This article was published by Irinn News.
|The north shore of Ikaria, where north winds dredge up partly decomposed bodies from the depths|
Ikaria, Greece - “The girl was lying across the beach, her face down in the pebbles,” says municipal plumber Pantelis Markakis as we walk to the water’s edge. “What shocked me was when I saw that her hands were turned like this and white like stone,” he says, turning his palms upwards and gnarling his finders. “I asked a coast guard officer if she was wearing gloves.”
The unidentified ten or eleven year-old was one of two bodies that washed up on the island of Ikaria, in the eastern Aegean, on December 19. The other was that of a man in his 20s.
Subsequent storms have since reclaimed the dozen-odd life jackets that washed up on the beach at Iero that day; but it is still littered with packets of Amoxipen, Spandoverin and Diclopinda – antibiotics, painkillers and anti-nausea medicine - that were among the refugees’ possessions. Turkish fruit juice boxes litter the shore. A pair of hotel slippers from the Istanbul Holiday Inn sits encrusted with burrs.
Ikaria sits at a relatively isolated longitude across the north winds that sweep down from the Dardanelles to Crete. This means that it acts as a net for the bodies and wreckage of refugees and migrants that shoot past the islands of Samos and Chios to the north and east, which hug the Turkish coast. For migrants to find themselves on Ikaria means that they have lost their way, and they rarely arrive here alive.
More bodies have surfaced recently – some in an advanced state of decay. On January 5, a young woman was found bobbing in the shallows of the north shore, ten kilometres from Iero.
“She was completely naked,” remembers doctor Kalliopi Katte, who lifted her onto a stretcher. “It was an awful sight because although she had her arms and legs, her face was missing. There was no skin or flesh. It was just a skull.” The woman’s belly was bloated, not from pregnancy, but from the gases emanating from her decomposing bowels. Katte believes she had been at the bottom of the sea for about two weeks.
Like the other bodies, this, too, had to be cut loose from a life vest that failed to save the life of the occupant.
The patch of coast where the body was found was so remote, Katte and three firemen carried the body up a mountainside for an hour to reach the nearest road.
“The bodies are always found after strong northern winds because they’ve sunk to the bottom of the sea and the weather brings them up against the rock,” says Katte. “The bodies have been eaten by fish - they’re not just decomposing.”
Some 3,771 refugees were recorded as dead or missing in the Mediterranean last year. In Greek and Turkish waters alone, 223 people have drowned or gone missing just in the month of January. Yet these figures do not tell the whole story.
Even in death there are degrees of misfortune. Some dead are recovered, identified, and shipped home for burial. Some are listed as missing but never found. Some are found but remain unidentified; and there are those who are never sought and never found, because no witnesses survived their shipwreck, and no bodies washed up. The sea has claimed them without a trace, so they form an unknown statistic.
“Often in the straits we find life vests and other objects from shipwrecks in the nets,” says fisherman Nikos Avayannis. “I once found a backpack. We took it on board and searched for a survivor but didn’t fine one. We delivered it to the authorities. It had clothes in it, some headphones from a cell phone and some documents.”
Avayannis believes that the owner of the backpack may have ended up in that ghostly statistic of unclaimed, undiscovered dead. “If a body hasn’t been hit by a propeller and chopped to pieces, it floats and gets thrown out onto shore. … if the current takes a body onto jagged rocks with caves, it’s possible that it will never be found.”
The rumour that fish are now eating dead refugees has turned many of Avayannis’ customers away. “A few days ago, as I was selling fish, two or three of my customers said, ‘as long as people are drowning we are going to abstain from fish.’”
Greek law demands an autopsy after every non-natural death. After that, the fate of a body depends on whether relatives survive it. “When relatives decide to bury them in Greece it is usually done in the Muslim cemeteries on Rhodes and Kos. If they are Christians they can be buried in one of the local cemeteries,” says Erasmia Roumana of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees. “The other choice is repatriation of the body, usually taken by Iraqi nationals.” Syrians and Afghans obviously cannot repatriate bodies to war-torn countries.
On Ikaria, as elsewhere, bodies are taken to the hospital. There, doctors pronounce death and take hair and tissue samples, which are preserved in brine. The entire package of paperwork and DNA evidence is then forwarded to the nearest district attorney – in this case on the island of Samos.
Surgeon John Tripoulas is still haunted by the experience of examining the body of an eight-to-ten year-old girl, who had been in the sea for weeks, and was so close to disintegrating, rescue workers had to lift her up by her clothes. Her flesh was “saponified” he said – a term meaning it has literally developed a soap-like consistency.
“I’ll never forget what she was wearing,” says Tripoulas: “Pink sweatpants with a Mickey Mouse patch; she was wearing white boots and a pink overcoat. Her facial features were not visible – had been lost to the sea.”
|Surgeon John Tripoulas talks to a nurse at Ikaria's hospital|
This information, included on the death certificate, is perhaps all that is known about the girl; but even this information may prove vital in one day informing her family of her ultimate fate.
“We use anything we can for recognition, such as clothing or jewellery or a manicure,” says Katte. The only identifying marks on the faceless woman’s corpse were five carved gold bracelets, now buried with her in a mass grave at the Ikaria cemetery.
Ikaria, and the sea around it, are named after the mythical hero, Ikaros, who plummeted to a watery grave after flying too close to the sun. He and his father, Daidalos, had constructed wings out of birds’ feathers held together by wax – a flimsiness born of desperation, not unlike that of today’s refugees, who often cross in unseaworthy vessels and unsuitable life vests. And like the refugees, they were fleeing for their lives, having been bricked into a tower on Crete by King Minos. Ikaros, however, is an eponymous refugee. The women and children in Ikaria’s cemetery may never be named.
|A fishing boat crosses the strait between Ikaria and Fournoi, to the east|