AS charity Christian Aid steps up its efforts to help refugees Tim Hughes speaks to refugee camp families in Serbia who fled their homes to escape fighting and the extremists of Islamic State

HOGR Karem is proud of his family, and beckons them over to practice their English.

Impossibly cute, Mansur, ten, Noor, six, and Nial, three, jump on a bed, giggle shyly, hold their hands up to their faces and smile through their fingers.

Hogr is a professional man, from northern Iraq and tells me life was very good – until the day Islamic State came.

"Daesh are very bad," he says, using the name given to the extremists by those forced to witness their brutality in Iraq and Syria. "We had no choice but to leave."

With the help of his wife Shadeya Fatah, who looks on sadly, he pours fragrant sweet tea, and I sit and hear how this lovely family’s life has changed forever.

We are not in his house, however, but in a curtained-off corner of a former tobacco factory in the deep south of Serbia, hard up against the disputed border with Kosovo.

This tiny unit, with bunk bed, two chairs and a table, in a dusty forgotten corner of the Balkans, is home for Hogr and his family, after they made the treacherous journey from their home, hoping for a new life in Europe.

He tells me how the family trekked across Kurdistan and into Turkey, of the terrifying journey in a leaky boat across the Mediterranean to Greece, and the brutal reception they received in Bulgaria, where he says he was beaten by rogue police officers and forced to give them more than 2,000 Euros – most of their savings.

They crossed into Macedonia, then Serbia – and stayed. This, they say, is where the trail ends.

The European Union has closed its borders to people like Hogr and Shadeya and their children - they don’t want them.

The Hungarian and Croatian frontiers are heavily policed, and anyone found attempting to cross is sent back. Young men talk of having dogs set on to them, suffering terrible injuries. Fortress Europe is shut.

"We just want a safe home for our children," says Hogr. His smile slips and Shadeya begins to cry, hiding her face. "We are nervous about our future," he says.

It’s a story repeated again and again by families in the Presevo refugee camp and at the 16 others like it across Serbia.

While the tales of anguish are harrowing, at least the refugees are being looked after.

While neighbouring countries have slammed the door shut, and corrupt officials and criminals along the torturous route have made their lives a misery, the Serbians are offering sanctuary.

At the forefront of the aid effort here is Christian Aid – which has been on the side of refugees since 1945, when it was set up to support those made homeless and forced onto the move by the Second World War. The parallels with what is happening today are clear to see.

Since 2015 the charity has worked with its partner organisation, Philanthropy – the charitable arm of the Serbian Orthodox Church – as part of the Refugee Crisis Appeal. Its work is vital.

Without help, people like Hogr, Shadeya and thousands like them would be homeless.

There are estimates of up to 3,000 illegal migrants in Serbia, itself struggling to get back on its feet after years of conflict in the former Yugoslavia. The Serbians know what it’s like to be a refugee. The implosion of their own country saw streams of people seeking safety away from the fighting.

"We are all refugees here," says Dragan Makojevic, Director of Philanthropy, speaking to me from the simple suburban house which serves as the charity’s base in Belgrade.

"My grandfather, my father – everyone was a refugee. This is our story and it would be shameful not to help these people now.

"In the beginning we were a bit scared by the numbers of young men coming through, but then their families came and we had to help them. And any problems caused by the refugees are insignificant.

"It has been a humbling experience and you learn a lot. People are running away from terrible things and are following their dreams. Many have been victims of brutality and trafficking, but once they get here they are safe.

"Helping these people starts to make you believe I humanity again."

In the camps they get safe shelter, are fed, receive language classes (German is popular), get medical attention and legal advice on what to do next. There are school classes for the children. Young men let off steam on a volleyball pitch and play football and cricket.

For a shocking view of what happens without the help of organisations like Christian Aid, you need look no further than the centre of Belgrade.

Immediately behind the city’s ornate railway station, hundreds of people – most from Afghanistan and dangerous parts of Pakistan - ¬ are sheltering in horrendous conditions in rows of former freight sheds and engine works. It’s a squalid scene, unsanitary, muddy, infested with rats and with refugees forced to burn rubbish – including plastic, polystyrene and railway sleepers covered in tar to keep warm, it’s dangerous and unhealthy. Many suffer respiratory problems. They rely on food hand outs from well-wishers.

Philanthropy is keen to help the squatters move into safe camps but traumatised by their experiences, the refugees are terrified of being registered, imprisoned or, worse, sent back.

Most of the refugees pouring into Serbia have come via Turkey, paying smugglers to sail them across the Aegean Sea to Greece.

Packed into overcrowded, unseaworthy boats and inflatables, the hazards of the journey are well known. Everyone has seen the heartbreaking image of the Syrian child, washed up on a Turkish beach after the boat in which he was travelling capsized. Most deaths, however, go unreported, similarly the everyday tales of brutality.

A typical story is that of Muhamed Adnan Khan, 24, from the Afghan- Pakistan border, who I met in Presevo.

Muhamed was a professional footballer, playing for police and army teams, and briefly, for the Pakistan national side, but was forced to leave when he began getting threats from the Taliban, who run swathes of the country’s lawless north west.

"I was in danger of my life," he says. "My father was in the Taliban but fell out with the others and was killed. "The rules are one member of the family must join the Taliban or pay. We were a rich family so my mother gave money for my older brothers and tried to pay them off so I wouldn’t have to go.

"She said ‘we need him educated’ but they said if I don’t go they would kill me."

The journey was horrific. He says he was treated like an animal – at one point forced into a small vehicle with 35 people. The police, he said, were as bad as the thieves who would beat and rob them.

He now hopes to seek asylum in Serbia and play football for a local side.

Zabilah Muradi’s journey was worse than most. An electrician from the dangerous Taliban-plagues Swat valley of Pakistani Kashmir, has epilepsy and suffered multiple seizures – which got worse after he was beaten by corrupt police officers, he says, in Albania.

"Every day I would faint," he says. He looks forlorn. "I have always had this but after I was beaten it increased these problems and I often go unconscious. I don’t feel good."

I meet Zabilah as he collected a cash card, in a scheme backed by Christian Aid.

"This is very good for me," he smiles. "It means I can buy juice to help me take my medicine."

It’s a tiny luxury, but one which means a lot.

"I am grateful," he says. "We want to work and look after our families, but at the moment we can’t. No one else is helping us and we are very grateful."

60 YEARS OF SUPPORT

  • Christian Aid has been marking 60 years of Christian Aid Week and the organisation is inviting people to join it in standing in solidarity with refugees around the world. And that effort continues.
  • The charity has been working with refugees since the Second World War, and is not turning its back now.
  • You could help to change the lives of people fleeing conflict and crisis by donating online at caweek.org
  • Alternatively call 08080 006 006
  • Or text ‘GIVE’ to 70040 to give £5.