On Getting to Know Our Neighbors

A few nights ago, my husband and I were discussing how the weather here in Jordan is about to hit sub-zero temperatures within the next week. We were lamenting about how cold our room was getting, and that we needed to turn up the radiant heat in the floors. Then, my husband started thinking about all of the people who had no homes to give them shelter from the cold; he asked if I had any more scarves, hats or other warm clothes I could part with to add to the bags he already had in the trunk of his car, waiting to be donated to refugees. We both started going through our closets and cupboards to see what else we could donate. 

It was about 8 p.m. by the time we finished collecting items and bundled ourselves up to go deliver the warm clothing. We decided to take them to a tent encampment located on a vacant lot just outside the perimeter of a big shopping mall near our home. My husband thought the people living there were from among Jordan’s gypsy population, but we weren’t sure. I had been there once before in the past year during the warmer months to donate clothing, so I knew right where to go. First, however, I asked my husband if we could stop by the grocery store to get some small milk boxes and cookies for the children there. We got two family-sized packages of chocolate cream-filled biscuits and twenty individual chocolate-milk boxes, and then headed off to the tent site. 

When we arrived, my husband told me to be a bit cautious, as some of the gypsies can be quite aggressive in asking for money or more assistance when people stop to help them. I had actually already seen this in previous situations where we had stopped to give cash; sometimes they will grab at one’s arms, pound on cars, shout, etc. To be better prepared, we had all the items to be donated in the car’s trunk, and he told me not to linger, that we should just say a quick ‘Hello’, donate the items and leave. We pulled our Jeep up alongside one of the tents and my husband honked the horn a few times then stepped out to call to the people living there. 

A very tentative woman in what appeared to be her early forties stepped out of the tent to see who was there, and my husband greeted her, motioning to her as he called out, “Tal!” which means, “Come!” She walked up the muddy hillside, arms crossing her body and shivering in the cold. My husband introduced us, and asked her name. She said she is Um Mohammad, or ‘the mother of Mohammad’, which indicates her eldest son is named Mohammad. In patrilineal Middle Eastern culture, a father and mother take the titles ‘Abu’ and ‘Um’ which mean ‘father’ and ‘mother’, followed by their eldest son’s name, unless they have only daughters, in which case they would use their eldest daughter’s name. A son who is born after daughters essentially bumps his eldest sister out of the way on the day of his birth, and from then on, his parents proudly claim their new titles bearing their son’s name.

Um Mohammad was quickly joined by a daughter, about eight or nine years old, and then another daughter who looked to be about sixteen. My husband asked her how many children she had. She said she had six, all under the age of the eldest girl standing next to her. The two girls took some of the bags to the tent while my husband and I continued to talk to Um Mohammad. She shared that she and her husband and children had fled Iraq during the last war, and that her husband had since passed away, leaving her to care for their six children. She was very kind, gentle, and gracious, and thanked us repeatedly. When we asked if there was anything else she could use, she emphatically said, “Blankets!” I told my husband to ask her if her children could read, thinking they could use some books, and she replied that they had been denied access to the public schools in Jordan. My husband explained to me later in the car that my question likely translated in her mind as “Do your children go to school?” She did say they would appreciate any books we could bring when I offered. I kept imagining how a mother and her six children occupy their time in a tent in the freezing cold with no cell phones, no televisions, no iPods or iPads, no magazines or books. The mother of a teen and a young adult myself, I kept thinking that this woman’s teenaged daughter should be in the prime of her life, discovering her beauty as a young woman, spending time with friends and excitedly planning her future, not living like this. In my own experience tent camping for leisure, I know how cold the nights and dawn hours can be, but I cannot fathom what they must be going through in the cold dampness, possibly dealing with hunger on top of all the other discomforts they face. I was reminded again how very comfortable my life is and how much I have to be grateful for, but more importantly, how much more I can be doing to help others in need. 

My husband and I went to have a bowl of soup afterwards and were discussing other ways we can help support this family, already feeling a personal connection to them. I know we cannot help every person in need, but I kept thinking that if each person would commit to helping one family or group of people on a regular basis, what a great difference it could make. Many are already doing this, or making regular charitable contributions to organizations that provide relief to the disadvantaged, which is commendable, but donations here and there to various groups seems somehow less sustainable to me, and less personal. Imagine the difference in the lives of Um Mohammad and her children if they knew they could expect regular visits from us, asking if we could help in any way, however small. Just the building of relationship alone is something all of us could benefit from; when we put a name to the faces we see, it becomes more real and we become less desensitized to the deplorable conditions in which others are forced to live.  We begin to recognize a bit of ourselves in others.

When we got home, I did some quick research on the Iraqi diaspora, curious about the circumstances that brought Um Mohammad and her family here. I learned that Jordan and Syria took in nearly 2 million Iraqi refugees, many of them poverty stricken Shiite Muslims, during the years 2003-2006 alone, the timeframe she said she and her family arrived in Jordan. During those years, tens of thousands of Iraqis crossed over Jordan’s borders monthly as ‘refugees’. Sadly, to complicate things further for the Iraqis seeking refuge, Jordan’s government classified them as ‘visitors’ rather than ‘refugees’. This classification denies them the same government assistance and benefits that those with refugee status are entitled to receive, including subsidized housing, food, medical care and the right to an education or a job. In addition to being displaced, Shiite Muslims from Iraq received a not-so-warm welcome from Jordan’s majority Sunni Muslim population and were often singled out. