Boticelli

 

Raphael by Zoe Kalliakmani and Martha Theologou

 https://www.canva.com/design/DAFVBlrhuo4/iOYK3deB-oU0PFvis8gjAg/view?utm_content=DAFVBlrhuo4&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=link2&utm_source=sharebutton

Ways to celebrate Human Rights Day in Our School. A Project by the Students of C Senior.

 Celebrating Human Rights Day by Maria and Charoula

Human Rights by Efthimia and Ioanna

Human Rights Day by Thanasis and Aggeliki

Twins on Human Rights

A SEA RESCUER STORY by Ifigeneia Satrafili

  A SEA RESCUER STORY

 

My name is Ifigeneia, I work as a rescuer in the sea and the most cases I have faced are refugees that are obliged to leave their country because of the war or because they want a better life. It's a psychedelic work because you see children crying, being hungry and thirsty. I have a lot of stories but one of them will be etched on my memory.

It was mid-summer and outside it was 40 degrees Celsius. I was working, servicing a rescue boat. Suddenly I heard my partner, Mike talking on the wireless and telling me to go immediately to the port. I gave up everything I was doing and left to the port, sweaty and dizzy from the sun. I got on my boat and started the journey. At 10 meters before I reached my destination I lost my vision because of the smokes of the fires. I realized it had to do with war again. Above me I heard helicopters flying with buckets used to put out the fire, which was difficult because of the heat. At some point I started to see more clearly, I could see people panicking with children in their arms, they were waving at me to go and save them. They were over 1 hundred people and not all of them could fit in my boat. Over the radio I called two more boats for help. I was anxious but also determined to save all of them. I tried to take as many parents with children as I could, the boat could fit about 30 people but I took 40 and they were crowded. I gave life jackets and water to all of them. A woman of around 27 years old was ready to die and she could not breathe due to the smoke, I put her an oxygen mask and fortunately everything went well.

 

"A picture from that day"

 

 

While we were returning to the port, next to me was sitting a woman crying. I felt worried so I asked her what was going wrong. She told me that she was tired of these conditions and that back at her country she had lost her child. At this moment I cried and tried to comfort her. She was young and I used it to make a point and give her courage. I told her that she is young and she could have another child. I knew that this would not make her feel better but I just said it. She continued telling me that she was sad of leaving her country but maybe it was a good chance for her to have a better life. She was an optimistic and brave woman.

Unfortunately I haven't heard anything from her since then but I hope she is happy. It makes me sad that we live in 2021 and we are still having problems like that, and that there still exist people who are forced to leave their country. I hope that someday everything will change.

"We need to stay positive"

Greek Refugees by George Kitsios

Greek Refugees by George Kitsios

Greek refugees by George Kitsios

A refugee's story by Eugenia Pantou

 A refugee's Story

 

We had been on the boat for many hours. For a big journey without destination, without a way back. No, this isn’t another story like those we read in books.

  I was alone on this travel. A child alone. Without parents, siblings, or someone to hold my hand. Without knowing if they are alive, or they were well. I lost them in the big explosion in the town where we lived.

  We were crowded and we were trying to remain in the boat, most of us without a lifejacket. The sea was blowing and the waves were high and staving.  People were trying to hide up in the boat. Some of them never came back. I closed my eyes from fear in every scream of them.

  So the days had passed. Until we finally found land. The boat went into the beach. It is important that only half of the three hundred refugees finally made it. We were hungry and exhausted. We spend the night there. After a lot of days, we managed to sleep for a while.

  The next day our arrival was known in the unknown land. The rescuers found us and took us to a camp. After that, I and other kids, who had no parents, relocated to a reception center for unaccompanied children.

  Since then I have been living here. They treat us very well. They protect us and they help us to learn the local language. I also love my new friends. But I miss something. My family, my home, my life before.

 Nuri is one of the many refugee kids without family who came to Europe because of a war. Really, do we all live in the same world?

Immigration dialogues by Alexandra Grigoriadou

Immigration dialogues

Diary pages of a refugee by Dimitra Kalliakmani

 [The passage that follows is a letter written by Layal, a young refugee, to her grandmother.]

“I sit on the balcony. Aleppo spread before me black and deserted. The clatter of crockery in the dark means life goes on. No sound save sporadic gunfire from somewhere, then a single shell preceded by a peculiar whistle. Someone is leaving this planet with a dry throat. Aleppo before me black and still. These huge shadows might be trees or childhood goblins or black vapours exhaled by women waiting for children who are already numbers in a news report.”

