by Maria Kalikas

I’m lucky. I’m home now. I got out safely. I escaped. Many said I was lucky because I got to leave, but I wish I could have stayed there for those who needed me, those who had to be there. It still hurts my heart every day knowing that there are people being drastically affected by this terrible fire. It does not matter that I do not personally know the majority of these people, because all that matters to me is that we share one thing in common: we are from the island of Chios. I may live about seven thousand miles away, but Greece is, and always will be, my real home. This fire scared me, but it did not scare me enough. I would have done anything in all my power to be there until the end, even if that meant death.

It was just another day in August on the island of Chios. The sun was beating down hot on the dry mountains, and people were still enjoying their excitement from the past few day’s festivities. The biggest holiday in Greece had just passed, but the party was not over in Mesta. The approaching evening was supposed to bring feelings of freedom and relaxation as live traditional music would be played, and everybody would dance until the early hours of the morning. Dancing in Greece is far different from dancing in the U.S. The music is attractive. The sounds of the instruments are soothing, yet energizing. The music pulled me out of my chair and carried me to the dance floor. Tears would fall from my eyes as I glided, dancing to the beat of the music and letting my heart absorb a beautiful connection that brought happiness to my soul. I got a sudden chill through my body, I had butterflies in my stomach, and the hairs on my arms and legs stood still. I felt so carefree as I danced. Being right there in that spot on the dance floor sandwiched between the port and the mountains, the moonlight and the band were all I could ask for.

Nights like those were the ones that made me want to live in Greece permanently. Those nights made me feel not only emotionally connected to my home country, but they made me feel like that was where I belonged. I would spend my entire evening in the only setting that felt most natural to me. I danced and danced until exhaustion took over my body. The sun would begin to rise and my feet would ache. I would sit on a bench by the water, feeling the touch of the cold rocks against my feet. The sun would begin to come up right behind the dry, black mountains with a glow. The air would feel refreshing with just a hint of warmth. The slow waves would move soothingly along the crystal blue water. My body would crave the feeling of the calm water on my skin as every speck of energy would escape me like a kite gliding along the tender air. I would watch the sunrise and then after that my dad always told me that it was time to go home and got those few, but crucial, hours of sleep that were required to survive the approaching busy days.

My exhaustion abandoned me as a craving for my usual morning frape, black with a little bit of milk, entered my empty stomach. I arrived at the coffee shop anticipating to absorb the excitement that Greek people brought when they were lounging around with their friends. The presence of Greek people alone made me jolly, but that day was far different. My smile vanished when I approached the coffee shop’s owner. We usually have something to joke about, but she barely even said “hi” that morning. She seemed worried, and then she told me that her son did not get home until a quarter to eight that morning. I was concerned as she began to tell me that he left the dance to find smoke and a fire coming from over the top of the mountains.

I did not think much of the fire. It was common in Greece, especially around that time in August. I did not think my life would be at risk, but I was wrong. Confusion filled my mind as I learned that just a little fire, originating in a deserted spot in the mountains, expanded into something extraordinary. In just twelve hours, this fire became a combative war against the island’s fleet of men. Its red and orange flames spanned over sixteen miles of land. The unusual strength of this fire was frightening. People all over Northern Chios, Greece, and the United States were as petrified as if the plague hit Southern Chios.

This shocking news led me and my friends to have a sudden reaction. It seemed to be our duty, coming from a prosperous nation, to take authority and help those who were unfortunate. To our ignorance, we discovered that we could not drive too close to the fire because the roads were blocked. We were about a quarter mile away from the fire when we finally stopped the car. The top was off on the Jeep and the odor, as if of a large bonfire, overpowered the clean Greek air. My breathing became strained. The smoke suppressed my lungs. My eyes began to water as the wind blew ashes in my face. People around us were required to wear masks to prevent any damage to their lungs from the heavy overload of smoke. People looked frightened as they evacuated the village of Pyrgi. Those who had already evacuated stood and watched the fire. I watched the tears build up in the corners of their eyes and roll down their faces, as it was engraved into their hearts that the fire was going to destroy their homes and there was nothing they could do about it. It was like seeing those innocent people being dragged to concentration camps during the Holocaust; they had no control of what life was going to bring them. I felt just like them: helpless. There was nothing that I could do to control the fire.

