"The worse thing is that children have no emotions. They are dead inside, completely. You pick them up and they never smile or say anything, because they are so traumatised. To see that in their eyes is unbelievable. It is an absolute nightmare. It made me cry."
Linda Mizun sits holding a cup of coffee in an unoccupied patient's room at Doncaster Royal Infirmary. Her legs are crossed and she has an angry yet sad and confused expression. Her long blonde hair is tied back and although she looks exhausted, passion echoes through her Eastern European accent.
In September, Linda left England with her backpack and travelled to Lesbos. Since then, she has treated thousands of patients along the harbour, beach and roads. These patients are refugees. Men, women and children who are risking their lives to flee from destruction to safety. In a matter of weeks, Linda and two budding doctors set up HealthPoint (now called Off Track Health), a clinic for freelancing doctors and nurses.
Linda and her team are on the frontline of Europe's biggest refugee crisis since WWII.
She flicks through the pictures on her phone and shows me photographs of boys with painful trench foot caused by the rain, men with gunshot wounds, vacant and exhausted toddlers with scratches around their eyes and one image of a woman who, for days, sat on the dirty ground, unmoving, traumatised by the whole experience.
"There was one child who died in my arms. Once you see something like that, you never see the world the same way."
With Linda I was faced with anger and frustration, however my next interviewees; the very victims of this tragedy, spoke to me with casual helplessness. For privacy reasons, I cannot identify them by their real names.
Ami is 41 years-old, with thinning dark hair speckled with grey. He is friendly, but reserved. When his tired face breaks out into a smile, I see a set of gleaming straight white teeth.
He tells me he is from Darra, a city in the south of Syria. I can tell from his good English that he is an educated man and I'm pleasantly surprised when he tells me he is a trained paediatrician.
Ami describes his journey across eleven countries, from Syria to England, as the longest journey of his life.
"It was a miserable journey. It gets more and more difficult to describe."
He tells me that seeing families on route reminded him of his own family back in Darra. Leaving Syria meant leaving his father, mother, wife and two young sons behind.
"The journey is too difficult for them" he explains, “I wish to move my family from my country to here.” He says he hopes to earn enough money to pay for them to join him in England but when I ask how long he thinks that will be, he shrugs and shakes his head.
When talk moves to life back in Syria, his mood picks up and he tells me how much he loves his country. "Everything was so beautiful before the revolution. Syria is like the heart of the body" he says.
Daraa is a conflict zone torn apart by rebels and pro-Assad troops. It is being bombarded daily by Russian and pro-regime planes. It is also home to my next interviewee; a young man who opened up a construction business five years ago.
Sayid is a second generation refugee. His parents fled Palestine in 1948 and found safety in Syria; now he is fleeing the country that was once sanctuary to his family. His father who now lives with relatives in Aleppo refuses to leave despite increasing danger. “He loves Syria too much” his son tells me.
As our conversation continues Sayid begins to open up about life in Syria. After five years of living with daily bombardment, he became used to destruction and death. "Sometimes I have, what do you call it, bad dreams? Nightmares" he says.
He tells me that in Syria, he prepared for death every day. His mother, two of his cousins and all of his neighbours have been killed. The rest either live in constant danger in Syria or have escaped to Jordan. He does not know if they are dead or alive.
"I am confused now. Sometimes I am happy and sometimes I am sad. My family has been broken. Day after day you lose your feeling."
Sayid has already started building a new life in Sheffield. He attends two schools two days a week and Conversation Club on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. He obsesses over learning English. He has progressed from knowing two phrases: "I seek a refugee" and “Looking for police” to basic fluency.
He has learnt more English in five months than I learnt French in five years.
“I don't feel afraid here. In Syria, I’d see the police with guns and I’d be afraid. I am now happy with my life.”
In Sheffield, charities including ASSIST and Conversation Club are offering a warm and supportive welcome to refugees. They provide English lessons, social events, arts and crafts activities as well as legal advice.
I interviewed Rebecca Hubbard, a 20 year-old Conversation Club volunteer.
Want to get involved?
Wednesday session - 2:00-4:00pm, Victoria Hall
Friday session - 1:00-4:00pm, Central Reformed Church
