Amjad, the handsome 20-year old who has lived in the camp his entire life and has been my companion since arriving here, is from Gaza. His passport is Gazan, his extended family is in Gaza, he even lives in the 'Gazan' quarter of the camp. Politically, he is nonexistent, with no Syrian papers, just a card identifying him as a Palestinian refugee. He has never left Syria. On the plus side, he would encounter no problem in entering his place of origin. He can do so at any time. The only difficulty is that once in he cannot get out - the very definition of imprisonment, the only difference being that Gazans have an unlimited sentence and no conviction. As he recounts to me stories of discrimination and humiliation becuase of his origin, I begin to wonder - what is the difference between where we are going and where we are?
Is it the poverty, the bleaker-than-bleak life prospects, the political invisibility of its residents that made us choose Gaza? If so, then Gaza is by no means unique, even among the Palestinians. Right here in Latakia, and in camps in other part of Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and the West Bank are Palestinians whose situation is so dire that all the aid we are carrying, all 200 ambulances, lorries, vans and buses of it, would be a drop in the ocean.
Despite the poverty, I have never encountered people so eager to help in any way possible. Last night Wael, a 30 year old camp resident originally from Tantura, Palestine, practically begged me stay at his parents house in the camp, to which I reluctantly agreed. I needn't have hesitated - a night of tea, home-made biscuits and deep sleep in a waiting bed were enough to rejuvenate me for an early start this morning. I also discovered a golden rule - if you are ever lucky enough to be a guest in a Palestinian refugee camp, never, ever, complement your host on any of their possesions, as the said posession will invariably spend the next 10 minutes at the centre of a battle to force it onto you, a battle you are guaranteed to lose. The convoy will leave the camp with much more than it came with, and not just in materiallly.
What's more, they think WE are the heroes. With tears in their eyes they pray for and thank each one of us, whether we are Muslim, non-Muslim, British, American, South-Asian, Malaysian or Arab. They cheer us on in their hundreds, as if we are the valiant troops going to finally liberate their homeland, and they are the ones too cowardly to go. To be quite honest, it makes me feel ashamed. Ashamed that I am going, and they are staying.
In reality, it is the other way round. We are the ones who need them.
A'ideen (The Reurners) Refugee Camp sign
(Photo courtesy of Zuber Hatia)
This was a lovely read, madi. Keep writing regularly!
ReplyDeleteSalam, Very nice piece of writing, keep up the good work
ReplyDeletewell written piece, very moving, we are waiting for next one.
ReplyDeleteYes bro listen to what your mum says and write the next one quickly! That was the best one yet.
ReplyDeleteVery touching, bro. Any pictures?
ReplyDeleteYes Junaid, just added a picture supplied by a friend. The refugee camp sign says a lot - shoddy and battered but still standing.
ReplyDelete