Eternal Limbo ~ Gaza Refugee Camp (Jarash)

Eternal Limbo by Rula Zein-Iddin

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A crumbling, dismal shantytown
A shambolic hovel of bricks and refuse
A forgotten, nay,  forsaken people
Struggling to survive in a jungle of aging asbestos

Leaking pipes, broken walls
Flimsy zinko rooftops
Corroded metal doors
Absent floors

They call this health hazard, "home"
They had little choice seventy years ago
Displaced not once but twice
Double the loss, double the sacrifice then
Options practically nonexistent now

It is bleak
It is dirty
Fragrant cooking aromas
Clash with offensively putrid air

Children roam unattended
Seemingly carefree and oblivious
Cheeky comments,  intelligent banter
Radiant smiles not quite reaching their weary eyes

Flashes of commotion
As a few lash out
But mostly free
Blissfully unaware,
At least for now

Quickly the narrow streets brimful
A steady stream of school-boys
Heavy bags eerily replicating coming burdens
Heading home, the afternoon shift complete

The schools barely take a breath
Awaiting the third shift of the day with despair
Caged in classrooms filled beyond capacity
What determined magician can think, let alone teach here?

Limited land, scarce resources
Infrastructure bursting at the seams
Dark, dank corridors of sheer hopelessness

"We would rather learn than eat" they say
Education is the fuel for our souls
Food is a secondary need
Studying voraciously is our way out

Third generation refugees
Eleven thousand over fifty years
Yield thirty thousand
Bleak mathematics
Cramped on the same piece of limited land

How can they fathom what was lost?
This is all they know
For some, it is all they will ever know

A few make it out
But forever remain connected
They live outside the borders of the camp
They never forget those they left behind
An incredible sense of selflessness
An overwhelming drive to make a difference

They have found a way to make a living
Against all odds
True survivors
Silent heroes

Why them and not us?
How to appease an uneasy conscience?
The cards could so easily have been dealt differently.

Refugees from a place that remains incarcerated
Neighbours living in an open air prison
Bombed, mentally and physically abused
Robbed of the most elemental human rights

A forgotten cause
An oppressively, dispossessed people
Humanity brutally stripped bare

Are they more free here?
Two sides of the same tarnished coin.
Which would you choose?

How do you live your life when there are so few choices available to you?
How do you make ends meet when so many opportunities are denied you?

How do you have a sense of self-worth when so many deny your existence?
How can you have the willpower to go on when the world has forgotten you?

The sense of community, is palpable
The generosity of those with so little, is humbling
Genuine invitations to share a meal are called out
Open arms proudly welcome you into dimly lit abodes

Their shared upbringing makes them stand united
Their hope for a better future is beyond inspiring
It blinds you.
For fleeting seconds you believe it is possible.

They believe in a better tomorrow
They are adamant that they will return
But to what? And where? And when?
And who can deny them hope when that is all they have got.

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The Gaza refugee camp in Jerash, Jordan is home to nearly 34,000 Palestinian refugees who fled from Gaza, Palestine in 1948 and 1967. The photos above provide a glimpse into the living conditions many of these refugees have had to contend with given the lack of political, social, and economic options at their disposal.

Za'atari's Mosques

In Za'atari they build their own mosques. Some are make shift affairs but most are comprised of caravans and standard issue UNHCR tents compiled together to emulate a place of worship for the thousands of Syrian refugees in the camp.

Every day except Friday, at one of the larger Mosques run by an incredibly empathetic Imam; it is a mesmerizing scene of relaxed rituals.

In the morning when the girls are at school the boys come pouring in to attend their reading & reciting Quar'an class. In the afternoon the roles are reversed.

Each boy quickly stacks his shoes at the entrance, grabs a Koran from the shelf and walks over respectfully to his designated Imam.

They sit calmly reading and reciting as the sun warms the room  and the sound of their sweet voices soothes the air.

They compete amicably for their turn to recite the prayer they have studied overnight as the Imam makes a show of selecting whose Qura'an he will accept.

Gently he corrects them as they eagerly stumble over the difficult words or mispronounce the complex deflections that shower the arabic language of old.


The devout scene is captivating, made more so by the rays of sunshine that create a mystical ambience.

This is a scene that was once replicated in their home towns. Villages that have been razed to the ground when their parents decided to escape to safety with their families and the clothes on their back.

I long for the day these children will return to the innocence of their childhood; but for now this semblance of normalcy and established routine will have to do.

Syrian Spirit

Ibrahim had been playing football with his friends after school when he fell and cut his finger. He ran up with glistening eyes to show me how it was bleeding. I asked him to go to his mother for a bandage.

He quickly ran off to a nearby tent he calls home and came back to proudly reveal his proficient First Aid skills; then threw in a victory sign for good measure  

#zaatari #syrian #syrian #refugee_life #refugee #children — with Naveed Anwarat AlMafrag , Zaatari refugee camp.

