A Question Worthy of Solomon - Feb 5

We visited Ala'a, his wife, Thuraya, and their two young sons Laith (9 years old) and three year old Abdullah to take a food relief box to them.

Ala'a lived in Baghdad but owned a small gypson board factory in Fallujah until militia took over the shop, stealing all the equipment and stock. Ala'a speculates that he was targeted because he is Shia but, in the lawlessness of Iraq, it could be a case of criminal theft. So many Iraqis we speak with are not certain who the "militia" are as they consistently tell us that the men's faces are covered to hide their identity. After his shop was taken, he stayed in Baghdad until leaving for Jordan.

Thuraya is Sunna and from Baghdad. Before the invasion intermarriage between men and women of different sects was as common as it is in the US for people of different Christian religions to marry. It was usually not an issue one thought about. Now that has changed, of course, as fundamentalists from or influenced by the extreme conservative form of Islam from Iran have free rein and terrorize people into segregation and conservatism. Iraq, a model of liberal secularism in the ME prior to the US invasion is now reverting backwards rapidly.

Both Ala'a and Thuraya's families are scattered now; a few still inside of Iraq, some in Syria, others in diferent European countries. Those remaining in Iraq endure much hardship. Ala'a's brother was threatened and left his city because he worked in a bank that did business with Americans. One of Thuraya's brother-in-laws had been taken prisoner by both Iraqi police and then American forces. Both tortured him badly by electrocution and beatings. Now he is too weak from his injuries to travel but wants desperately to leave Iraq. Ala'a told us that the torture inflicted on this man under US detention was preferrable to that inflicted on him by the Iraqi police "..it was not as bad, no...but yes, the Americans used electrcity, too..." And, while Thuraya was still in Iraq, US forces entered her uncle's house while she was there and beat her teenage nephews in front of her. Another two teenage cousins were taken 3 months ago from outside their home. They disappeared and are assumed killed. Their older brother was killed a year ago by US military when he was inadvertantly caught in cross-fire between US troops and others.

Ala'a tells us that, when the US kills a civilian, the bodies are not released to the family for burial; they are taken to a hospital and held for three days, before the family must go to the hospital to retrieve their loved one's remains. This can put family members in danger because many of the hospitals are controlled, at least in part, by militia. If a family is of a different sect, retrieving their family member can be like walking into a lion's den and they can be murdered. Ala'a tells us that one of his friends had to pay the militia at a hospital $1000 in order to get his brother's body.

Laith was five years old and had to be taken to a hospital in Baghdad. He still talks incessently about seeing the bodies being carried into the hospital. His father tells us that the corpses were tied together in pairs, with gun shot wounds in all of their heads. Laith draws many pictures of the war and of blood. Ala'a tells us "He cannot forget"

Another of Ala'a's sons, Mohammed, who was 18 at the time, was kidnapped and beaten before he escaped. The threats became real and the risks too much for the family to consider staying in Iraq any longer.

Finally, in 2006, Ala'a and Thuraya left Baghdad for Jordan, having waited for the birth of their youngest before taking the harrowing journey. Baby Abdullah was only 20 days old. They first took land transport to the Jordanian border but, when they arrived there, they were told that their paperwork was "not good" and after spending three days on the border trying to get this cleared up, they returned to Baghdad for a second and successful attempt made by air.

They brought significant savings with them to Jordan but living expenses, school tuition, and medical bills have wiped it out completely. Now they are destitute and waiting anxiously for resettlement.

Ala'a has been accepted for resettlement to the US but he has been told that he must make a dificult decision first. This choice has him and his family reeling and in held suspended animation: Because Ala'a has two wives and two families (not uncommon in the Arab world) and US law dictates that he can have only one spouse, he must choose one wife, one family to remain married to and divorce the other. He loves both families equally and he cannot bring himself to determine which to abandon. He is obviously torn in two over this.

Although I cannot see myself agreeing to be in a marriage with another wife, I also know that it is not my place as a guest in this culture to bring my own preferences to the table in our work with Iraqis here. Our intent is to provide Iraqi refugees with what they need for their safety, survival and well-being without judgement and based only on their need. I see that Thuraya has no discomfort in their marriage arrangement and that she shares her husband's angst over this.

I suggest that he choose to divorce one and immigrate with that wife and their children to the US while the divorced wife apply for resettlement for her and their children. Then, once they are all in the US together, Ala'a might remarry the divorced wife in a religious marriage ceremony. But both Ala'a and Thuraya feel that the legal marriage is important. I tell them that there is no solution that I know of, that he can only be legally married to one woman at a time. Their distess is obvious. Thuraya thinks, if she is the one divorced, she may apply for immigration to Australia - perhaps Ala'a can visit her and their sons once he has a legal US passport...

Although it is reasonable to expect immigrants to follow US law no matter how that differs from their country of origin's, it would be humane for long established polygamous families with children to be allowed to immigrate to the same country, under the same resettlement visa so that children and their fathers are not torn from one another.

