“Are you here to open the borders?”

By Elizabeth Pennington

In Serbia alone, there are approximately 4,500 refugees. Many unaccompanied children from Middle Eastern countries such as Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan. It is a crisis that has fallen away from the World’s media.

I recently travelled to Serbia, working alongside Paris-based Irish artist Bryan McCormack and his colleague Stratis Vouyoucas. We were working on the art project called ‘Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow,’ by Bryan McCormack. He and Stratis have been travelling around refugee camps, centres and squats in Europe for around 18 months, asking refugees to draw their past life (yesterday), their current life (today) and their future life (tomorrow). I began working on this project in October 2016 alongside fellow students and staff members at Sheffield Hallam University. Now, fast-forward another 18 months from that time, we have taken the project to Italy, France and then the centres in Serbia.

Adasevci Centre: 12th February 2018:

On the first day, on a cold February morning, we arrived at our first centre, Adasevci, close to the Serbian/Croatian border. I was nervous, anticipating all I would see and all I would hear, watching as young children played alongside the busy motorway as cars raced past. Walking through the doors of the centre, surrounded by fencing, a new addition, we were greeted by curious stares and smiles. watching as young children played alongside the busy motorway as cars raced past.

Immediately, I was struck by a young girl who was perhaps 3 years old from Iraq. As we began the project, handing out the paper and pens for the drawings, her eyes widened with excitement. She proceeded to draw many colourful swirls, regularly holding up her artwork for approval. If we didn’t respond she would tap us to get our attention. It was heart-warming and heart-breaking all at the same time as women around her drew some of the most traumatic images that I had ever seen. For the most part, these children’s lives have only been spent in war and they have seen more than any child should have to see. 

Principovac Centre: 12th February 2018:

“Are you here to open the borders?” This was the first question I received from an Afghan woman in Principovac Centre just a few metres shy of the Croatian border. I was numb having only just travelled from the Adasevci Centre. My mind racing with painful information. 

Principovac is a former hospital for children who are mentally handicapped, now a centre for refugees. With very strict rules and guidelines enforced by the Commissariat (the governing body for all the refugee centres in Serbia), there are fears that the centres will close, becoming more and more like a detention centre with nobody allowed to enter or leave.

In Principovac, I met a 13-year-old artist, a painter, from Kabul, Afghanistan. She had been at the centre for approximately a year. “Art is what keeps me alive,” she tells me. I could see both the raw determination and the pain from the last few years of her life, all that she has sacrificed in order to give herself the best opportunities for her future.

on the Serbian/Croatian border. Photographed by Elizabeth Pennington

I also met a toddler, around 18 months old, who was born in the centre. Her mother brings her to the centre each day and simply leaves her, meaning that the NGO’s present practically became her family, teaching her everything. When I met her, she had only just begun to crawl and smile. 

What was perhaps most shocking to me was that if a child is born in a refugee camp or centre, the child is stateless. They will have no rights, making the situation all the more horrific and tragic. As I walked around the room, watching as the refugees drew their memories, their lives today and their aspirations, one, in particular, caught my eye and needed no explanation.

A woman from Afghanistan had drawn the memory of seeing “half a body with the leg cut off,“ read the caption, as she described seeing the aftermath of a car-bomb attack in Kabul. 

Obrenovac Centre: 13th February 2018:

I had no words.

At night, I was restless, my mind racing, having nightmare after nightmare from the previous days spent at the centres. During the day, I was often either numb or in a kind of dazed state as I struggled to process what I was seeing and hearing. The crisis in Serbia is intense with thousands simply waiting for answers, unsure of what the next day will bring.

An young Afghan artist shows some of his work at Principovac Centre on the

Serbian/Croatian border. Photographed by Elizabeth Pennington

If there is one thing that I have learned through the experience of working in Serbia, it is that we all have a voice that needs to be heard, no matter what nationality we are, our religion, the language we speak. We are all human, we all have gifts and talents to share and we should not be made to feel inhuman.