Barking dogs. The incessant barking of dogs who wander the streets. This is probably the sound I will always associate with the LM Village refugee camp and Greece in general. Right now, outside my hotel room, it sounds like ten thousand dogs are barking themselves hoarse. I picture two teams – maybe the short haired vs the long haired? – facing off à la West Side Story, the Jets versus the Sharks, dancing around each other and puffing out their chests.

Most likely the dogs are fighting over a doughnut left on the beach.

In the town of Kyllini, there are dogs and cats everywhere. Even the quiet corners of restaurants.

In the camp the dogs breed freely, living on the street, or between shrubbery, or in nooks and crannies of camp buildings.

A man, one of the camp residents, came into our clothing boutique the other day and asked if we could help him with a violent dog.

We said no.

There are puppies everywhere, trotting along by themselves and in pairs, but not usually with a parent. Black dogs, short haired dogs, long haired dogs, tan dogs, tiny dogs, rangy dogs. They survive here, occasionally fed by the residents, or picking up bits of food on the ground.

Some of them sleep on the abandoned tennis court. In the late afternoon the court is dotted with furry shapes, stretched out on the brilliant green surface.

They are passing time here.

And really, so are the residents. There are about 150 people here, mainly from Syria, and they usually come to us after a stay in other camps in Greece, where life is much more difficult than it is at LM Village. Our camp is located in a former resort, so the residents have actual buildings to live in, with plumbing and kitchens – rather than tents.

Main street at LM Village

Most of the camp residents are registered with the government, so they get a stipend that pays for a certain amount of food. But the camp is miles from any other village, so it’s very difficult to do the shopping, and there is almost nothing to do here. There are often far too many people living in each suite to be comfortable.

One man said he dislikes living at the village because all you do is eat. I assume that life here can revolve around preparing meals and eating meals.

As you drive into the camp, you’ll see men clustered in small groups, chatting and huddling over their phones. Women are often working, cleaning their suites, cooking, caring for children, doing laundry or buying food at our store. Some of the older women sit out on their porches, chatting with the younger women as they work.

Teens hang out in the communal area, watching television, or hanging onto the edges of the male groups, as if waiting for crumbs from the adult debates.

Many of the smaller children roam freely, sometimes playing football or basketball, or spending some time with an NGO called SchoolBox, which offers informal classes.

Gentle reader, let me give you an idea of what my days usually look like.

The NGO I’m volunteering for, Refugee Support, runs a small grocery store and clothing store. There are only three volunteers right now, and we get together in the morning in Kyllini, the port town where we’re staying, about 15 minutes’ drive from the camp.

We have breakfast at a local bakery and then buy produce from an amazing veg stand along the highway. We load up on tomatoes, aubergines, courgettes, potatoes, onions, garlic, peppers, apples, cucumbers. The owners of the veg stand break into grins and call out, “Kalimera!” when they see us coming, and they always throw in something extra – last time it was mandarin oranges that smelled like Christmas. We ate a couple and then gave the rest away for free at the store.

It’s important to Refugee Support to contribute to the local economy, and we certainly spend our donated money regularly at the local shops. With Greece in its continuing economic slump (unemployment is at around 23%), every little bit helps.

Side bar: If any Greek tourism officials are among my gentle readers (they’re obviously not, but what the hell), here’s a friendly suggestion. You will attract more tourists if you embrace a culture of customer service more consistently. To be clear, much of the service I’ve had in Greece has been really wonderful – the people in Kyllini are unfailingly kind and considerate. But I’ve run into some objectionable men working in places like bus stations who feel that shouting at customers is the best way to encourage tourism.

Peevish side bar to the side bar:  At the Athens bus station I asked at the ticket wicket for a ticket to Kyllini and was told there was no bus to Kyllini that day; I would have to go to another town and take a taxi. I told him I knew for a fact there were three buses to Kyllini, my friend had recently taken this bus. We debated this for about thirty seconds until his face turned the color of a beetroot and he began shouting at me to call my friend and verify my information. I just stared at him until he told me to go further into the bus station and ask at another counter. Which is where I found the bus to Kyllini.

If Plato and Socrates caught wind of this behavior from their graves, surely they would turn over in their togas.

But to return to the daily routine of the camp. Our day continues with the three of us driving to the camp – I am one of our designated drivers so I’ve learned to maneuver our little Fiat along the narrow highways and village streets.

Side bar: The lanes here seem to be more of a suggestion than a rule – white strips of paint that offer possible strategies for dividing the cars running in either direction at about 40 km/h over the posted speed limit/suggestion. In the villages, the streets are often just little strips of pavement jammed between the tiny sidewalks, and you have to pull over if a car comes from the opposite direction.

But – to return to our routine… Once we get to the camp we stock the grocery store, which is a small but bright and efficient space lined with shelves, with a stock room and fridge.

