My Name is Nobody by Omur Black

To me, my second visit to the Lavrion Refugee camp in the south-eastern part of Attica, Greece seemed like a symbolic representation of constant movement around the world. Even though it has been home for Kurdish workers party supporters for decades, this was not the beginning of Lavrion.

During my research, I found a Bulgarian refugee who had lived for some time in Lavrion, but who moved to New York on his 19 th birthday. We corresponded by email, and he sent me his poem:

“In Lavrion by the sea

in front of an impressive door we stop

a building surrounded by high windowless walls

hide from prying eyes

the life within.

Ten fifteen refugees

Bulgarian Turkish Serbian Albanian

get off the bus

and are handed over to the camp police.

Heavy doors open

to let us in

clanging of the closing doors behind

chill us to the bone.”


Today Lavrion, has no ‘clanging doors’ that closed behind. It has been home to mainly Kurdish and Middle Eastern refugees for almost four decades. It remains a big issue between the Turkish government and Greece, as the Turkish government believed it has been used as a training camp for the Kurdish workers Party (PKK).

Lavrion Refugee Camp reminds me of a train station; it’s passengers arrive, stay a while until moving to the next destination. In my second visit to the camp, it was noticeable that there were only a couple of familiar faces. The camp seemed overwhelmed with new refugees who had escaped from the ISIS terror of Northern Iraq.


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