I have not met Ala'a's first wife and their children yet. Ala'a tells us that he had five children but one recently died of brain cancer. Desperate to save their son's life, they agreed to put him in the only hospital that would agree to give him surgery without having to pay the full amount in advance. Now he owes the hospital 9000 JD and he had to give his passport to the hospital until he pays this bill. They would not allow him to have his son's body until the passport was handed over to them.

They sold all of their furniture and anything of value to pay what they could on this bill and for their living expenses. The small monthly UNHCR cash grants provided to the two families are not enough to pay for their rent and food.

As we prepare to leave, Ala'a asks us, point blank, "So, what can you do for us?" And all we can offer is a box of staple foods. It is appreciated but this family, like every other Iraqi family I meet here, has more needs than we are capable of providing assistance for. I feel frustrated that we can only do so little. I understand that my frustration is only a tiny shadow of the frustration and worry that people here wake up to and endure every day, year after year.

There are no easy answers.

Laith draws a "dream house" where everything is ok

Visit to Nawal and her family - Feb 4

In late afternoon, Maha and I hired a taxi to take us the 20 kilometers out of Amman to Baqa'a to do a follow-up visit to our last Micro-Project recipient, Nawal and her 7 children. (see Current Micro-Projects on our web site to read about this family)

We left behind the crowded capital to open vistas and tawny mountains dotted with occasional clumps of trees. Now and then we'd pass a stand of colourful produce set up at the side of the busy highway. But the landscape flattened and became monochrome as we entered Baqa'a.

Baqa'a is the largest Palestinian refugee camp in Jordan, with a population of over 180,000. It is extremely impoverished and some Iraqi refugees have fled the higher cost of living in Amman to live here.

We park in the central area of town to wait for Nawal to meet us and direct us to her home. Around us, street commerce, pedestrians and cars all seem to occupy the same space. I am regreful that I do not have time to get out and explore this lively area.

Nawal arrives and joins us in the car to lead us through a maze of streets to her home. Maha points out that many walls along the way have "THIS IS PALESTINE" written on them in Arabic. We go down a road that is mostly auto repair garages and park in front of Nawal's home. It is no diferent from the others we have seen as we approached it: pitted and crumbling wall and splattered graffiti.

We enter to a room piled with huge plastic bags of diapers. Paint is peeling off of the walls and there are holes without glass for windows. Nawal explains that the diapers are all sizes, mixed together in the bags, she sorts them by size, attaches tape closures, and repackages them in sets in smaller sealed plastic bags to sell to merchants in town. Each large bag will bring her about 21JD - and then, after setting aside enough money to pay for another bag to replenish her stock, she will have made only about 5-6 JD in profit. I mention that this is a lot of work for such small proft but she explains that she sells the diapers only when she has sorted and repackaged the entire room full so that she receives a relatively large amount of money all at once. She then purchases another lot of diapers so that her business continues. It is painstaking, time-consuming work and I admire her tenacity - especially since she does this while caring for her large family.

The children are shy. Some peek from behind the curtained door briefly and others hurry through the room we are in. Only 13 year old Mariam sticks around and teases me by sneaking up behind me and poking at me gently. Her older sister, Asma, joins us long enough for a photo and then, Ali - age 11, ventures out. Nawal tells us that the two older girls have left school. Mariam, at age 13, is only in the 5th grade.

I ask if I can see the rest of their home. We enter the curtain to the single room that appears to be both living and sleeping space for this family of 9. The ceiling looks higher than the length of it's walls. The two youngest are asleep on mats on the floor, nestled in blankets. I hear a giggle and look up to see 6 year old Ahmed perched high on top of a tower of foam mats that are stacked on top of the tall wardrobe. The ceiling is falling away in strips over his head but he smiles mischieviously and we all laugh, telling him that he is a strange little "bird".

I am stunned at the degree of poverty this family lives in and I wonder about the cold winter nights in this house with open window spaces. I hope their lives improve with their Micro-Project and, seeing how Nawal keeps her family clean and cared for in these trying circumstances; I know she has the determination and tenacity to make it work the best that she can.

"We thank God every day"

Ali looks tired - worn down by his troubles. He looks quietly desperate, too. It is easy to understand why.

Ali, his wife and their 2 youngest children fled Iraq in 2005 when Iranian Shia militia threatened them with death if they did not leave their government-owned rental house. Ali and his family are Sunna. With the borders to Iran unprotected after the US invasion, the south where Basra lies - already with a large percentage of Shia sympathetic to Iran - became even more so. Ali tells us that, before the invasion, there were many Shia and Sunna living side-by-side with no problems between them but now, the Iranian Shia are the problem.

Ali was an ambulance driver in Iraq. He has not worked since he entered Jordan. They receive a monthly cash grant from UNHCR of 170JD. Their rent for a one-room apartment is 65JD. This is one of the very lowest rent catagories and I can guess the appalling condition of their apartment by others I have seen that rent at this rate. Ali, his wife and three children - Mustafa (16), Sumyah (8 years), and 2 year old Omar all live in this one room.

