 |
|
Out of stricken Baghdad, into uncertainty
With an estimated 2 million refugees seeking shelter abroad, officials in Jordan are straining to cope with the crisis.
from the February 16, 2007 edition
Page 2 of 3
Adjusting to life in limbo
It's getting close to noon on a recent chilly February day at the residency office in Amman, a place through which any foreigner seeking permission to stay in Jordan must pass. Mayada and Ali Hussein are leaving after a long morning in which they, along with hundreds of other Iraqis, sought help in extending their residency permits. Hundreds of thousands (numbers are difficult to pinpoint) are now in Jordan illegally, fearing expulsion.
"The residency office isn't giving us an answer. Not 'yes' and not 'no,' " says Mayada. She looks down at the notepad of the reporter who has come to speak to her and, seeing that her name was misheard as "May," she begins to well up with tears. May was the name of her sister, who was killed when Baghdad was under bombardment by the US military four years ago next month.
Her husband's face locks up, he looks away. So many people have it worse than they do, he says. They are the fortunate ones. They're out. They and the throngs of Iraqi couples walking up and down the hill, looking for solutions.
Jordanians imagine them to be rich. Some are comfortable, but more typical are people like the Obeidys, who were both longtime schoolteachers. She taught primary school, he taught math. He's supposed to be getting an Iraqi pension now. He can't work here, and their money is quickly disappearing.
"If they see you working illegally, they'll throw you out," Ali Hussein says. "We just want to assure our survival. I'm ready to pay to stay here, if they would let us."
"We're spending our savings and we don't know how long it will last," he says. "We don't blame the Jordanians – they don't have so much money. But why doesn't the world help the Jordanians so we can survive?"
When they arrived, Mayada went to the UNHCR and registered as a refugee. However, unless she can prove they are specifically targeted for violence, it's unlikely they'll meet the current standards for asylum here or in most Western countries.
She displays the card, which has yet to be of much use to the family, and shrugs. "Does America not know how terrible things are for us?" She asks the question with a quiet calm, as if genuinely unsure of whether people in the US are aware of the scale of the carnage in Iraq. "Why are we allowed to come only to Jordan and Syria? Our situation is just getting worse. If we go back, we will be killed."
In Baghdad they knew several other middle-class families whose children had been kidnapped. They were sure it would happen to them sooner or later.
Before leaving, they invited a poor family who'd been living in a slum to come and stay in their home. Few would pay rent for a home in Adamiyah. And if the Obeidys left the place empty, it would be sure to be taken over by squatters or militant groups.
So began the dynamics of becoming a reluctant refugee: handing over the keys to your house in the hope that one day, they'll be returned in peace. You make a choice: your belongings or your very being. When you leave this way, you really never know when you are coming home again.
RSS feed
