‘You wish you could do more’: dentist Farah Elnaqa shares the reality of providing dental care treatment in a refugee camp, including the difficult decisions she had to make.
For years, the thought of volunteering lingered in my mind – a desire to give back, to use my skills in a meaningful way. I wasn’t sure where or how, but I felt that it was a calling I couldn’t ignore.
I longed for something that would provide a deeper sense of purpose, something beyond the daily routine. When I heard about my friend’s experience volunteering with the Crisis Management Association (CMA) in Lesvos, Greece, it clicked. This was the opportunity I had been searching for.
A bigger purpose
Curious, I did some research on CMA, a Greek-registered nonprofit which provided essential medical services to refugees and asylum seekers in the Mavrovouni refugee camp. They had been urgently calling for dentists for weeks. Though I had planned to volunteer later, I realised that there was no reason to wait. So I told my workplace, booked my flights, and prepared for the next challenge: fundraising.
With little time to fundraise, I set a goal of £2,500. Unsure if I could reach it, I reached out to everyone I could – patients, friends, anyone who might help. The response was humbling; with so many people showing an overwhelming willingness to support, and in just a week, I raised nearly £4,000.
As the day approached, nerves set in. I was worried about the emotions I knew I would feel while being there. A friend encouraged me to think about what would happen if I didn’t go – and what might happen if I did. That thought stayed with me, and I knew I couldn’t turn away from this.
I knew it would be emotionally challenging, but this was about something bigger than my worries – it was about showing up for people who needed someone willing to try. So, with a deep breath, I packed my bags. The anticipation of making a difference steadied me, and with a purpose bigger than myself, I found the strength to step into the unknown.
The perilous journey to Lesvos
Lesvos is a serene Greek island just a few miles from the Turkish coast, but for refugees, it represents a gateway to hope – and often the last leg of a terrifying ordeal.
The island sits along the Eastern Mediterranean route, a well-traveled but dangerous path. Refugees often begin their journey far away from Lesvos, in war-torn countries such as Afghanistan, Syria and Sudan, covering thousands of kilometres on foot. Once refugees reach Turkey, many attempt the perilous crossing to Lesvos.
The Aegean Sea, only 10 kilometres wide at its narrowest point, might appear like a small hurdle. But for those forced into overcrowded boats, it becomes a death trap. Life jackets are scarce, and boats are packed beyond capacity. The sea crossing has claimed thousands of lives, with stories of families lost to the waves or separated in the chaos.
Surviving the journey to Lesvos is just the beginning. For those who make it, the relief quickly fades as they face new challenges in the refugee camp, where overcrowding, limited resources, and an uncertain future await them. Living in a refugee camp like Mavrovouni means indefinite waiting, often without proper healthcare, housing, education or work opportunities.
Arriving at Mavrovouni refugee camp
My first glimpse of the refugee camp in Greece felt surreal. Rows of white tents, each stamped with ‘UNHCR’ (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees), stretched across the landscape – a sight I’d only ever seen on news reports from what felt like distant, abstract places.
But standing there, it was all suddenly, undeniably real. Nothing could have prepared me for the reality of the camp – the sheer scale of it. A sprawling area filled with tents and ‘Isoboxes’ – converted shipping containers that serve as makeshift homes, clinics and registration centres.
The camp operates under intense security, with a strong police presence guarding the entry and exit points. All individuals, including volunteers and staff, must undergo ID checks and log in and out upon entry and exit. These measures, while crucial for maintaining safety, inevitably create a sense of confinement and surveillance throughout the camp.
Challenges in providing care
The dental clinic was contained within its own Isobox, with just two surgeries and a small decontamination area between them. It wasn’t much, but it was what we had. Many of the materials and equipment we take for granted back home simply weren’t there, so I often had to improvise.
There were no dental nurses, only volunteers who did their best without any formal training. Despite the constraints, we took every measure possible to keep procedures sterile and safe, although there was a stark difference to the level of care that I had become accustomed to.
Patients were triaged the day before by doctors from the Boat Refugee Foundation (BRF) – the only emergency medical provider for the entire camp – but despite this system in place, there was always a line of people waiting outside the clinic, desperate for care.
Most people arrived with rampant caries or infections – pain that had been building up for months – and the exact cause of their pain was often unclear. With limited time and diagnostic tools, I had to rely heavily on experience and intuition.
Difficult choices
You do your best to relieve their pain, knowing that’s often all there’s time for, but a feeling lingers that you wish you could do more. Without the time or equipment for more complex work, I had to make difficult choices, and often, extractions were the only way to bring relief.
Root canal treatment or more comprehensive care simply weren’t options here. Patients would plead with me to do more, knowing they may not be able to see another dentist anytime soon. But there was only so much time and so many others waiting. I found myself wondering if I was making the right choices, constantly questioning whether I was doing enough.
Patients showed signs of dental care they’d received in their home countries – many with crowns and bridgework – but the harsh journey and months without proper care had taken a serious toll on their oral health. Many patients held out hope that, once they reached countries like Germany, they’d finally get the care they needed, but I knew the wait could stretch out for months or even years.
You do your best to relieve their pain, knowing that’s often all there’s time for, but a feeling lingers that you wish you could do more
The hardest part was treating children who couldn’t understand why they were in pain, or that I was trying to help. For many, pain had been a constant part of their lives, and this moment was no different.
They had known nothing but hardship and loss for as long as they could remember. They had lived through trauma for so long, and it hurt to know that even though I was trying, I couldn’t truly offer them the relief they so desperately needed. With the limitations of our clinic and no referral pathway available, I did what I could with what I had, knowing it was often far from enough.
Reflecting on the experience
Looking back at my time in Lesvos, I am struck by how much this experience has transformed me. I went there hoping to help, to make a difference, but what I received in return was far more than I ever expected. The people I met on the island had endured so much – loss, displacement, fear – yet they continued to move forward, with a strength I can barely comprehend.
It was a powerful reminder that none of us can control the circumstances of our birth, and for those of us who are fortunate, the privilege lies in being able to help. In another place or time, it could have easily been us in their shoes.
Volunteering at Mavrovouni has been the most challenging and meaningful experience of my life. It has profoundly shaped me, pushing me beyond my comfort zone, both emotionally and physically, but it has also opened my eyes to the power of compassion.
There is a unique peace found in caring for others – a feeling that resonates deeply within, affirming that our truest purpose is found in giving. I am forever grateful for the privilege to witness such resilience, to learn from those who faced such adversity, and to have played a small part in their journey.
To my colleagues: I urge you to consider volunteering with CMA. Camps like Mavrovouni are in desperate need of dental professionals. For those living in these camps, every effort matters, every hour spent makes a difference, and every act of care helps restore humanity to those who need it most.
The experience will test you, humble you, and change your perspective on what it truly means to practice dentistry.
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