Extract from “The Aleppo Diary” written by Mohammad Fouad

Abdalrhman Ismail/Reuters

June, 2021

Athens

Dear naane,

This letter will never reach you. I believe that this is part of the reason why I decided to write to you in the first place.

It’s been nine years since I last saw you. Nine years and nine months, I reckon, since you last held me in your arms. Oh how I wish I could be little again. How I wish I could fall into your embrace and feel your warm touch on my skin…

I am writing to you because I miss you and because the only way to be with you now is to go back to the time when the world -our world- began to end. So much has changed ever since. But, how do I tell you about all this without telling you of our story; a story of love, pain and chaos.

It was October 16, 2012 when waaldi was badly injured in a patrol and ommi decided we had better leave Aleppo. We were supposed to wait for him to get better, but all our plans were canceled when two days later he passed away in the hospital due to the insufficiency of the medical supplies. A nurse called us a few hours later requesting that we collected his belongings, so that his room could be ceded. On our way there we tramped on, that last long day in Aleppo.

The streets were filled with corpses. I saw lifeless bodies, bruised and dismembered, covered in mud and blood. Yet these very bodies, these oddly shaped masses, had once hosted souls of their own. They were mothers and fathers to sons and daughters. They had once been children walking around in shiny shoes, playing hopscotch with their friends in a busy sandlot. They were loved...

                                             

Last week I saw a young woman with a scarf in a dark shade of pink and all I could think of for the rest of the day was your garden in Qatmah, full of damask roses, gerberas and asters. “Time flies and people come and go. This little garden of mine has yet to fail me. It’s not like it has somewhere else to go.” you had once said to me in a playful manner. “One day you too will leave in search of your own home. That’s how life is.” I could tell you had put an effort to make your tone more sympathetic, but the words still came off sorrowful. “I am never gonna leave you, naane. You are my home” I promised, right there, under the shade of a pistachio tree that’d been there for longer than you and I could remember.

                                           

The night ommi told us we were leaving you had come over at our house. She explained to Daama and I that the longer we stayed the more our chances of surviving this madness decreased. You were sitting beside me, near the fireplace, your gaze fixed at it. I think now of that look in your eyes, how you stared into the swirling flames watching your reflection, your entire body, warped in that lifeless mirror. Never before had I seen an expression so harsh as this in anyone’s face, let alone yours. Back then I couldn’t have made out the anguish on your features. If only I had known…

                                                                         

                                          

The next morning we took the bus to Qatmah. Ommi stayed behind and tried to sell our house and furniture in Aleppo for a fraction of their value. Our time there we spent in the garden, watering the flowers and picking up vegetables to cook with. After dinner, we would sneak into your bed and l lie there with you. You recounted your favorite stories. Tales we had heard so many times, we knew by heart, but never really grew tired of. After each one of them ended followed a small pause. A moment in which all the magic in the world took a break, as if to catch its breath, only to come back stronger in the form of words only you could have uttered. “I am scared” I let out suddenly. You kissed my cheek softly and whispered to my ear, not to wake Daama up. “No fifteen-year-old should be exposed to the sight of death and decay. You cannot stay here. In Europe, you will be properly taken care of. Your journey as a woman is just getting started.” “I just wish we didn’t have to leave. I wish that we could stay here in Qatmah. I wish that I would only kiss you and ommi and Daama before I go to bed because I love you and not because I’m afraid I will not wake up in the morning.” You took a deep breath, carefully measuring your response. “Maybe we were born right when the world decided it had better end. Decided I say, because the world too is alive, like you and I. That doesn’t mean we must give up in enjoying life. It should only encourage us to be braver and kinder. Life is too short for you to be scared, Layal. You must know, however, that since it’s been offered to you, you have the responsibility to live it and appreciate every second of it. Do you understand?”.