Sumyah attends school but Mustafa only attended three months of school this year because, once an Iraqi refugee child reaches age 16, he is ineligible to attend free public school here. Instead, he now works 7 days a week, 8 hours a day at a small market. His wages are 25 JD per week. He looks much younger than his age and it is hard to imagine that this young boy carries such a burden.

But Ali is here because he is desperate that his daughter get medical help. He tells us that she has "Wolf infection" and shows us scanned copies of photos of her. Since giving birth to her first child 4 months ago her health has rapidly degenerated. Huge patches of her hair is falling out, she is weak and dizzy. Sometimes she bleeds from her mouth. He said that this may damage her liver, cause heart problems and brain damage. Ali tells us that the doctors in Basra say they cannot treat her and there is no cure. Now, he said, she called today to tell him that she has a tumor in her mouth.

Ali looks worried and mentions the high number of cancers in Basra since the use of Depleted Uranium in weaponry by the US - first during the Gulf War and then again, in the invasion.

Ali was able to procure a visa for Zaineb and her husband to come to Jordan to seek treatment and they will stay in Ali's already crowded home while they are here.

He hopes that his daughter's life can be saved. He promises he will bring her to meet us and we promise to try to help - insha'allah (God willing) - if we can.

"I found myself beating my children because they were crying about being cold"

Maha received a lengthy text message last night from Neda, a mother of three living in Salt, a town just outside of Amman. She apologized for having to ask but said that her family had no heater and that she lost control and beat her children when they cried because they were cold. She feels horrible for losing control. She wondered, "Is there any way you can help me?"

So, while Maha and I were at the market today picking up the food relief boxes, we bought Neda's family a propane heater. After unloading the food boxes at Maha's, we took the long taxi ride out to Salt to deliver it to Neda.

The drive to Salt was a lovely reprieve from Amman. Amman has few trees but the road to Salt was mountainous and forrested in areas. The views were stunning. Just before we enter Salt, the taxi driver points out the area that is an exclusive community for members of the Jordanian royal family. Anyone wishing to build a home in this area must first receive permission. But, as we drive deeper into Salt, the road narrows and the shops that line them are shabby.

The roads wind up along a high hillside. Maha is on her cell phone with Neda, getting directions for the driver and he drives down a narrow lane, stopping when we need Neda and her two youngest children standing at the side of the road waiting for us.




We follow a trail up the hillside, past ancient buildings that are in poor repair but are homes for those who live in this impoverished area. Neda and her children carry the heater almost until we reach their home and a neighbor man offers to take it the rest of the way.

The kids run off to play in the last daylight while Maha and I drink coffee Neda serves us and discuss her family's situation.


Neda, her husband and children came to Jordan in 2001. They were both secondary teachers at a prestigious school in Mosul, Iraq, but sanctions had reduced their wages to only $2 for each of them per month. Neda said "We could not even afford to buy socks." So first her husband came to Jordan with Neda and the children following soon afterwards.

At first, things were better. In those times, before the US invasion and the exodus of Iraqis to Jordan, Iraqis were welcomed here and Neda's husband's employer was able to successfully apply for him to get Jordanian residency. So he is able to work legally. He is under-employed, working as a laborer in a furniture-making shop. His wages are 75 JD per month - only enough to pay their rent of 70JD. Neda worked for a few months as a paid volunteer with an aid organization but this was a temporary job and she was laid off. Their furniture was provided by the generosity of neighbors. Neda's mother sends a little money to help out but most of the time they struggle to make it month-to-month.

She is proud of her children, telling us that all three attend school, walking down the mountain to attend and then up at the end of the day every day.


Neda returned to Mosul three months ago in hope of getting her teaching position back but she had been away for too long and her file had been deleted from the Ministry of Education there.
She said that things in Mosul are very bad now: there is no water, no electricity, no heating fuel. Prices are high and income is low. The infrastructure is in shambles because, as it deteriorates, no repairs are done. She said, "The people are sad and tired."


She then shows us through their simple home - the one bedroom shared by the entire family, the tiny kitchen. Neda proudly shows us framed photos of her chidren.

Maha points to a photo on a high shelf. It is Neda when she was a teacher. Her face unlined and smiling, unlike her face now, lined with worry and dark around her eyes.


The view from her living room is stunning but the mountain air is even colder than that in chilly Amman. We take heart knowing that the family will be warmer now because of your generosity.

February: CRP will deliver food assistance packages to needy Iraqi families

Yesterday Maha and I went to a large supermarket that has discounted prices and chose the selection of items that we will include in the staple food relief boxes we will deliver to 50 Iraqi families this month. We chose: rice, pastas, powdered milk, oil, canned meats, cheese, canned vegetables, sugar and tea. We made arrangements with the market for them to put together the 50 boxes in two sizes - one for small families and another for larger ones. The larger boxes cost $30; for smaller families the cost is $17.

Today we went to the market to pay for the boxes and watched as the clerks loaded them onto a truck and delivered them to us.

Now Maha's kitchen, jokingly called "Maha Mall" because at least half of it usually is filled with bags and boxes of good used clothing for Iraqi refugees, is "Maha Market"with the food assistance boxes stacked along one wall.