The Passage of Death

It's not every day that you manage to get stuck for a few hours in the depths of a mud-sucking lake in the deserts of Jordan in a brand spanking new UNHCR Toyota Land Cruiser for VIP's.

And probably even rarer to be able to then lay claim to being rescued by the Jordanian Armed Forces in a sci-fi like Armored Personnel Carrier that seemed to magically float on the surface of the water strewn mud slicks as it races to the rescue.

So when the Syrian Refugees who have made this journey across the vast and unforgiving no man's land into Jordan refer to it as the 'passage of death' it is easy to be skeptical and dismiss it as a colourful but exaggerated Arabic allegory.

Yet having been caught in the bitter cold of a desert rainstorm on the eastern border of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan and neighbouring Iraq & Syria; allow me to reassure you that despite only catching a glimpse of how difficult a winter crossing of the desert can be, the refugees' description is at best understatement.

For not only do they have to contend with the unpredictable natural elements; they do so having emerged from a shower of bullets, shellings and areas strewn with land mines aimed at them by their fellow countrymen.

According to many the journey is haunted by frequent makeshift graves marking the demise of those who valiantly tried to brave the desert in search of refuge from war only to lose their lives in a mercilessly harsh landscape.

The desert itself in that area is made up of sharp stones that dig into their scantily clad feet and if that isn't sufficient to trip them up or twist their ankles as they walk laden with their children and few remaining belongings; then the crashing rain that renders the land a smooth quick-sand like mud slick is bound to retaliate instead.

They journey into the unknown having paid small fortunes and been piled into vans a hundred at a time only to be abandoned midway and made to find their own path across. Several complain of having been lost for at least 10 days as they seek out the borders to safety.

They arrive in their hundreds exhausted, shivering & starving in their hundreds at the Jordanian border where they are admitted, fed & sheltered at the Ruwaished Army Camp until all their details are processed and they can be transferred across the desert to their new home: the Za'atari Refugee Camp.

         

On cold & wet Thursday afternoon 200 #syrian #refugees 

    ran en masse to cross into the Far Eastern #Jordanian border

from #Syria . In total 1,400 arrived this weekend

amidst rumours of chemical attacks. 

#jo — at Ruwaished.

Several hundred mostly #Syrian women & children 

@refugees cross into #Jordan 

More than 1 million children have fled #Syria

& 75% of them are under age 11

that’s around 800,000

young children #FutureofSyria

Commander Hassan of the Border Guards looks pensive as 200 cold & wet #syrian @refugees cross into East #Jordan from #Syria ~ it is estimated that 1,400 arrived this weekend.

A #Jordanian soldier pushes an injured #syrian man across to safety at the far east border of Ruwaished. #jo

Syrian Refugees scramble to climb on to the vehicles provided by the Jordanian Border Guards.

 They will be transported to the Ruwaished army camp where they will receive shelter & a hot meal before proceeding to Za'atari Refugee Camp #syria #refugees #jordan #jo

Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind. ~ JFK#syria #syrian #refugees #war #humanity

Le Za'atari's Champs-Élysées

The first time you hear the impoverished residents of Za'atari Refugee Camp refer to their main shopping high street as "Shams-Elysee" you could be forgiven for pausing and raising a questioning eyebrow.

For in fact Syria is colloquially known as Bilad Al-Sham. But such is the self-deprecating humour of the refugees that they are happy to wittily name their main shopping street after the prestigiously famous location on one of the world's most expensive strips of real estate; and one cannot but be amused at the irony of that sarcastic nod towards their former colonialists.

And never has a name & its name-sake been so disparagingly different for naturally Za'atari's Champs-Élysées bears absolutely no resemblance to the French original be it in location, consumers or goods. Yet it depicts the life-blood of Syrians; for it is in their very genetic makeup to earn a living through trade businesses.

Whether you are looking for a butcher, an oriental perfumerie or a mobile phone retailer you will find it here. Nestled in the unforgiving dust of the desert some in shacks, others in tents and the more affluent in caravans. There are over 680 shops catering to the 160,000 of the 4th largest 'city' in Jordan.

In fact, according to the merchants of this desertified Champs-Élysées, the street is not long enough to meet their shopping needs. So, naturally they want to build up! By stacking the caravans above each other, they are intent on creating 'malls'. Then they can have cafes over-looking the 'high-street' so that they can smoke argeelas in the evening and thus attract more business. It is hard to tell from the huge grins and twinkling eyes whether they were just pulling our legs. I almost hope they are not; for that would truly be a unique sight to behold.

The Fountain

The Syrians are well known for their love of beautiful courtyards, with lush green plants & musical fountains. It's a stereotypically cliche scene in every Syrian melodrama series on TV to observe the men folk gathered around the fountain sipping their tea debating over village politics whilst the women watch on; gossiping and giggling in the kitchen.