A week later we woke up at the crack of dawn and packed our stuff. That evening we left the house with only our backpacks, containing three changes of clothes, some dry food and any of our personal effects we could fit, provided that we would be able to carry them; a book, a diary, a fancy bracelet, a brand new pen we never got to use. These were all we had now, but you already know that. We waited close to the entrance of the village barely exchanging any words. After a couple of hours the truck arrived at last. I took a seat in the back and waited for you to do the same. I held out a hand for you but you didn’t move. For a second or two the world grew quiet. You looked at your feet and then at the few stars that had already appeared in the sky, gesturing, as if to wipe the mist from your eyes. "You’re not coming, are you?". You said nothing. “Ommi will be furious with you,” I said. With your eyes, you bid me farewell and pleaded with me to understand. “But- they will be cruel to you!” the pitch of my voice was getting higher with every word and tears began to seep down my cheeks. I took your hands in both of mine. “And shall we never sleep in each other’s arms again, naane?” Daama demanded just now realizing we were parting. A strangled sob escaped your lungs and you wrapped your arms around us, pulling us as close as you could.

Daama climbed into the truck and I heard the engine start before it moved away in low speed. We had not yet crossed half a mile and, in that moment, I felt as lonely and homesick as ever. I had become a runaway. I was leaving my friends and family behind for War, this ruthless beast, to savage. But most importantly, I was breaking my promise to you... In the distance, as we drove by, familiar sounds were somewhat audible until the night engulfed the last of them.

                                           

We stayed in Sharran for a few days. An old friend of ommi’s was kind enough to let us use a spare room in her house. During our journey to Rajo and then Adana, we were not always provided with luxury of a car. Therefore, we had to keep walking until exhaustion caught up with us. At night, Daama and I held each other for warmth as we slept.

To get to Europe we had to go through Turkey or Egypt. Even though the latter would be more expensive, better living condition could be assured and this way, we could reach Europe by land. After weeks of sleepless nights and endless moving we ended up on Lesbos at first, and then Tilos, where we spent two years. To make ends meet, ommi got two jobs, one at a local restaurant and another in a hotel. She worked long hours and often came back late at night while I stayed at home taking care of my then five-year-old sister.

Many families of refugees living in Tilos were planning to settle in other European countries and some others dreamed of spending the rest of their lives there. Ommi had always wanted us to get a higher education so that we could grow into independent and self-sustained women, but for that to work out, we’d have to move again and settle in a larger city. In 2015 we had saved some money, both from ommi’s wage and the monthly allowance we received from the UNHCR, and were ready to leave.

We’ve been living in Athens for the past seven years. After I graduated from high school I enrolled at university and got my first job in a small bookshop downtown. I am currently living in my own apartment. One I pay and care for myself. I am a teacher now naane, like I once told you I’d be, and I spend my days with children like Daama and I. Children who have grown up only ever knowing war. Kids that have fallen prey to indiscriminate violence and terror.

Yesterday morning Daama called before heading to school. “Last night I had a strange dream. We were in Qatmah with naane and there was no war. We had just finished cooking kibbeh and were eating outside in the yard, just like we used to.” she paused for a second. “You know it’s funny-” she murmured. “But, when I close my eyes, I can still hear her voice. It’s like she’s right next to me, telling me that story with the queen’s ring. Remember?”. I, too, close my eyes and think. What of, I’m not sure. I am standing 1433 miles away from home. 1433 miles away from you naane, but I am happy. I am happy because, even though I yearn for you, it’s the first time in years that I can go to bed and sleep without the fear of yet another nightmare. I am happy because, against all odds, I am right here and I am alive. In my head I am picturing your daughter, my mother, but all I see is your eyes. Your face has, by now, already begun to blur in my mind but this, your eyes, I can feel them burn my insides. Oh naane, what a wonderful thing it is to have been born just as the world began to end!

As ever yours,

Layal

Al-Hatab Square in Aleppo’s Old City. Sebastián Liste/ Noor Images, for The New York Times

notes:

Naane → grandma

Daama → (Syrian name meaning ocean, river) Layal’s little sister

Waaldi → father, dad

Ommi → mother, mom

Aleppo →a city in Syria, which serves as the capital of the Aleppo Governorate. With an official population of 4.6million in 2010, Aleppo was the largest Syrian city before the Syrian civil war; however, it is now the second-largest city in Syria, after the capital Damascus.

Qatmah → a village in northwestern Syria, within Afrin District (Aleppo Governorate). It lies northeast of Afrin and west of Azaz.

Sharran →a village in northern Syria, administratively part of the Aleppo Governorate, located northwest of Aleppo near the Turkish border.

Rajo → town in Afrin District, Aleppo Governorate, northwestern Syria. Rajo is the center of a sub-district of the same name with approximately 65 villages and farms around it.