Tomorrow we will begin distribution to needy families.

Late in summer 2008, UNHCR stopped providing food assistance and instead, slightly raised the monthly cash slightly - less than 5JD (under $7) per person in the household. This increase is meant to pay for food in leiu food assistance. The cash increase is not adequate to provide good nutrition for families - especially since cost of goods have risen this past year as they have globally. In addition, a family crisis such as a health emergency or high utility bill can devastate the meager budget of a family, leaving them with no money to pay for food.

We also be purchasing infant formula to distribute this month. Many mothers cannot breastfeed because stress and anxiety interfere with their ability to produce enough milk to feed their infants. The cost of formula to feed one baby for one month is an astounding $70 per month! Of course, this is beyond the ability of most families and children risk poor nutrition as the mothers may water down formula to make it go further.

The need for this assistance is overwhelming. We hope you will consider making a contribution of any amount to help us to feed more hungry families. Your contributions are fully tax deductible.

To donate go to: www.collateralrepairproject.org/Donate.html

If they can't afford water, how can they pay for prescriptions?

Maha and I will begin distributing food packages to families in February. But today, on the last day of January, we are waiting for a man to call us with price estimates for him to put together ration packages of staple foods at a better price than we can get at the marketplace. So, today, I accompanied Maha to visit Muna who requested assistance in paying for prescription medications for the 9 year old daughter, Noura. Maha, in addition to coordinating CRP projects also collects funds from wealthy Iraqi donors in Amman and uses these funds to pay for medical treatments and prescriptions.

Muna is divorced and of her three children, only Noura lives with her. Her two other children – a son and a daughter – live with her ex-husband in Iraq. Muna also is responsible for three of her nieces and nephews who are orphaned. Muna’s nieces and nephew’s father was a policeman in Iraq and killed by a suicide bombing. The children’s mother was traveling between Najaf and Karballa and disappeared. Nothing has been heard from her since and she is assumed dead One of her nieces is divorced and has two small children. Her husband returned to Iraq six months ago because he wanted to work to support his family and found it impossible in Jordan. There has been no word of him since he left.

Nine year old Noura shows us the scars from her last surgery. Her first surgery was paid for by an large aid organization; the second was partially paid for by another organization but Muna had to spend all of the funds she received from the family’s UNHCR monthly cash grant to pay the remainder of the cost. She has no more money.

Noura has a mass of benign tumors throughout her body. Her liver is also compromised. She retains excess liquid in her abdomen. This much we could discern from her mother’s explanation and from pouring over the pile of lab reports and test results Muna brought to us. Much of it is in “medicaleese” and we shake our heads, trying to make sense of it all. All we know if that if she does not get these medications she is liable to get a post operative infection and one of the medications prescribed will help diffuse the fluid build-up which makes it difficult for Noura to sleep at night when it makes it hard for her to breathe.

The living room area we sit in has foam mats lining the walls for furniture. Muna explains that the only other assistance she has received from any organization are these mats; a neighbor provided them with the carpet. The room is clean and attractive because Muna keeps it orderly. Her niece, Ausus, brings in a tray of tea for us to share.

After our tea, we prepare to leave to go to the pharmacy with Muna to buy the prescriptions. First Muna shows us the rest of their apartment. The rooms are large and the cement walls and floor hold the winter chill. We see the one bedroom that Noura, her three cousins and two second cousins share. Then we take a look at the kitchen. One wall is covered with black mold from the dampness. There is no table, only a rickety counter with a sink and very few dishes. The walls lined with plastic containers of various sizes that hold water. Muna tells us that they only get water one day a week and fill the containers on that day for use for the rest of the week. If they run out, they beg water from neighbors to fill the containers.

Water to homes in Jordan is delivered by tank truck to tanks on the rooftops. The expense of getting a tank filled is more than many families can afford. The 15 Jordan Dinars (approximately $21) it costs to fill the tank is beyond Muna’s budget. Water for bathing is scarce and this is another compelling reason to purchase the antibiotics for Noura.

As we walk the narrow streets to the main road to get to the pharmacy, a horse-drawn wagon filled with fuel oil for space heaters passes us. I pull out my camera and the driver obligingly stops for me to take a few photos.

Amman is a city of contrasts; in many ways it is modern and cosmopolitan; but then, nestled on a vacant lot between modern buildings, it is not uncommon to find a few Bedouin tents and a small flock of sheep and perhaps a donkey or horse, too. In this city of merging populations and rapid modernization, the old exists alongside the new in surprising compatibility. Although Amman does not have the beauty of Damascus or Istanbul, it has its charm. But it is unwelcoming and cold for those forced to live here as non-persons and in deep poverty.

I just want to go home...

Last evening, after spending the afternoon with a large group of Iraqi friends at a picnic, Maha and I accompanied one of the families to look at some empty apartments. I have just rented a flat and had looked at these apartments while on my own quest for a home here.