The winds were increasingly becoming stronger. The extreme heat wave and dryness of land in Chios did not help the spreading of this fire. It was like seeing a swarm of ants attack an apple, but in this case the fire was attacking the Southern part of Chios. Areas were hit multiple times. The fire spread in a never-ending circle. I kept worrying as the fire continued to damage all of Southern Chios. So many people were already struggling with the falling Greek economy. The elderly could not receive a pension even if they were unable to work, and everybody else suffered as they had to live in a way that was foreign to them. It hurt me to know that this was just one more complication to add stress to those people’s lives. I felt closely connected to all of these people through my heritage, my roots, and my blood.

The critical damage of this tragedy was unexpected. The winds were mild the day the fire started, and just two days later, the wind amounted to something that would occur in the presence of a tornado. The lack of resources on the island and throughout Greece added another obstacle. The fire grew from covering sixteen miles of land just twelve hours after it started, to covering forty-five miles only two days later. During the day, firefighters, military men, and volunteers would work at putting out one small fire, but a spark from that fire would fly and start three more fires that would increasingly grow. The island’s natural beauty continued to deteriorate and nothing could be done about it. As the sun went down, we watched the flames become brighter with the opening of the night sky. At night, the mighty battle continued to burn the mountains, the Masticha trees (a rare crop found only in South Chios), and the surrounding village fields. Our hearts became wounded as we absorbed the everlasting damage.

I was in the village square, and suddenly, everything went black. The power was out. I frantically ran to my dad so that he knew I was okay. All of us, villagers and summer visitors, were worrying about one another in the midst of this fire. Anything could happen at any moment. That night traumatized me. It was then that the mountains surrounding our village’s valley were filled with smoke. The fire seemed to come to grips with us. We could breathe its toxins. Ashes were falling int he square of our Medieval Castle. As I walked down the alley, my white shirt began to turn gray. My hair was filled with ashes and my eyes were filling with smoke. I walked outside of the castle’s gate and that is when my heart dropped. I could see the red sky behind the mountains. The hilltop looked like one big chimney. We faced uncertainty; what the future held was unexpected. It appeared to be closer than we all imagined. I was awaiting an evacuation that night.

My friends and I abruptly ran to the car. It seemed that we had no time to outrun this fire. We left the village that evening with fear of what would happen to us. We had no idea if this fire meant we would lose all of our belongings in the village or if it meant death. For me, it meant that I could lose everything that I took to Greece, but for the villagers it meant that they could lose everything they worked for year round, not only their homes and their personal belongings. As we approached the peak of a nearby mountain, I could see the fire. It was  stream of fire, yellow and orange. I could feel the fire’s warmth from a little under a mile away. Its brightness was enough to scare me. I had never seen anything like that in my life; I could not even imagine anything to be that strong, that intense. The fire stretched as far as I could see in all directions. The traumatic image of this fire was enough to cause someone to develop PTSD. Driving through the fire that very evening brought a stream of tears to my face and a feeling of possession by a different being than myself through my body. This fire was a war. We were driving in the fire before we even realized it. We could not turn and make a detour after being inside. We had to allow ourselves to absorb the fear and move through it. I felt as though a spark would fly onto our car and burn us alive. I could see so many small fires inside the stream of smoke that were only three to eight feet wide, but the thousands of them together made the fire seem to be even more powerful. The color of the fire was enough to blind me. It was so bright that I felt like it was noon when the sun was being down hot on my skin and just its visibility forced my eyes to squint. The dramatic appearance of being inside the fire made my jaw drop. I could not believe it had become so out of hand. I touched the windows in the car and it felt like touching a hot pan on the stove. I quickly jumped back; we had been driving in the fire for not even one minute and the windows were already scorching. One minute of driving in the fire felt just as long as the plane ride from New York City to Athens, Greece.

I left the island a few days later. Then the fire started to move into the Northern part of Chios. It began to destroy fields and crops in that area too. More people began to feel the mental and physical pain of this fire. And yet, I got to leave, but my heart kept pounding harder and harder because I could not manage to leave with comfort. I could not manage to leave my blood, my roots, my home, without feeling remorse.