Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Bitter Tea
It astounds me that we've been in Amman for two weeks. Time passes both slowly and quickly here; it's hard to track it. The days are measured in faces and stories, one after the other, all different but too much the same also. Every family we meet tells us of incredible loss and grief; that is consistent. Most fled Iraq under threat of death and many had family members killed to give credibility to the threats and most left suddenly, without the time to pack much or even say goodbye to friends. They brought out only what would fit into a hurriedly packed suitcase.
Now, grateful to be living without the threat of eminent violence, they live under another threat - of complete destitution. A recent report cited that an estimated 80% of Iraqis in Jordan have used up all of their savings. A small percentage of the neediest of the needy receive a small monthly cash grant but it is insufficient against the high cost of living in Jordan and inflation. People are worrying about paying the rent on their shabby and small apartments, buying food for their children and paying their school fees, and those whose family members have chronic or severe medical conditions are frantic to find care and medications for their loved ones. Every home we visit has compelling needs and they beg us to help.
Many want us to help them immigrate out to a third country where they can begin to rebuild their lives. Many of those we talk to had worked for the Occupation forces and contractors or with other US-associated organizations and cannot ever return to Iraq because they are targeted for collaborating with the occupier. One man who had worked as a translator for high ranking US officials when they were in Baghdad said to us "I worked for them for 3 years; I risked and lost everything. Now what do they do for me? I am forgotten." Before the occupation he had a successful career in Iraqi media and a comfortable life. Now he, his wife and their two very small children live in a cramped one-room hovel and rely on charity of neighbors for rent and food. They applied for asylum to the US a year ago but there's been no movement on their case.
Another man - the husband of one of the women your contributions provided with a sewing machine that we delivered this week - had worked as an intelligence officer under the former regime. Since Bremer's "de-Baathification", he and others who worked in any capacity under Saddam face death if they return. He begged us to help him get to the US. It was dificult to have to tell him that he would probably not pass the security scrutiney that US immigration requires, but we could not leave him with false hope. He then begged us for help immigrating to any other country saying, "I am in a cage here, a jail. My life is stopped and has no future." Even though we tell people that we have no influence in these matters, they beg us anyway. As westerners with 'means', we are assumed to have more power and influence than we do. It is heartbreaking to say again and again that we will think of them if we discover any way that we might be able to help. We are sincere but not hopeful that we can ever offer this help.
We have also been visited past recipients of CRP's micro-projects. It is tremendous to finally meet the people whose stories we've put on the web site and whose faces we had only known from their photos until now.
We visited the sisters, Nadia and Badyia, who received a home salon micro-project from us. We were a bit surprised when we entered their home as, compared to many others, it was spacious and comfortable although not afluent. We found out that this was a temporary residence for them. They'd recently moved out from the one room apartment that Badyia shared with Nadia, her husband and their 9 year old son. The couple and their son had slept on the floor in the one room while Badyia had her thin mat on the floor of the hallway. Now they are staying for two months in the home of a relative but they must leave again when he marries soon. They showed us what belonged to them -- four thin foam mats for sleeping, blankets, some clothes and an old tv. When they move again this will be what they are able to take with them. They do not know how they will be able to afford to move into another flat. The sisters have been making some money from the salon as they have recruited some neighbors in the area of their temporary home as customers. They offer reduced rates for their haircuts and make-up over what the local salons offer. Now, when they must move, they will lose this customer base that has been so hard for them to build.
Nadia's son, Sakhar (which means "rock" in Arabic) comes into the room quietly and snuggles up to his mother. She kisses him on the top of his head gently. Sakhar's fingers and toes are blue. He has dark circles under his eyes and he rarely lifts the corners of his mouth in smile.
Now, grateful to be living without the threat of eminent violence, they live under another threat - of complete destitution. A recent report cited that an estimated 80% of Iraqis in Jordan have used up all of their savings. A small percentage of the neediest of the needy receive a small monthly cash grant but it is insufficient against the high cost of living in Jordan and inflation. People are worrying about paying the rent on their shabby and small apartments, buying food for their children and paying their school fees, and those whose family members have chronic or severe medical conditions are frantic to find care and medications for their loved ones. Every home we visit has compelling needs and they beg us to help.