Adana → major city in southern Turkey. The city is situated on the Seyhan River, 35km inland from the north-eastern coast of the Mediterranean Sea.

Dimitra Kalliakmani

The emotional story of a Greek refugee girl by Grigoria and Maria

The story that I am going to tell you has not been written in any book. It has been written in the heart of the people who lived it. It is the story of Chrysovalantia ,a Greek refugee from Asia Minor. Chrysovantia was ten years old when the war between Greece and Turkey began. Her father, Dimitrys was a rich herd merchant and he was worried for his beloved only child. So he decided to send her to Greece in a ship to live with his sister in Larisa. So  Chrysovalantia's journey begins…

    One cold winter day morning Chrysovalantia embarked on a ship to Greece in search of safety. After some hours the ship anchored at Thessaloniki's port Kalamaria  She was too young to realize that the port was not Larisa she thought that she had reached at Larissa and she disembarked from the ship. When she looked for her aunt (at the port),she did not find her anywhere and she started to panic. As the time passed she got more and more hungry and afraid. When night came, she slept on a nearby bench.

     The next morning she asked a woman was walking close to the port where she was and the woman replied that she was at Thessaloniki. When the woman saw the surprise in the child’s eyes she wondered where the child wanted to go . So she asked the young girl where she was supposed to be . The child almost in tears responded that she had to be at Larisa. The kind woman asked the little girl’s name and some more information about her. She also offered to help the poor child to take her to her aunt’s house. She gave Chrysovalantia some instructions and a basket with food.

     The first thing that Chrysovalantia had to do was to take the horse cart with the name “Acropolis” to Platamona. When she caught it she started her trip to Platamona . It was a cold winter back then. During the journey there were many times that it was raining heavily so when they finally reached Platamona it was a big relief for the young child . But as she was a bit late she didn’t catch the horse cart to Larisa, so she had to go on foot for many kilometers to Pyrgetos, in order to take the next horse cart to Larisa. After two days of walking alone in the cold rainy weather, she eventually reached Pyrgetos. From there she was able to take the horse cart to Larisa. After getting on the cart she fell asleep because she was exhausted from the big distance that she had walked the previous days. She slept for almost twelve hours. When she finally reached Larisa , she tried to find her aunt's house. In order to succeed that ,she had to ask many passers-by for instructions by giving them her aunt’s home address.

       At last she managed to get to her aunt’s house. They were both so happy to see each other after such a long time. Chrysovalantia told her aunt all her adventures and started

to cry with happiness. She was finally home.

    After eleven years of living in Greece🇬🇷, Chrysovalantia decided to visit her old town back in Asia MInor with the hope to find her father and relatives there. But to her disappointment, she only found her house burned and no one was there as she had hoped for. 

The story of a migrant, my dad!

 The story of a migrant, my dad!

I am Kleopatra Poritsi and I live in Konitsa, Greece. I am 16 years old, a student of the second year of high school and I am a columnist of our online newspaper at school. We have decided to write some stories of refugees or migrants in order to sensitize the local community about this delicate issue. The following text is an interview I took from my father who is a migrant, who left his country Albania and came to Greece.

K: - Hey dad, I'm here today because I wanted to write a story of a refugee or a migrant on our school newspaper. And I decided to write yours. You are a migrant right?

D: - Yes I am a migrant who left Albania and came to Greece a long time ago.

K: - Why did you do that? What was your goal?

D: - My family was poor and as a kid I was forfeited a lot of things . So that's why I wanted to go to Greece, to have a better future and life.

But many people told us that in Greece the residents didn't have any money, they had nothing to eat and they didn't have a normal life. They told us those things because they didn't want us to leave Albania.

K: - And you didn't believe them ?

D: - I didn't know what to believe and what not to, so on March 13^th 1990, when I was only 15 years old, I dropped out school and I decided to go to Kastoria in Greece and see what the situation was actually like there.

K: - Ultimately what was it like?

D: - None of what they had told us was true. Afterwards I went back home and informed my parents that they were lying to us.

K: - Then what happened?

D: - In 1992, I went again to Greece, in Rethimno, Crete and worked there for a daily wage , of course illegaly. But unfortunately after 3 months I got caught by the police and I was forced to go back to Albania.

K: - And after that what did you do?

D: - In 1994, I came to Kalithea, which is a village near Konitsa and worked there until 1998. Then, I finally submitted my papers for legal residence in Greece.

