07/20/2007

“Our savings are gone, my wife desperately needs medical attention, but no one is helping us.”
Aziz and his family have been threatened with eviction because he hasn’t been able to pay rent on their apartment in Beirut, Lebanon for the past two months. The whole family is without legal residency; his son, Saabir, manages to work illegally, washing dishes at a restaurant. “I earn US$200 – it’s the only money my family has. But our rent is $200 a month, and my mom needs urgent medical care. That costs $200 a month too.” Leena, Saabir’s mother, has breast cancer, which has weakened her so much that she can no longer get out of bed or walk on her own. Aziz must transport her to the hospital every 10 days for treatment.

Aziz and his family fled their home in Karbala, Iraq in August 2006 after Aziz was threatened twice because he was working as a police officer. They initially settled in Syria, but sought better medical services for Leena in Lebanon. And so in February 2007 Aziz paid $1,800 to a stranger who promised to transport his family to Beirut and arrange for their visas and residency permits. They made it safely, but were never given the documents they were promised. “He lied to us,” Aziz sighs, “and now this same man calls my home every day, demanding more money.” As Leena’s health deteriorates, all of the family’s savings have been depleted. They simply cannot afford the level of medical care that she needs, but assistance is unavailable, and the threat of eviction brings new fears and insecurity about the future.

“My son should have been in first grade this year, but instead he sits at home.”
Every morning at 8:00 am, Suha departs for her job at a small café in Amman, Jordan, leaving her seven-year-old son, Yasir, locked inside of their two-room apartment, alone. Suha and her son fled Iraq and came to Jordan with no friends, family, or resources. Suha works illegally, earning only US$140 a month, and acknowledges it’s a struggle to meet their basic needs: “My salary barely pays for our rent and food alone. How can I ever pay to send my son to school?” Private school is unaffordable, and without residency papers, Yasir cannot attend public school. “I have no choice here,” Suha says. She’s faced sexual harassment already from people who knew that she and her son were alone, and she is fearful for Yasir’s safety. So from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm every day, as she works, her only option is to lock him in the apartment by himself. Suha dreams that the day will come when he can go to school -- he should be in first grade now -- but at the moment his only education comes from the counting and alphabet charts that hang on the wall of their home.

“I wish I could return to school, but someone must support my family.”
Naa’il and his family fled the fighting in Baghdad in 2003 when he was 13. He enjoyed school while they were living in Iraq, but since arriving in Damascus, Syria, he hasn’t been able to attend. He is the only person supporting his family, and he has worked illegally at the same hotel since they first arrived. He’s 17 now, and earning less than his Syrian counterparts who are in the same job, bringing home about US$100 a month, as opposed to US$150 a month. “A friend of my boss threatened to have me fired because I am Iraqi, but I pleaded with my boss and he agreed not to fire me. He understood my family needs me to have this job,” says Naa’il.

His father, Ghani, has severe diabetes, and had to have his foot partially amputated because of gangrene. To help keep his foot free of further infection, they must regularly bathe it in clean water. “The water here is unclean. We have to buy clean drinking water from a vendor every morning,” Ghani told us. Naa’il’s grandmother, who is also living with the family, is disabled and unable to leave the house; Naa’il’s mother, Anna, is the only caretaker for her husband and mother. They are aware that Naa’il does have the ability to attend Syrian schools, but without his job, they have no means to support the family. “Who else will pay our rent? Who else will pay for water and food?” Anna asks. Her son must help the family, but his education opportunities are rapidly slipping away.

“I am suffering. . . I’m afraid to die alone.”
Alia is 77 years old and lives by herself in Amman. Originally from Baghdad, in 2005 she was threatened and robbed in her home; fearful of increasing violence, she fled from Baghdad to Jordan with her niece. Her daughters had already escaped Iraq with their husbands – one daughter went to Australia, but Alia doesn’t know where her other daughter is. Shortly after arriving, her niece abandoned her, unable to support both of them. Now Alia spends her days in her apartment, emotionally despondent, and wishing to be reunited with her daughter in Australia. “I don’t know many other Iraqis here in Jordan, and I have no one to support me or keep me company. My daughter has tried three times to bring me to live with her, but we’ve been denied every time,” Alia lamented. Her daughter is trying to support Alia, and she sends money to cover rent. But the US$90 that she pays every month for rent leaves her living precariously day-by-day. “I’m not expecting much in my life,” she says, “I just want to be reunited with my daughter.”