Many want us to help them immigrate out to a third country where they can begin to rebuild their lives. Many of those we talk to had worked for the Occupation forces and contractors or with other US-associated organizations and cannot ever return to Iraq because they are targeted for collaborating with the occupier. One man who had worked as a translator for high ranking US officials when they were in Baghdad said to us "I worked for them for 3 years; I risked and lost everything. Now what do they do for me? I am forgotten." Before the occupation he had a successful career in Iraqi media and a comfortable life. Now he, his wife and their two very small children live in a cramped one-room hovel and rely on charity of neighbors for rent and food. They applied for asylum to the US a year ago but there's been no movement on their case.
Another man - the husband of one of the women your contributions provided with a sewing machine that we delivered this week - had worked as an intelligence officer under the former regime. Since Bremer's "de-Baathification", he and others who worked in any capacity under Saddam face death if they return. He begged us to help him get to the US. It was dificult to have to tell him that he would probably not pass the security scrutiney that US immigration requires, but we could not leave him with false hope. He then begged us for help immigrating to any other country saying, "I am in a cage here, a jail. My life is stopped and has no future." Even though we tell people that we have no influence in these matters, they beg us anyway. As westerners with 'means', we are assumed to have more power and influence than we do. It is heartbreaking to say again and again that we will think of them if we discover any way that we might be able to help. We are sincere but not hopeful that we can ever offer this help.
We have also been visited past recipients of CRP's micro-projects. It is tremendous to finally meet the people whose stories we've put on the web site and whose faces we had only known from their photos until now.
We visited the sisters, Nadia and Badyia, who received a home salon micro-project from us. We were a bit surprised when we entered their home as, compared to many others, it was spacious and comfortable although not afluent. We found out that this was a temporary residence for them. They'd recently moved out from the one room apartment that Badyia shared with Nadia, her husband and their 9 year old son. The couple and their son had slept on the floor in the one room while Badyia had her thin mat on the floor of the hallway. Now they are staying for two months in the home of a relative but they must leave again when he marries soon. They showed us what belonged to them -- four thin foam mats for sleeping, blankets, some clothes and an old tv. When they move again this will be what they are able to take with them. They do not know how they will be able to afford to move into another flat. The sisters have been making some money from the salon as they have recruited some neighbors in the area of their temporary home as customers. They offer reduced rates for their haircuts and make-up over what the local salons offer. Now, when they must move, they will lose this customer base that has been so hard for them to build.
Nadia's son, Sakhar (which means "rock" in Arabic) comes into the room quietly and snuggles up to his mother. She kisses him on the top of his head gently. Sakhar's fingers and toes are blue. He has dark circles under his eyes and he rarely lifts the corners of his mouth in smile.
Nadia tells us that he is her third child, the only surviving one - the last died in-utero, the second died when she was one and a half years old, and Sakhar has the same severe heart condition that the others died from. She shows us a photo-mug with images of her deceased daughter on it. She is a beautiful child with an engaging smile. Nadia would like to have more children but she fears that she will only lose them, too.She is desperate for medical care for her son; she does not want to lose him. He was examined and had extensive testing a year ago. She was told that there are no surgeons in the Middle East that are capable of performing the surgery her son needs - the only one capable is a surgeon in San Francisco. He might as well be on the moon and, even if she could get a flight there as she has no money to pay for this. She does not know what to do. She does not beg us nor even ask. She just quietly tells us their situation as she cuddles this boy whose life is so fragile. She does not cry but her eyes are bright with unshed tears; she smiles and offers us tea.
We give her the money to get a current examination for Sakhar and we take his medical report of last year with us to give to a friend here who is good pals with an Iraqi cardiologist. They said that they "will see what we can do" but if anything, it will have to be a lesser operation than he needs and paid for by Iraqi and other donors in the region. The Iraqi and Arab communities are quietly doing what they can, contributing for food deliveries and pitching in to pay for what critically needed surgeries that they can. But the need is greater than the resources from those who have given so much already.
