The Zeeland Chris Sinke was a year ago “near death”. His kidney – he has been a kidney patient since childhood – seemed to be failing. He shows a picture of a pale, emaciated man. “This is what I looked like,” says the man, who now has a tanned face and a blush on his cheeks.
Sinke is sitting at a picnic table at his Zon & Zee campsite, the campsite that now serves as a reception center for Ukrainian refugees. And which he would never have bought had he not found a kidney donor for his rare blood group o-negative through a call at his church.
“Do you want to continue the operation?”, Sinke’s doctor had asked on the day of the kidney transplant last year. Strike at the hospital. Understaffed. The kidney had to be put on ice for two hours. So less chance of success.
Sinke decided to do it. When he awoke from anesthesia, it turned out that the strike had come to an end during the operation. The kidney is immediately crossed from the donor, the doctor says, and the transplant took effect almost immediately. Exceptional.
After his long illness, Chris, who had run a farm equipment rental company for years, wanted to turn his life around. When he heard that Zon & Zee was for sale, he called good acquaintance Stephan van der Linden – owner of an employment agency – from Kloetinge in Zeeland. The two saw it all: finally a workplace where customers arrive cheerfully, if only because their vacation has just started.
But now, five months after the purchase, the picture is very different.
At first glance, the Zon & Zee campsite looks like an average campsite. Raked lawns with mobile homes and motorhomes, a reception area with canteen, shared toilets and showers, children on a large trampoline. The voices of Flemish and Germans can be heard in the gardens of some caravans.
But if you walk longer on the site, you will also see containers with food, hygiene products and second-hand clothing. Next to the food container hangs a Ukrainian flag and a chalkboard that reads Coffee the Dutch way – in Ukrainian. Towards evening most Ukrainians get out of their caravans. They visit the camping cafeteria, where the internet connection is best, and call loved ones at home.
Message from Moldova
At the beginning of March, Sinke and Van der Linden received a message from a minister in Moldova who receives Ukrainians in his church in the capital Chisinau: whether the two partners can receive refugees. About seventy volunteers from the Yerseke area then reported to the campsite. “Everyone wanted to do something,” says the energetic Van der Linden.
It is in stark contrast to 2016, when the house of city councilor Andries Jumelet (ChristenUnie) and his wife Anneke was pelted with eggs and heavy fireworks, after they said they wanted to receive Syrian refugees in Yerseke. They look with ‘joyful amazement’, but also with ‘astonishment’ at what is now happening at the campsite. “Back then people were really anti,” says Andries. “Now they’re queuing up to help.”
Volunteers try to arrange just about everything for the Ukrainians: education, transport to the town hall, clothing, medicines, work, groceries. Local companies, often specialized in fish, provide free food and caravans, or provide space to store relief supplies.
Not all help is necessary. The ‘childcare’ will soon stop, because almost no children come to the makeshift nursery on the campsite. In the hairdressing salon that the hairdressers from the village set up on a Monday in the camping canteen, after a few customers no one shows up anymore. The hairdressers pack their things disappointed and a bit irritated.
Communication between Ukrainians and volunteers is sometimes difficult. “Recently, a Ukrainian woman at the camping shop tried to convey what she needed via a translation app,” says Maria Kromwijk, coordinator of the volunteers. “The translation was unclear, but most closely resembled the Dutch word ‘tampons’.” The woman turned out to mean frankfurters.
José van Egmond, mayor of the municipality of Reimerswaal, which includes Yerseke, visited the campsite for the first time two weeks ago. She had just recovered from a pulmonary embolism and therefore had a lot of work to catch up on. Kromwijk showed her the grounds. Van Egmond thought it was “impressive”. She couldn’t promise more financial support yet. She is waiting for “clarity” from the national government.
Sinke and Van der Linden have been seeking financial support from the municipality since the start of the shelter, but say they will have to wait a long time for any clarity. After much insistence, they now receive 20 euros per person per night – less than half of what it costs the campsite owners to support a refugee, they say. They don’t know exactly how long they will keep this up. “But when the money runs out, I visit entrepreneurs to ask if they want to support us,” says Van der Linden.
Janine Van der Vloet (63), Hugo Jaeger (61) and Cary Mannaerts (69) from the Flemish municipality of Schoten have been coming to Zon & Zee for years. Mannaerts from childhood. Now they feel “insecure” about their future. Lately, they feel like they “don’t count anymore.” While the camping canteen is not officially open yet, they constantly see Ukrainians walking around. Because their internet sometimes doesn’t work, they have to use the wifi of the Ukrainians. And recently a Ukrainian woman was sitting at a table in the garden of a campsite resident who was not there at the time. The staff said nothing about that. “We have nothing against the Ukrainians and it is very clever what the campsite is doing for them,” says Van der Vloet. “But our grass is not mowed.”
Sell caravan
Mannaerts wonders whether the campsite still has a future. In March, Sinke and Van der Linden already sent an email to the regular camping guests to create extra living space for the Ukrainians. Would they like to sell their caravan? About a third of the regular guests left at that time. The three Flemings should not think about it. “This campsite is our life,” says Jaeger.
At the request of the municipality, Sinke and Van der Linden will not receive more than a hundred refugees for the time being. The regular camping guests who would like to stay do not have to leave, of course, they say. After all, their payments help to sustain the shelter financially.
A few months ago Sinke wondered why he ever started camping. The plans to renew the site are not going smoothly, the municipality is slow to respond to permit requests and it is simply not as nice as initially thought. But with the arrival of the Ukrainians, “everything comes together”. Thanks to the new kidney, he is finally healthy again. Now he can “help someone himself.”
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of May 2, 2022
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