Macedonia to Serbia to the EU

"These damned terrorists," a Macedonian policeman swears as he shines his flashlight into a train's rear carriages to look for hidden migrants. The struggle to board the train begins every morning, when the international express from Thessaloniki to Belgrade crosses the border between Greece and Macedonia and stops in Gevgelija. Two thousand refugees jostle with each other to get onto the train. Only 200 manage to find a place.

"Terrorists, who else?" the policeman grumbles. "After all, they're coming from Syria." His colleagues are more relaxed. Despite having their riot gear on, most of the officers smoke and chat amiably with each other.

Gevgelija has been the site of some alarming scenes in the past week. Migrants fleeing conflict zones from around the world have reached are jostling to find a place on the trains. Children are passed in and out through windows, depending on whether their parents have found a way in. Some people have used knives to get through the crowd, injuring several others.

Last Friday, Macedonian officials began issuing papers that enable migrants to transit the country. The only hitch is that this freedom of movement is good for only 72 hours. Migrants must have either left the country by that point or applied for asylum - something no one wants to receive in Macedonia. Those wanting to get out have only three days to travel the 180 kilometers (110 miles) from the southern border with Greece to Serbia in the north.

Mohammed has already used up two of his travel days. The 25-year-old from Pakistan sits at the edge of Gevgelija's railway platform surrounded by his countrymen. All of them have survived a perilous journey though Iran, Turkey and then, with a smuggler's boat, to the Greek coast. After all he has experienced, the stay in Gevgelija without a bed or a shower seems like a cakewalk. "Have you never seen Pakistani television," he asks. "The Taliban attacked a school and killed many children: 8-year-olds, six-year-olds, completely innocent."

The young, small-built man says he won't fight for a place on the train. The police are helping families with children board, and Mohammed finds that agreeable. "I don't have a chance here," he says.

Moving migrants along

People like Mohammed make good customers for Angel Stanojkov. The local taxi driver sits patiently in his yellow automobile, pop music blaring from its speakers. Like all his compatriots in Gevgelija, Stanojkov is waiting for the odd customer who has had his fill of the gloomy railway station and is ready to pay some extra money to get to the north. "We take 100 euros ($110) for four persons wanting to go to Tabanovce," he says. "This price is realistic, not too much."

Just 2 kilometers from Serbia's border, Tabanovce is the next halt on the Balkan route, which takes migrants from the mostly non-EU countries in Europe's southeast to the member states up north and west. "We actually drive them to the official border check post," Stanojkov says. "But they get out and take unauthorized routes by foot to Serbia."

This strategy has come in handy for Macedonia. The impoverished Balkan nation is unable to cope with the estimated 2,000 migrants who arrive daily via Greece.

Macedonia's migration system has ceased to function. For example, the Gazi Baba migrant camp in the capital, Skopje, was filled with people for months, and its residents were not allowed to leave - or to return if they had. The German migrant rights organization Pro Asyl has described the camp as a "detention center." It was finally closed at the end of July.

Since then, Macedonia has implemented an uncreative but pragmatic strategy. Migrants are shown the way to Serbia and allowed to cross the borders unmonitored.

Business is better than before

Gevgelija Mayor Ivan Frangov has come up with some new ideas. Inspired by Hungary, he has proposed a barbed-wire fence between Greece and Macedonia. Frangov told the Serbian news agency Tanjig that migrants made his city dirty and that the EU and that the UN Refugee Agency had left his people in the lurch.

Despite the mayor's assertions, not all of Gevgelija's residents are unhappy with the influx of migrants. Many are using the opportunity to make quick cash. Vendors have lined the railway platforms with plastic tables, and business is good: a euro buys two bananas, a pack of popcorn or a bottle of water. Travelers can also recharge their mobile phones for a small fee. Naturally, most of the business is illegal, but the police don't seem bothered. None of the traders would speak with DW's reporter.

Residents of Gevgelija are trying to make sense of the situation. A couple hundred meters away from the train station, in the pedestrian areas and bars, conspiracy theories abound. "Some think that the refugees bring diseases with them or that they want to occupy our lands," Stanojkov says. The driver himself does not share that opinion, but he does think the situation may have something to do with "international factors." "It must be the Americans - or maybe even the Europeans," he says. "The war in Syria did not start on its own."

Mohammed, who came all this way from Pakistan, has no use for such rumors. He is happy with unspoken deal with Macedonian officials have made with migrants, theoretically allowing them to make it to Serbia, and potentially onward to Hungary and the European Union. Mohammed still does not know that Hungarian officials are planning to finish building their border barricade by the end of August. His logic is simple: "Many people flee to Europe ... and I'm following them."

For Mohammed, the "real Europe" begins at the place where he hopes to apply for asylum. "If I'm lucky," he says, "I'll reach Germany." Once there, he wants to find a decent job and build a secure future. "If I'm lucky."

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