Iraq's medical care was the best in the region and on par with the best of Europe's before the deadly US-imposed sanctions and then the final destruction of it with the invasion and violence of the occupation. Medical treatment was free. Now families here watch as their loved ones die from preventible diseases only because of lack of funding and because they are stateless. We feel such responsibility and yet there is so little we can do. We all need to do whatever we possibly can to alleviate some of the suffering that has been caused in our names. We must continue to insist on an end to this occupation so that Iraq can begin to heal and rebuild - Iraqis beg us. This we can do.
Sakhar goes into the kitchen and sits at the table, a mirror propped in front of him and his paint set laid out. He painstakingly paints his own face - first the bottom half to look like an Iraqi flag, then he continues to paint until his face loosely resembles the Spiderman that was on the colouring book that we brought to him.
He paints on a mask of courage and super-human strength but he is just a dear little boy whose body is tired and who will leave his mother's arms empty soon if a solution is not found.
Sometimes we visit Iraqi homes for tea and conversation and leave with life and death in our hands.
Friday, August 15, 2008
A small gift brings disprotionate gratitude
On Thursday we visited the family of Leqa’a and Kadhum and their 3 year old daughter Zaineb. Zaineb is a quiet and shy child with a mop of short-cropped, black curly hair, whose eyes seem to hold --or withhold -- memories she can neither express nor comprehend. She watched us intently throughout our visit.
The family lives in a poor neighborhood of Amman in a small, clean 3 room apartment furnished with 2nd hand furniture. Before leaving Iraq, Kadhum was a car dealer in Baghdad. Leqa’a was a housewife. They described life before the invasion as peaceful and their future secure.
The purpose of our visit was to deliver the sewing machine our donors had provided for her micro-project. When the machine was set out on a small table and the lid removed, Leqa’a sat before it, wordless and with an expression of almost reverence, as though this simple device represented the answer to a prayer and she was afraid even to touch it for fear it would not be true and would evaporate. Putting head in her hands and burst into tears.
The family has been through untold horrors. When Zaineb was just 1 ½ yrs old she was kidnapped by militia. They searched frantically for a week and then received a ransom demand, which they paid. Finally Zaineb was released to them and they discovered she had been badly tortured. They also learned that the kidnapper was Kadhum’s own cousin. Leqa’a’shusband’s leg was badly broken during the rescue of their daughter.
But the horror did not end there. Leqa’a also escaped from a separate kidnapping attempt and received a death threat. At that point they fled to Jordan, leaving everything behind. They have been ekeing out an existence since then on donations from CARE and neighbors.
Understandably, Zaineb suffers from hysteria from the emotional trauma she endured and, at such a young age, was unable to talk about. And now, Leqa’a has been diagnosed with throat cancer, for which she should undergo radiation treatment. She attributes the cancer to what she went through from her daughter’s kidnapping.
At the end of the visit we asked permission to take photos and it was only when we showed Zaineb photos of herself that she finally smiled and seemed to reveal a crack in her reserve.
On each of our visits it is hard not to feel a sense of embarrassment to offer what seems so little in relation to the need. We can only begin to conceive on a small and distant level the losses and terrors inflicted by our government. What we bring in response is paltry by comparison. And yet, it is received with such a gracious and heartfelt response.
These stories do not end. They are everywhere in this huge city. We do not touch the tip of the damages, human and material.
You can read Leqa’as story in her own words on our website HERE:
The family lives in a poor neighborhood of Amman in a small, clean 3 room apartment furnished with 2nd hand furniture. Before leaving Iraq, Kadhum was a car dealer in Baghdad. Leqa’a was a housewife. They described life before the invasion as peaceful and their future secure.
The purpose of our visit was to deliver the sewing machine our donors had provided for her micro-project. When the machine was set out on a small table and the lid removed, Leqa’a sat before it, wordless and with an expression of almost reverence, as though this simple device represented the answer to a prayer and she was afraid even to touch it for fear it would not be true and would evaporate. Putting head in her hands and burst into tears.