Right now, this large family - mother, two adult sons, one of the son's wife and their children - two year old twins and a ten month old - are living in a small, two bedroom flat in a slum area of Amman. The married son, his wife and children all sleep, piled on top of one another in one room. As the children are growing, they have outgrown the apartment. They are desperate for a bigger space.

This family is luckier than many others here; two of the adults work as "paid volunteers" for a relief agency so their income, although substandard and insufficient to meet the families needs, is larger than the majority of Iraqis here who must rely on the excruciatingly small income provided by UNHCR's monthly grants. Their current rent is a little over $200 per month and they have determined that they can spend up to $300 for a larger place. They need at least one more bedroom or perhaps two small flats close to each other in the same building.

I stay in the car with the young wife and the sleeping babies while her husband, mother-in-law and brother-in-law go into the building to see the flats. While we wait, we talk in quiet tones so as to not wake the babies.

"Haleema" asks me about the flats: How many rooms? What size? Is there a garden (yard) or balcony so that the children can play outside? All of my answers are negative - the flats I looked at each have one bedroom and the rooms are small. They do not have balconies and there are no gardens. They are better off, for now, in the flat they are in.

Her disappointment is palatable. She is always exhausted from running after the twins, caring for the youngest, cooking and cleaning. These few moments we have to talk with one another are a rarity, only made possible because the children are miraculously all asleep at the same time.

She looks wistful and asks me "You have been to Baghdad?" I nod, "Yes - before the war". Haleema reminds me. "The houses all have gardens - every one! At my parents house, we had a big garden I would play in. When I married and moved in with my husband's family, we shared their big house. My husband and I had the entire upper floor and I could go into the garden any time. Now...", she hesitates, "Now you see how it is. My children have no place to play...I just want to go home." Her voice caught as she finished,"Please God, I just want to go home".

Many, many of the Iraqi refugees in Amman were the former middle class of Iraq. Well educated, with successful professional careers. Although sanctions devastated Iraq's economy and wages were pitifully low compared to pre-sanctions, they lived relatively well. Many had lived fairly opulently before sanctions and they kept their homes and possessions through sanctions. Although times were hard, they were surrounded by the promise of a better future that their past reminded them of.

Now, destitute in Jordan, most having lost their homes and possessions in Iraq when they fled, without the ability to work legally, they do not know how to cope. It is not that they do not try - they do; they have learned to rely on handouts for survival. They live in substandard housing and their diets are limited and marginally nutritious. But they are easily devastated by an unexpected expense - such as a medical crisis or even the high cost of a winter utility bill. In this they are no different than those who have always been impoverished. But there is a difference.

Those who have always lived in poverty have honed skills and relationships that help them to cope and survive. They tend to live in parts of the city that have a high concentration of the chronically poor. They have a strong support base of others and it is common that people of the community share resources. Aid organizations tend to locate in these areas, making access to them easier. News of new assistance projects and relief programs travels quickly through the community grapevine.

But for those unaccustomed to destitution, coping can be more of a challenge. They tend to live in isolation from others in their situation. They are not practiced in seeking out or even knowing what assistance programs exist. They find it hard to ask for charity - especially when many of them had generously given to charities themselves when they were in better circumstances. They have to learn how to shop in areas of the city that they are not familiar with. And sometimes we have heard that families applying for assistance have been denied; they are told they are "dressed too nicely" so they must not be needy when they wear the clothing they brought with them when they fled Iraq. In many ways, the former middle class of Iraq now suffer from their destitution more than the habitually impoverished.

But for all Iraqis, life in Jordan is hard and, in addition to the struggle to put food on the table or to pay rent, there are the other losses:a room big enough for everyone, a garden for the children to play in...a place that is truly "home".

Children Without Much Hope for a Future

We were invited to visit a family of 6 living in Al Joffa neighborhood of Amman – a very impoverished area with many Iraqis. They live in a simple 3 room house – living room, a bedroom shared by the entire family of 6, and a kitchen area. Before they moved in to this home, it was a barn housing livestock. Despite their poverty, they were very generously warm in their hospitality – like all other Iraqis I have met, sharing a lovely meal with us.

This family consists of Nadia, her daughter, Thukra. Thukra’s husband, Ali and their three children: Mustafa (age 15),

Sara (age 10)

and the youngest, Mohammed, age 4.

The eldest two children are from Thukra’s first marriage. The eldest, Mustafa, is a quiet boy, gentle and polite; a sparse, newly acquired mustache adorns his upper lip. Sara has a sweet roundmoon face, framed by thick wavy hair.

Thikra was married in Baghdad to a Palestinian who came to Iraq in 1989 from Egypt. They married in 1992. They divorced but he visited his children often. In 2003, Thukra’s husband disappeared and she worried that he had been executed by militia.
In June 2004, three masked men forced their way into Thukra’s home and threatened Thukra, hitting her, shoving her to the ground, and giving her two days to leave Baghdad or she and her children would be killed. Why? Because the two older children are considered “Palestinian” because of their father’s nationality, even though they were born in Iraq.

