a student.

At the end of the podcast we talk about the idea of going out into the streets of Athens and having fun reading signs and guessing what they mean. Recommended especially for word nerds!

Next week I'll be coming to you for the last time from Europe, where Becky and I have had our eyes opened, not only on the refugee situation but how it and other factors are changing the face of Europe. All blog posts and podcast episodes for the past several weeks deal with this subject in one way or another.

Now here's the video shot on the Athens streets by Jackson Thomas:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-Bb5GsV6wQtSlBDSFdLT0Utb0E/view?usp=sharing

Resources mentioned in this episode:

Pickpockets and Perspective

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It happened to me. Again. I was planning on keeping this latest incident to myself. Part of it was embarrassment, which really means pride. I should have seen it coming. I'm a seasoned traveler. I just published a podcast episode on being a wise traveler, for crying out loud.

The first time was in Lima, Peru, when my cell phone was pickpocketed. Then a few years later, a major incident in Amsterdam, where a brand new video camera, our credit cards, and passports were all taken in a split second. (Some time I'll have to tell that story -- pretty amazing how it turned out.)

On a tube train in London, my wife actually caught a pickpocket with his hand inside our son's backpack and thwarted his attempt.

In this case, we were on a metro (subway) train in Athens, headed to visit our new refugee friends at the port of Piraeus. It was already the most crowded train we'd been on here, and at one stop a group of guys got on at the same time. Amidst all the jostling, Becky and I got separated. I keep a hand on my "murse" on crowded trains and buses, but all I can figure is that during the pushing and shoving (orchestrated, I now realize), I must have been pushed off balance just long enough for a skilled hand to unzip my bag, reach inside, and pull out my wallet.

I looked down, seconds later, and discovered my bag was open. I immediately reached in, first felt my passport with great relief, but kept feeling for my wallet. Not there. I of course knew right away what had happened. I'm fairly sure the group got off at the next stop, and Becky and I decided to do the same in order to call and cancel our credit cards immediately.

I was so angry, especially because I realized how it had happened. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to hurt someone. But as much as anything, I was angry at myself. I should have seen it coming. There was only about 30 euros in cash, but two credit cards, a debit card, and my driver's license, which I will need to rent the car we're planning to rent in Paris later this week.

I'm at least grateful to have learned some lessons along the way, and part of being a wise traveler is keeping the phone numbers of all your credit card companies in a separate place. I was able to cancel all the cards and find out that none of them had yet been used by the perpetrators. We then asked my son's girlfriend to FedEx my newly renewed driver's license, which had providentially come in the mail at home, along with another credit card I hadn't taken with me, to a friend's house in Paris for me to pick up once we arrive there.

After that little incident I felt like going home. You really do feel violated when you've been robbed. I quickly realized, though, that going back to the apartment was the worst possible thing to do. What I needed most was perspective, and I knew I would find that at the camp. So we got on the next train, and sure enough, while talking with our friends who have lost everything and whose future is uncertain at best, my petty problem(s) quickly faded away.

Sure, it's been a bit of a hassle reconstructing our infrastructure while on the road, and yes, it's embarrassing for me to admit that this happened to moi -- again. But I'm actually almost grateful for the headache because it reminded me once again how much I have to be grateful for.

We are now in Berlin, where we are gaining a different perspective on the refugee situation in Europe. Be sure to tune in to the podcast this weekend to hear about it.

An Oasis in Athens

What a week it has been here in Athens. Last week I shared with you some of our observations of the city itself. That was before our work with the refugees began. In this week's episode we share some of their stories -- not only from the camps, but from some of the people reaching out to them here. In particular, one dynamo of a lady named Eleni Melirrytou, a pastor's wife from a small church in the heart of Athens. My wife and I have been tremendously impacted just watching this lady, and she herself has been changed, as you will hear, by her relationship with the dozens and dozens of refugees who have come through her doors just since January of this year.

After listening to her, you just might find yourself wanting to know more -- or maybe even join her and her team in Athens for a week, a month, or longer. If that's the case, you can email Eleni at emelirry@aol.com, or find her on Facebook.

Next week we'll be coming to you from Germany, considered the Promised Land by many of the refugees. Some already have family waiting for them there. We're curious to see what things look like on that end, and I hope you'll join us.

Hopeful and Hopeless in Athens

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My wife and I have been in Athens for a week. We've experienced a bizarre juxtaposition of emotion and experience: on one hand, we're seriously exploring the possibility of including this great city in a World to the Wise cultural tour at some point in the future, so we spent the first few days exploring this city that began casting a long shadow almost 3,000 years ago. From the obviously stunning sights like the Acropolis, the Temple of Olympian Zeus, the Ancient Agora and the Roman Forum to the neighborhood Greek Orthodox churches that have been calling the faithful for over 1,000 years, to the warmth of the Greek people themselves, we have predictably fallen in love with the city.