The family has been through untold horrors. When Zaineb was just 1 ½ yrs old she was kidnapped by militia. They searched frantically for a week and then received a ransom demand, which they paid. Finally Zaineb was released to them and they discovered she had been badly tortured. They also learned that the kidnapper was Kadhum’s own cousin. Leqa’a’shusband’s leg was badly broken during the rescue of their daughter.
But the horror did not end there. Leqa’a also escaped from a separate kidnapping attempt and received a death threat. At that point they fled to Jordan, leaving everything behind. They have been ekeing out an existence since then on donations from CARE and neighbors.
Understandably, Zaineb suffers from hysteria from the emotional trauma she endured and, at such a young age, was unable to talk about. And now, Leqa’a has been diagnosed with throat cancer, for which she should undergo radiation treatment. She attributes the cancer to what she went through from her daughter’s kidnapping.
At the end of the visit we asked permission to take photos and it was only when we showed Zaineb photos of herself that she finally smiled and seemed to reveal a crack in her reserve.
On each of our visits it is hard not to feel a sense of embarrassment to offer what seems so little in relation to the need. We can only begin to conceive on a small and distant level the losses and terrors inflicted by our government. What we bring in response is paltry by comparison. And yet, it is received with such a gracious and heartfelt response.
These stories do not end. They are everywhere in this huge city. We do not touch the tip of the damages, human and material.
You can read Leqa’as story in her own words on our website HERE:
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sometimes Hope is Not Enough
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Roof top view from Fatima's tiny apartmentFatima's was one of six households we visited in the last two days and, although each family's story was wrenching, each of the others have hope that their circumstances will improve and that a better life will be possible again. We could offer temporary assistance to them with micro-projects; they could look forward to eventually being accepted for immigration to a third country or imagine a future when a truly stable Iraq will welcome them home. Fatima's sorrows will not be that easy to sooth.
Fatima welcomed us into her dreary apartment and then ran downstairs to bring us cans of cold soda with typical Iraqi hospitality. She could not bring them cold from her refridgerator as it does not work and her landlord ignores her pleas to repair it. He knows that, as an Iraqi without legal residency, she cannot complain and has no legal recourse. He charges her an exhorbenant rent and made her pay a year in advance so now she cannot afford to move. The apartment came "furnished" with a few pieces of shabby furniture. Despite its dreariness, Fatima keeps a tidy house.
When she returned, she told us her story:
She has only one child - a daughter, Haneen, who is almost 16. Fatima is married but is assumed to be a widow. In 2006 Fatima's husband went out to get gas for their car and never returned. Fatima searched the hospitals, jails and morgues but it was as if he had disappeared. He was never heard from again and is assumed dead. Soon after her father's disappearance, then 14 year old Haneem began to have fainting spells. Her mother and doctors attributed this to the trauma of losing her father. But when her neck became severely swollen and the fainting spells increased in frequency, Fatima took her to a hospital in Baghdad for tests and had one tumor removed from her neck. Tests on it came back negative. Then the symptoms increased in severity and she had another series of tests at another hospital and was told that there had been an error made with the first tests and that Haneem has cancer. The doctors told Fatima that she must get Haneem out of the country for treatment as Iraq's hospital system is in shambles, incapable of providing adequate care. Terrified for her daughter, Fatima spirited her out of Iraq and within 2 days, they were in Amman.
Haneem was diagnosed in Amman with Hodgekins lymphoma.
Haneem was not there when we visited but she smiled widely from the studio
portrait that sits on top of their old television set.
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Mother and daughter photo in happier timesShe is recovering from her last 9 week round of chemo-therapy and too weak to climb the stairs to their apartment so she is staying temporarily with relatives in another part of Jordan. Fatima seems lost without her. We wonder if she will ever be able to return home as it is not only weakness that keeps her from reaching their home but her bones, brittle from long-term cordizone treatment and they break under moderate stress. Also one of her knees is swollen to over twice its normal size. We do not ask about this as sometimes there is already so much pain in what is told that it is kinder to leave some things unasked.