Even before the invasion, many Iraqis resented Palestinians because Saddam gave them many benefits that Iraqi citizens were deprived of. After the invasion, Palestinians in Iraq who previously had enjoyed the special protection and privileges under the sovereign government of Iraq, were harassed and persecuted by militias because, when the US invaded and rendered the police and military useless, the rule of law was destroyed. Resentments could be acted on with impunity. Gangs formed with many agendas. Palestinians and their offspring were only some of those targeted. To this day, Palestinians in Iraq are not safe.

After being threatened, Thukra took her family and stayed the night at the home of a neighbor. Early the next morning, she went to her aunt and uncle’s house. Thukra’s mother, Nadia, sent them money so that Thukra’s uncle could bribe an official to get passports quickly. They fled to Jordan within a few days.

On entering Jordan, Thukra was given a 3 month visa while her two children were only given transit visas for 72 hours (a transit visa allows one to enter a country for a short period of time on their way to go to another country) because they only had their documents showing their father was a Palestinian from Egypt. Even though the children had never lived in Egypt, they have a form of residency permit for Egypt because of their father’s status there. The reason they were given a transit visa instead of a temporary one is because Jordan does not make it easy for Palestinians to enter. Since the children have these Egyptian papers, they are expected to reside in Egypt.

Although Palestinians are 80% of the population of Jordan – or perhaps because they are the majority of the population of this resource and water-deprived country are Palestinian refugees – Jordan controls entry to those who may want to settle here and put more strain on its limited resources. Usually, Palestinians in transit are held at the border until they can complete their travels to the third country but, because these are minor children, accompanied by their Iraqi mother, they were allowed to enter with her. Technically, they have been in Jordan illegally beginning three days after their entry here.

Thukra and her family moved in with her mother, Nadia. Nadia – a registered nurse – came to Jordan in the 1990s on a 6 month visa because, at that time, Iraq was under the brutal sanctions that devastated its economy – along with killing over 500,000 of its children. Nadia worked as a private nurse in Jordan on her temporary visa in order to send money t o support her family left behind in Iraq.

Later, in 2006, Thukra found out that her husband had actually fled from the threats in Iraq back to Egypt because he had distant relatives there. It is assumed that he had not gotten in contact with her or the kids because he feared that his life would not be safe in Egypt either. Thukra was informed that he had died of a heart condition a short time after he arrived in Egypt. She then traveled to Egypt to obtain custody papers – granting her custody of her own children! Jordanian authorities insisted that first, before Thukra could have custody, any relative of her former husband should take custody. Luckily for Thukra, Mustafa and Sara, there were no living relatives in her ex-husband’s immediate family remaining in Egypt and she was granted custody.

In 2004, Thukra remarried an Iraqi man, Ali – a friend of her family from Baghdad. Ali received death threats because American service members visited the musical instrument shop he owned. He was also threatened, by sectarian militia, accused of being a “flute for Saddam” because he his father was the only news commentator to accompany Saddam on his trip to Mecca – meaning that Saddam trusted him very much. Also, in the lead-up to the US invasion, his reports had given the government’s slant. When he ignored these threats, he was gunned down one day as he crossed the road in front of his shop. Lucky for Ali, his assailant was a poor shot and he only received a bullet to his leg. He got the message loud and clear though. He rushed from Iraq, leaving the hospital before he’d recovered because it is common for militia to enter hospitals to finish off any botched jobs and assassinate victims helpless to escape while ill or injured.

Thukra and Ali now have a young son together, Mohammed.
life has not been easy for them. Of course, they have over-stayed their visas because they cannot return to the threats that remain in Iraq and because no other country will accept them. This has had even more devastating effect on Mustafa and Sara than on other Iraqi refugee children. Because of their paternal “nationality” they cannot get UNHCR registration for Mustafa and Sara – this prevents them from receiving the small monthly cash grant given by UNHCR for Iraqi refugees. And, even more devastating for this family, these two children are not allowed to attend school.
Thukra approached many schools – both public and private – begging that her children be allowed to attend. She has been denied by all but one private school. The headmaster, for a hefty fee that this family cannot afford, “does them the favor” of allowing the two kids to audit classes. They attend class like all other students, take tests, but are not given any record of their attendance or grades. Thukra scrapes these fees together, the family doing without, because she knows that without an education – even one that is unrecorded – they will have no future.

But, if they stay in Jordan, these two children will have no opportunities and be forced to live in the shadows more so than other Iraqi children. All Iraqi refugees without legal residency status cannot work legally. Those with formal education and skilled professions cannot work here. But, at least now Iraqi children are allowed to attend school and have recorded grades so that they will be prepared to continue their educations and to have careers if they are resettled in a third country or if Iraq becomes safe enough for an eventual return.

Mustafa and Sara’s futures are bleak – as Iraqis, their country will not accept them, as “Palestinians” in Jordan, they are not only non-residents here but they are also” non-persons” for no crime other than having a father of Palestinian descent. Their only hope for any kind of a future is if they are resettled in another country.

