* Any views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author and not of Thomson Reuters Foundation.
Most Syrian refugees fleeing their bloodied country cross the borders to neighbouring countries by bus, by car, by foot.
In Mahmoud’s case it was by ambulance. We first meet him, grey hair falling out from underneath his yellow turban, in CARE’s urban refugee centre, in Amman (Jordan). His gestures are calm, his gaze intermittently troubled or contemplative. The gestures and gaze of someone who has been through a lot.
One afternoon, at the end of 2012, in his home town of Daara (in Syria, near the border with Jordan), a bomb fell near his house. Half of the house was destroyed. Mahmoud lost two fingers of his left hand. His wife, Arabia, lost her right eye. Their elder son, in his early 30s, got injured in his right shoulder. “But we are grateful that the younger children didn’t get hit,” he says.
Three weeks later they were in Za’atari camp, in Jordan. Mahmoud, in his 50s, came with his wife, six children, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren.
But Mahmoud missed his place and was worried about extended family members and ten days later he went back home alone, leaving his family in Za’atari. Was he not worried? “I was. But I will keep going back until I’m killed if that’s my fate,” he says quietly.
It was 9 am in the morning. He was at a table with a few relatives and neighbours. “We were talking about what’s been happening, about what can happen next,” he reminisces. He remembers hearing the noise after the explosion. Then, waking up in an ambulance. He was badly wounded in his right knee. With him, in the ambulance were 13 other Syrians also wounded from the explosion and transported into Jordan.
He joined his family again in Za’atari and when he was better, they left for Irbid, a town in the north of Jordan, close to the Syrian border, and hosting increasing number of refugees. Why did they leave Za’atari? “It was too hot and too dusty. My wife suffers from asthma. We were living at the outskirts of the camp, far from everything. It was very isolating. It was hard living there.”
Their journey as urban refugees is marked by searching, struggling. Searching, struggling to find a place that they can afford. Irbid turned out not to be an option. They just couldn’t afford the $300/month rent. Words came from other refugees that rent in Amman−some parts of it, at least−was cheaper. So, they set on the road again. They’ve been in Marka Al-Janubyah, a poor neighbourhood of Amman hosting about 70,000 refugees, for about a month.
They found a cheaper three-bedroom flat. It’s has the same set-up as all the other flats inhabited by Syrian refugees – in Jordan or Lebanon. Barely anything: mattresses lining the walls, open suitcases dominating the corners, folded blankets that the family received in Za’atari, piled in one of the rooms.
Though the rent is cheaper than in Irbid, the family struggles to survive from one day to another. The two sons spend each day in search for work. “We found nothing. Once we were offered a job but it was too far from where we live and the wage wouldn’t even cover the transport…They tell us that they can’t hire us without work permits; they are afraid of being fined,” says 25-year-old Muhamed who has finished his first degree in English literature, and had the conflict in Syria not shattered his dreams, he would be studying now for a Masters degree.
Mahmoud has also attempted to find work though apart from the injured knee and hand, he has one kidney and is suffering from chronic diabetes. The shop owner where he inquired took a good look at Mahmoud’s face neatly lined by the trace of time and kindly turned him away saying “uncle, I couldn’t suffer seeing you working. I would feel bad.”
Whilst the men are out looking for work, Arabia and his daughter-in-law struggle to prepare some food. They normally prepare something once a day, often the only meal they have. Often they have to eat the same thing for days−the cheapest dish. “We haven’t had fish or meat for months. We can’t afford to buy any of that. Even a melon…Just too expensive,” says Arabia as she shows us her kitchen, and points to a pot, the only thing she bought with her from home.
“I miss my house, my kitchen, and having people around,” she says. “Here I don’t even know the neighbours in the building.”
One can only imagine the swift turn their lives have taken. From everything to nothing.
“We had an olive grove. We had everything that we needed. Now I have the owner knocking on my door asking for the late rent…I am ashamed…When I think of our lives in Syria before this, I think of Eid −how we all came together and celebrated…I miss that time when we were all together, in peace,” says Mahmoud.
Note: Mahmoud is one of the 110,000 plus Syrian refugees who receive assistance from CARE’s urban refugee centre in Amman. In Mahmoud’s case it has been cash assistance so that he can cope with paying for basic living costs. CARE is expanding its response in Jordan, setting up refugee centres in four other urban areas where Syrian refugees have been taking refuge, and will be playing a key role when the new refugee camp in Azraq opens this summer.