At 11:00 the store opens and the residents come in one family at a time to spend the “money” we distribute to everyone (think Monopoly). Refugee Support organizers have devised a clever system of points for each family, based on their ages, also taking into account pregnancies. Along with the produce, our store carries items like cheese, yogurt, tahini, spices, toilet paper, soap, oil, and cookies (sorry – biscuits).

We divide our time between the grocery store and the clothing boutique, where we give out clothes that have been donated by local Greek folks. The selection isn’t always fantastic, but we manage to put sensible clothing on people’s backs, and prepare them for the colder months ahead.

Right now the temperature is usually around 20C and sunny, but it will cool off soon and people will be glad they’ve gotten a jacket, scarf and hat.

Because we are only three volunteers right now at LM Village, we are short staffed. So it can be frustrating not having enough time to sort clothing and stock the boutique as well as we would like to.

But our volunteer coordinator is very good about reminding us that we are doing our best, and that we are still providing much-needed services for the residents. She reminds us that the Refugee Support routine works well because it’s fair to the residents and it ensures that volunteers don’t burn out. So when the grocery shop closes at 5:00, we lock the door, and if anyone knocks after five, we ask them to please come back the next day.

Side bar: if any of you gentle readers are interested in helping out – do! Your time and energy would be greatly valued. Here’s the link to the Refugee Support page in case you fancy spending some time in Greece, and helping out at a camp.

I haven’t had much of a chance to talk with many of the residents, and many of them barely speak English. But from what the volunteer coordinator tells me, the residents have been struggling to survive since their journeys from Syria and mainly feel fortunate to be at LM Village. One of them actually described it a paradise, despite the cramped conditions and the lack of activities available.

The IOM (International Organization for Migration – a branch of the UN) has done a lot of work to make the camp as liveable as possible for those who spend time there. Yesterday there was an enormous truck parked outside our grocery store, and all day it unloaded new mattresses for the suites. Because the suites had been unused for so long, there are problems with mildew and water quality, so getting fresh, clean mattresses is a big help.

Some of the suites are packed full to the brim with people – there are often two families living together in a suite with two sleeping areas, a small kitchen and no real living room.

We are due to get another bus load of new arrivals next week, so it will be interesting to see how they will be squeezed in.

It’s not surprising, given what the residents have been through, and given their current state of limbo, that some of them are occasionally irritable. The vast majority of customers at our grocery store and boutique are friendly and respectful, but there have been moments when tempers have flared, voices have been raised.

Already feeling out of my element, striving to learn the volunteer system and work with people who don’t speak English, I feel anxious during these moments of confrontation. It’s easy to wonder why our customers can’t be more cooperative, why they can’t respect our rules and follow them with good humor.

But I ask myself how I would behave under these circumstances. Having left my home, family and friends behind, having walked for miles or crossed seas on flimsy boats, having struggled to feed my children for months and months, having faced corruption and intolerance more often than fairness and kindness – would I be able to smile and nod when I’m told I can only have three bananas, not six? When I’m told I can’t accompany my husband to the market?

I really don’t know.

But I suspect that irritability would be one of my most positive attributes after that kind of a struggle.

What I see at LM Village is resilience, patience and endurance. I salute the residents for simply putting one foot in front of the other, while they pass through an asylum system that is, at best, imperfect.

Our residents try to be patient as Europe and the rest of the world sort out how they will handle this huge wave of displaced people. This wave is washing up larger questions, it seems to me, questions that can be terrifying for those who feel strongly about national borders and national values. Questions like: Who has the right to live within national boundaries? Who gets to determine a country’s national values? What obligation do nations have to support victims of war, corruption and violence? What should international organizations do when some nations don’t live up to their obligations?

Meanwhile, the residents at LM Village continue putting one foot in front of the other, baking bread, changing diapers, buying groceries, texting relatives back home.

They live life in waiting mode, in a resort owned by the Kyllini town council. The residents of LM Village squeeze themselves into suites that were built to house small European families taking short vacations, just steps from a sandy beach.

It’s both lovely and ironic.

The mayor of Kyllini is originally from Syria, the first naturalized Greek of Syrian origin to be elected mayor. He suggested taking the resort, which had been abandoned for six years, and turning it into a home for refugees.

Refugee Support has helped turn the camp into a place that is more like a village, where there is some sense of normality. Being able to buy groceries on site helps residents feel like they have some agency, and a normal routine, which – hopefully – counteracts the sense of limbo that they must feel.

So I will rest up this weekend and on Monday, go back to the grocery store, help stock the shelves, measure out tomatoes and aubergines in kilograms, and close up the shop at the end of the day, even if there are a few people outside wanting to get in. Tomorrow will be another day.