Only a very small percentage of Iraqis are selected to immigrate of the two and a half million displaced in Jordan, Syria and internally displaced inside Iraq. This family’s chances of resettlement are very slim.
Mustafa and Sara’s old passports from Iraq now have CANCELED stamped over their photos in it. It is hard for me to look into their bright eyes and to imagine that the light in them may eventually be dimmed as more and more doors slam shut in their faces, their right to full lives canceled at such a young age.

from Japan...........

We thank freelance translator and journalist, Kimberly Hughs - US citizen who lives and works in Japan - for her recent article in Kyoto Journal about Iraqi refugees in Jordan and CRP's efforts. Kim also wrote to tell us that Peace Not War Japan held a benefit concert last week and that CRP was priviledged to be chosen as one of four organizations to receive the proceeds from the concert.

We are very pleased to join together in international cooperation with Japanese activists to bring relief to Iraqi refugees in Jordan!

Thank you Peace Not War -Japan and Kimberly Hughs!

Japanese activist and humanitarian worker Nahoko Takato , who is a strong supporter of CRP as well as providing assistance to Iraqis inside of their country has arrived in Amman. She will be with us for 9 days. CRP is privileged to have her support and, through her, to unify with Japan in efforts to alleviate some of the suffering of Iraqi refugees in Jordan.

Today, Nahoko, Sasha, and Manal will visit some of the families who have received CRP micro-projects.

And then.........

Diana in Seattle hosted a Presidential Debate Night benefit party for CRP last Friday. This small group of compassionate people dug deep and gave big - contributing over $2000 to enable more Iraqi families to be able to provide for their families!

Today Manal and I met Kareema downtown to purchase an industrial sewing machine for her micro-project. She had arrived at the sewing machine shop much earlier than our appointment, eager to begin working. She has contracts with shops in her neighborhood who are waiting for her wares. Despite being old enough to have teenage children, her grin resembled a child's on Christmas when she saw her new sewing machine. PHOTO SOON

I think her words express the gratitude of all of us in the CRP Team as well:

'I thank you from my head, my mouth and from every corner within me!'

--------------------
Then this heartwarming email came in from Karen, a long-time CRP supporter who, with CODEPINK Seattle, organized a benefit for CRP in August. She had also attended Diana's benefit:

After attending Diana's amazing event, I was so moved by the willingness of a small group to do what they could on behalf of the Iraqi people. I gave what I could including the dollars in my wallet.

So when I stopped for coffee this morning---I was counting out my change to see what I could afford, mentioning that I had given my money away at a fundraiser for Iraqi refugees. The man behind me offered to buy my coffee. I told him that's ok, but he insisted.

So I told him more about the project, by way of thanking him and he, without hesitation, handed me $20. The heart of America is with the Iraqi people--when we let them know.

While we continue to do what we can to end the war & occupation. We can on a daily basis do something to help individuals devastated by what is being done in Iraq

Thank you, Seattle, and to all of our other wonderful donors!

Hard Wind in Amman

Nights in Amman are usually still; the heat of day lingering long enough that I use my fan to stir the air. But tonight a forceful wind intermittently moans and then whispers malevolently, rattling the summer parched fronds of the two palms outside of my windows. I slide the windows shut to keep out the inevitable desert dust but I cannot shut them tight enough to block out this distressful dirge. It seems an apt sound-track for my thoughts as I try to put them in order so I can share them with you.

I do not know where to begin - which family's story is the most compelling. Every day that Manal and I go out to visit several families, I come home with a head full of tragic stories and my heart aching. There isn't a home we visit that doesn't have a heap of needs - many of them at crisis point.

Most families that have been receiving a monthly cash grant are reporting that they have not received their grants for the past two months. They have not been told why and, when they ask when they can expect to receive them, they are told to wait, do not call, they will receive a message when their grants are available. These small grants are the only income for most; it pays their rent and puts food on the table. Most do not have savings or other means of taking care of these vital needs. Some are borrowing from friends and neighbors. But loans are piling up quickly and, unless the grants are released soon and include back months, these families will be destitute, with large personal debts that will not be able to repay.

As it is Ramadan, the usual Muslim generosity to those who are in need increases dramatically. Our Amman Team leader, Maha spends her evenings - until late hours, distributing food boxes to hundreds of families from her home. These are made available through donations from the Arab community. For many, this is the only thing that is putting food on Iraqi tables now. I wonder what will happen when Ramadan and Eid (the celebration at the end of Ramadan) ends if the cash grants do not arrive. I know I will find out when people come to us to help.

This week we spent a few hours with a past recipient of a micro-project. I will not share their names with you because of security concerns for this family if they are identified. I will call them "Abu and Um H" and tell you of their current situation because, of all of those we have visited recently, their needs are weighing most heavily on me tonight.

This is a young couple with two small children, the youngest born 3 months premature and with a plethora of physical challenges. She seems to be improving and now, at age 2, she is finally uttering her first words. The parents attribute this to the powered milk containing vitamin supplements she's been drinking for the past few months - in fact, she is refusing all other food and only wants the milk. At the hefty price of 12JD (nearly $20) a bag, they are not sure how they will continue to get it for her.