K: - Then I guess you met mom, right?

D: - Yes right! I met your mom, we got married in Albania and we had your sister. Meanwhile I worked in Greece and I constantly came and went to Albania . After 3 years we eventually decided to come and live permanently in Konitsa, and in 2005 we had you.

K: - And what about now? Have you reached your goal?

D: - I absolutely have. First of all I have a wonderful and happy family which is the most important for me. Beyond that, I have managed to build my own house here in Konitsa and I have a stable work. For me this is enough. I have accomplished everything I wanted and now I am living a happy life.

K: - This is a really interesting story dad and I am so happy and proud of you.

What would be an advice you could give to all the people that are reading this?

D: - I always say that no matter what happens, with hard work and effort everyone can achieve everything they desire, despite the difficulties. You should never give up but try for the best and make your dreams come true.

K: I undoubtedly agree with you.

Thank you for your time, dad, and thank you for sharing your story with us. 

A letter to the international community about the rights of the refugees

 Athens, Greece

November 11^th 2021

Dear members of the international community,

I am writing with the hope of being able to make you aware of the problems that refugees are facing as well as the rights that they have as humans. I am informing you on behalf of the students and teachers of our school and I would also like to mention that our town has had experience with refugees living here before at one point in the last five years. I believe that I would be able to tell some of the problems but also the rights that refugees deserve to have.

First of all, a severely large problem is that a lot of refugees do not have the right living necessities like clothes and proper food and not only that in some cases they do not even have a roof over their heads. These people deserve to have a proper living experience since they may have fled from a country that had war so they deserve to live a life that at least can provide them with something better than what they were used to.

Secondly, another problem is that they do not easily find jobs and that means that they face financial problems and cannot support their families. The businesses usually do not pay them a lot of money and sometimes they do not pay them at all so those people are not able to obtain an income. Although they have the right of finding a job, it seems more difficult in a country that is not their own.

All in all, I believe that refugees have the right to have a job even in a different country that they have not experienced living before and also to a lot more things since they might have gone through a lot in the past. Thank you for taking time in reading my letter.

Sincerely,

Maritina Kitsati

Do we all live in the same world? Time to become a writer and do your part in a world for all.

 Choose among the following tasks the one that best suits your preferences. Work individually or choose a partner among your classmates. Use your initiative, and be as creative as possible!

1. Study the following images with the refugees. Imagine and write their names, their family names, their background, their country, and what happened. You may decide to use some small items to make your story more vivid and realistic e.g. a photo, a hyperlink etc. 

2. Write a dialogue among the above imaginary people and act it out before your classmates. 

3. Write an interview about their background, the difficulties they face, their dreams. Alternatively, you may interview Muzon or Mesfin. 

4. Write a letter to the international community to sensitize people about the human rights of refugees. 

5. Search the internet and find stories you would like to share. You could find examples with refugees from your country's history, make a short presentation of 4-5 slides, and present them in class. 

6. Have you read any books about refugees?  If you have, make a short presentation of 4-5 slides and present it in class. You may wish to illustrate your presentation with images, hyperlinks with videos etc. 

Enjoy your creations!!!

BrainBats

What is represented by the following brainBats?

1. once

    time

2. s

    l

    o

    w

3. le  g

4.  L

      L

      I

      H

5. S  U  I  T

6. A  R  M  S

7. IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

    IS

EFFECTIVE LEADERSHIP

Mind maps that depict an ideal leader's traits.

PUBLIC SKILLS

Let's practice our public skills!

 

The above pages have been taken by On Screen B1, Public Speaking Skills, Express Publishing, 2017.

The Renaissance

Working on The Famous Renaissance Artists

The above project was based on Module 3, The Renaissance Arts and Artists, English 2 for Lykeio.

DO WE ALL LIVE IN THE SAME WORLD?

Students expressing their opinion in various ways about whether we all live in the same world !!!

An assignment on English 2 for Senior High School, Module 2.

Students becoming poets!

Students of the Senior High School of Konitsa became poets this year!

A project to enhance student creativity! 

Ένα πρόγραμμα προώθησης της δημιουργικότητας. 

Καρέ-καρέ η έβδομη τέχνη. Μια ματιά στις πτυχές του κινηματογράφου.

How about some literature?

Coming back with students' letters/emails recommending a book. Have you read any of these books yourselves?