The attempt to recreate some semblance of normality in their lives by reverting to their inherited customs is a true mark of the resilience of the Syrian refugees in Za'atari. The Syrian man who built this fountain was aiming to add some beauty back into the lives of his family. As far as they are concerned this is to make their lives a little happier and in no way represents their intention to stay in Jordan.

In fact, when news broke out at the end of September that Obama was going to bomb Syria all such projects were immediately put on hold. I guess they are back in progress now.

There was such palpable joy in this small 'room' that it brought tears to my eyes. Stepping in from the dust & heat outside into this enclosure was surreal. At night when the children are asleep, the adults reclaim this space and listen to the songs of Um Kulthoom & Abdel Wahab as they smoke their argeelas and reminisce about a country that is only a stone's throw away.

Cooking with Pride

This Syrian refugee is cooking in the makeshift 'kitchen' created in between the caravan & covered by a tent. She was chatting to me whilst adding the rice to her chicken broth to make Kabsa...a spicy rice dish. The smell was fabulous and with great pride she filled a spoon with the stock and insisted that I try it. It tasted as good as it smelt. When you are a refugee there are very few things that you have control over and even fewer that you can take pride in. Cooking for your family is just one way to maintain some semblance of normality and reinforce family bonds.

This Syrian woman is one of the more fortunate in Zaatari since her brother-in-law is a real handyman and laid down a cement floor for her kitchen. #zaatari #refugee_life #refugee_camp #refugees #syria #syrian #jo #middleeast #humanitarian #photojournalism

Home is where the Heart is

The strength of a nation derives from the integrity of the home. ~ Confucius

When it comes to developing character strength, inner security and unique personal and interpersonal talents and skills in a child, no institution can or ever will compare with, or effectively substitute for, the home's potential for positive influence. ~ Stephen Covey

A Father's Burden

“Son, there are times a man has to do things he doesn't like to, in order to protect his family.” ~ Ralph Moody

A Syrian man looks on as his children play in the setting sun. The sprawling camp of tents and caravans can be seen behind them with young boys playing football in the background. #zaatari #refugee_life #refugee_camp #syrian #syria #jordan #jo

Homeward Bound

This is a daily scene at the Za'atari Refugee Camp in Jordan. Every weekday afternoon, on this occasion it was an hour before before sunset, the trucks & buses arrive and are quickly filled to the brim.

Young boys climb up on the cargo truck first so that their relatives below can hand them their luggage. The boys remain on board to make sure everyone's luggage stays safe during the short trip home and also to facilitate its unloading upon arrival.

The transportation, arranged and paid for by the Jordanian government; takes the refugees across the border where they may be met by a member of the Free Syrian Army or left to their own devices to make there way home.

In late September, around 300 people a day were leaving the camp to return to Syria. The convoy arrived in a blaze of desert dust amongst a stir of excitement from the waiting crowd. Suddenly there was a hive of activity and shouting as everyone rushed over to load their luggage under the watchful yet distant eye of the security forces.

Ironically those who were informally organising the process (and keeping the journalists and photographers at bay) were the self-appointed street leaders of Zaatari Camp. An aggravated man quickly approached us when we dared to stray from the zone to which we'd been allotted. "You can only shoot from here. Do not come any closer" he commanded sternly. The protective stance towards those heading back home was palpable yet frustrating given that we had waited for 90 minutes in the 35C degree heat of the desert sun for the arrival of the truck convoys.

Once the cargo truck (actually a huge refrigerated truck for food produce) was loaded the crowd quickly dissipated towards the passenger bus awaiting them nearby. Within minutes the convoy drove off towards the border leaving us covered in a cloud of dust as we wondered what would become of these (and future) returnees.

He who opens a school door, closes a prison. ~ Victor Hugo

Syrian refugee children have been integrated into the local schools in Mafraq, Jordan with many of the schools in that governorate now working two shifts per day. Several of the classes are filled beyond capacity and some schools do require additional staff & rudimentary resources inc. classroom furniture since the children may be forced to share a desk. This is the Ashrafiya Secondary School for Girls based in Mafraq. On the wall behind them a teacher proudly wrote: Countries are built on three essential foundations: Teachers to Educate, Soldiers to Protect, And Farmers to Feed it.

Syrian Children at Za'atari Refugee Camp

Syrian children at the Zaatari Refugee Camp. Despite the difficult conditions they happily request to be photographed. When I engaged them and asked them to count to ten they did so in perfectly fluent English.

Should you happen to ignore a request for a photo from young boys then expect some retaliation & be prepared to have the occasional stones thrown at you. This is a tough environment for kids to grow up in. Dealing with the diaspora and the violence they have witnessed has been traumatic for many. As winter approaches its hard to imagine how these young children will be able to cope with the added hurdle of the bitter cold of the desert. FACT: About 13 Syrian children per day are born in the Za'atari Refugee Camp in Jordan. 21% are < 5 years old and 55% are <18. Source ~ UNHCR ~~~~ Courage is like love; it must have hope for nourishment. ~ Napoleon Bonaparte ~~~~