Today I was talking to refugees that had been living at the port of Piraeas in Athens, Greece. It was about 100 degrees, and there were tents sprawled out across the pavement. I met some people that I'll never be able to forget.
The first man I spoke with told us that his whole family had been killed by the Taliban in Afghanistan, his mother, his father, his sister, and his brother. He had no one left. He started crying to us as he told us that his boutique fashion shop had been shut down and that he was alone. As I was walking away, he told me to wait and he pulled a big floppy hat out of one of his bags and gave it to me, despite my protests, to protect me from the sun.
Another man we met was from Iran. He hadn't spoken to his mother in 3 months. I leant him my phone so he could call her. I wish I had been filming so I could share how excited he was to make that phone call. One five minute call to tell his mom that he's alright.
The last refugee we met blew my mind. He was from Afghanistan and he worked for the British military. Because he worked for an enemy, the Taliban was after him. They went to his house and killed his brother thinking it was him. His father called him and told him he could never come home.
That same guy was later in a mosque praying when three terrorists walked in and started shooting. He had his forehead down on the ground and they were shooting people one by one in a line. When one of the shooters reached him, a distraction diverted the shooter's attention. He reached over to the dead man next to him and smeared his blood on the back of his neck so they would think he was already dead. It worked, he was the only person in his row that survived. 162 people were killed that day.
Can you believe this is real? I met people today that do not have one person in the world. If we don't help them, who will?