The couple is expecting another child in February. When I asked if Um H was pregnant, she nodded affirmation then rushed to inform me, "It was an accident!" Their circumstances are precarious. This is no time to welcome another child into their lives when they are worrying about how to care for their others.

This is the first family I have met that followed the Jordanian government's mandate to register and, as incentive, to pay only half of their fines for overstaying their visa. My concerns about the possible repercussions Iraqis who registered might face were validated when they told us of their experience.

(read about this mandate HERE - scroll down to about mid-page )

This mandate was annojunced when they were in better circumstances; Abu H was working under the table at a local shop, being paid substandard wages for long hours but, with their small cash grant, the extra income allowed them to move out of a nearby grim apartment into a larger one on a fenced roof-top where the children could go outside and play. The couple was able to set aside a small savings by being frugal.

Wanting to honor the law and hoping to gain at least temporary legal status, Abu H paid the fine and was given a three month visa. He was told to return at the end of this period to pay any accrued fees and re-register. He did and was then given another visa - this one valid for only two months. When he then returned to renew it, this time he was given a visa valid for only one month - and a printed form that stated at that, at the end of that month, the family must return to Iraq!

This month is well over now and they cannot return to their country. It would be suicide. Now they are in violation of the mandate. If they stopped in a routine check or even injured in an accident and their passports are examined, they will be deported immediately. If Abu H is caught alone, he will be returned to Iraq, leaving his family alone to fend for themselves. Every venture outside of their home is accompanied by ruthless anxiety.

An informant told Jordanian security about his illegal work and his workplace was raided twice in an effort to catch him. He escaped out a side door both times but, because employers caught hiring undocumented workers are heavily fined, he was told not to return after the second raid.

About this time the family's monthly cash grant was reduced significantly (no reason given). And, as with many others, has not arrived at all this month.

Now their landlord has told them that they must move at the beginning of October; a relative is marrying and wants the apartment. Their few belongings are in boxes, lining one wall, ready to be moved. The problem is, they have nowhere to move to. There is no money coming in and what they had is diminishing rapidly by buying food and their daughter's milk.

Abu H scours the rental section of the paper, almost obsessively. His two very young daughters, hearing their father talk about newspaper, brought some to Manal and me and laid them on our laps as if they are precious gifts. The children are too young to understand why but they already understand that these papers somehow hold the key to something vitally important.

Abu H becomes animated, leafing through the pages of the paper, showing us page after page of rentals and the price of even single rooms with no kitchen facilities are beyond their means. He tells us that he found one apartment with low rent but, when he met with the owner to sign the agreement, his distinctive Iraqi accent was the deal-breaker; the rent suddenly shot up astronomically. This is not unusual; unscrupulous landlords have taken advantage of Iraqis desperation and know they will pay whatever they can to gain the security of a place to live. Since the massive influx of Iraqis to Jordan, rental prices overall have shot up dramatically.

So now, with four days until they must vacate their apartment and, as of yet, no place for them to move to, they are frantic. This stress is worsening Abu H's condition. He suffers from acute depression.

He showed us his psychological evaluation. It states, in part: "the patient suffers from low mood...anger for the past six months...excessive nervousness...loss of interest in all life events...insomnia... despair...night terrors...loss of appetite...sad..feelings of worthlessness.."

He is not alone. After enduring the terrors of Iraq, the loss of everything they owned, living in the shadows fearing being sent back, unable to support their families - depression is common in Iraqi men.

CRP provided this family with the equipment to cook kubba so that they could sell it for extra income. The intent of our visit was to check in to assess how well their micro-project was working for them.

As Abu H pulled neatly packaged bags of the frozen product from their freezer to show us, he told us that they have not been able to sell it - local restaurants and shops want inspected goods; the neighbors in their area are not friendly to Iraqis. Now, with the added fear of deportation, they are reluctant to approach anyone in an effort to market it.

We suggest that it might be easier for them to sell their product and that they might also feel more secure if they move into an area of Amman that is heavily populated with other Iraqis. They will blend in better and be in a more supportive community. Several other families who received the same micro-project are doing well, selling to their neighbors and even local shops.

But this advice seems absurd given their situation. If only it was just choosing a better location! If only.

I leave sad and frustrated. This family has approached all of the major NGOs with their story and pleas for help. Several have told them they cannot help. Some others told them that they would "look into it and get back to you." None have. And now we've sat in their living room for hours, played with their children and listened as they opened themselves to us to tell us of their plight, hoping that we might help them - and there is nothing CRP can do either.

With the focus in the US on the elections and the economy, donations to our projects has slowed to a trickle. We are trying to adjust, to compensate by restructuring and downsizing CRP in hope that we can continue to provide assistance to Iraqis here, if in a reduced capacity.

I hand Abu H a ten JD note, telling him it is for "bus money, to look for an apartment." We tell them that they can get a box of food rations through Maha. It is all we can offer. I know it is too little.

So tonight I listen to the storm blowing outside from the security of this room with many windows. The night is a dark curtain behind them but I know the morning will open them with its light and bring renewed calm. There are many others in this city tonight who will waken tomorrow to a day as dark as this night. And we cannot help them.