Before leaving Iraq, Fatima had collected thousands of dollars from friends and relatives for Haneem's care but the past year of treatments, tests and medications have exhausted these funds; there is nothing left; her former benefactors tell her that they have no more money to give her. There is no free cancer care for non-resident Iraqis in Jordan except for through the King Hussein Cancer Foundation's Iraqi Goodwill Fund. This fund is inadequate to cover but a few patients at a time and according to the information on their web site, there's a waiting list.
It is almost impossible for me to comprehend this -- that children are allowed to die because their parents have no money and they lack a piece of paper. The costs are astronomical - Haneem's past surgeries have left Fatima with a bill of over 30,000 Jordanian dinar ($43,000) She needs a battery of tests in a couple of weeks to assess the effectiveness of this last round of chemotherapy which will cost over 3000 JD; the monthly cost of her medications are over $1000. The chemotherapy alone is over $1000 per 9 week run of treatment.
We have no answers for her.
Haneem is despondant. Fatima said that her daughter has threatened to return to Iraq if they are not granted asylum within 2 months. She told her mother that then she could, at least, die "at home".
We know Fatima had hoped we would be able to offer her a solution. It feels ridiculous to be approached with a life and death dilemna and to respond with an offer of a micro-project. It is infuriating to know that saving her child's life is possible but that it is beyond our means.
I could not help but think of the trillions of dollars that are poured into the destruction of Iraq while children are dying from lack of medical care and families live in desititution. I cannot find the words to express my feelings. All I know is that this is, on a very basic and simple level, terribly terribly wrong.
We sat together and wept together, the five of us - not as "Iraqis" and "Americans" - but as five women who understand that every child is a precious gift to be cherished and protected. Our grief was not for just this one child whose life has a cost too high for us to pay, but for all of the children who are being sacrificed for the profit of a very few.
Fatima has decided that she would like to have salon supplies so that she can visit women in their homes to provide them with beauty treatments as she cannot expect them to climb to the top of her building.
We leave drained and promise to "do what we can". It feels like an empty promise and we are caught in the dilemna of whether offering her a thread of
hope is a kindness or cruelty. Is false hope better than no hope at all?
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We will soon have nine other stories on our web site of Iraqi refugees that need micro-projects, including Fatima's.
in peace & action,
Sasha
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Dear Friends of Collateral Repair Project
CRP co-directors, Sasha and Mary, will be blogging from the Middle East beginning August 5. We'll be there and writing to you from this blog for the next 3 months! We are thrilled to return and to once again be working directly with our wonderful and dedicated Amman Team members: Maha, Sanaa, Manal and Salwan.
We will visit many more Iraqi refugees in Amman and share their stories and photos with you here as well as giving you a closer look at the challenges they face while living in exile.
We'll also visit all of the past recipients of our micro-projects that you have funded to see how they are doing so that we can assess how well this project is improving their lives. We'll share the updates on these families you are already familiar with you here also.
We are excited to tell you that we will also be visiting Damascus, Syria during our time in the ME as we hope to expand our project to assist Iraqis there.
Please consider subscribing to this blog as it will be replacing our usual UPDATE while we are in the ME.
In peace & action - and always grateful for your support,
Sasha Crow & Mary Madsen - CRP co-directors
We will visit many more Iraqi refugees in Amman and share their stories and photos with you here as well as giving you a closer look at the challenges they face while living in exile.
We'll also visit all of the past recipients of our micro-projects that you have funded to see how they are doing so that we can assess how well this project is improving their lives. We'll share the updates on these families you are already familiar with you here also.
We are excited to tell you that we will also be visiting Damascus, Syria during our time in the ME as we hope to expand our project to assist Iraqis there.
Please consider subscribing to this blog as it will be replacing our usual UPDATE while we are in the ME.
In peace & action - and always grateful for your support,
Sasha Crow & Mary Madsen - CRP co-directors
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