On the other hand, we are also here to volunteer with a nonprofit reaching out to the thousands of refugees currently stranded here in Greece. Meeting them and listening to their stories is nothing short of heartbreaking. We have visited them in camps at Pyraeus, the port of Athens, as well as in what are called squats -- abandoned buildings such as schools, where they set up tents in the classrooms and attempt to make the best of a desperate situation.

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I spent some time talking to a small group of Syrian men at the port. Their tents are grouped around one of the port terminal buildings, apparently not currently in use. They greeted me warmly, led by a man in his 40s who was the best English speaker and served as the group's mouthpiece. All of them have family (or a fiancee in one case) waiting for them in Germany, and are themselves waiting to be processed. This can mean waiting for a first interview, or for a second one months away. And in the meantime, they wait, forming temporary family units as there is virtually no such thing as an intact family in the camps. More than one young man spent months in prison for refusing to serve in Bashar Al Assad's army. If they set foot back in Syria, they are imprisoned or worse.

But these men have some form of hope. They hope to eventually be admitted into Germany or another northern European country and reunited with their loved ones. This is what prevents them from despair.

English lesson

Others are not so fortunate. Becky and I spent some time talking with and teaching English to a small group of Afghani women yesterday. Two of them are sisters and one is a sister-in-law. Two out of three were widowed by the Taliban. They lost everything to escape with their lives, paying $3000 per person to be whisked away in the night by car. They are now a family unit in themselves, along with the eleven or so children between them.

Their biggest problem is that Afghanistan is currently not recognized by the powers that be (UN, EU, etc.) as a nation at war, so there is no way these ladies can be granted political asylum. They were granted permission to stay one month in Greece, and that was four months ago. So now they wait, illegally, but with nowhere to go and no known recourse.

I was struck by their warm smiles and upbeat manner the entire time -- that is, until they began to tell, through the 17-year-old daughter who spoke decent English, about their ordeal. The more she told, the more their countenances all fell and revealed the utter exhaustion and despair they must be living with constantly. They only get 2-3 hours of sleep in the building where they are being housed because of the incessant crying of small children through the night, and the 3 days a week they come to the church facilities where we are based are an oasis in more ways than one.

So Becky and I live each day in this bizarre blend of adventure and discovery, and heartbreak and unanswerable questions, while a Syrian man, separated from his family, sweeps the eight square feet of parking lot outside the tent he calls home.

Be sure to tune in to my podcast this week for more updates and stories.

The Wise Traveler

In this episode, brought to you from Athens, Greece, I ask the question: Is there a right and a wrong way to travel? I would say yes. There's not just one right way and one wrong way, however. Find out some of the characteristics of what I call the wise traveler. With the magnificent, world-shaping city of Athens as a backdrop, we explore what it means to travel wisely. If what Solomon said is true, wisdom is something to be sought after above all else. Wisdom is the ability to apply intelligence at the right time, in the right place, and in the right way. So what makes someone a wise traveler and not just an intelligent one? 

Take a listen, send your feedback, and share! Share your comments either here or on the Reviews section of your favorite podcast store, or email me at podcast@daviddurham.org. I'd love to hear your own insights and experiences!

Resources mentioned in this episode:

Postcard from Switzerland

(Note: see below for a correction of an error in this week's episode.)

This episode comes to you from beautiful Switzerland, where I am currently doing a short series of concerts with my old friends and partners in crime, François and Christine Reymond. As I've mentioned earlier, the primary purpose of this trip to Europe, however, is to observe and document some of the enormous changes the European continent is going through, and I couldn't resist the urge to check into some of the developments in Switzerland along these lines. I was all the more interested since I've spent six years of my life in this country.

Here's a table of contents of this episode:

Chapter One - a crash course on Switzerland, just to make sure we're on the same page and that you're tracking with me

Chapter Two - walking the streets of Lausanne (where I lived in two different stints) with a good friend, who happens to be a policeman

Chapter Three - the changing face of Switzerland through the eyes of a high school vice principal

Chapter Four - an encounter with some refugees in Switzerland

Join us next week, when we'll be coming to you from Athens, Greece!

Correction: if you listened to the segment on my interview with Lionel the policeman, you heard me mention drug dealers on a Lausanne city square at night. I mistakenly understood Lionel to say they were Eritreans; they are instead of other African nationalities, but rarely Eritreans. I apologize for the error.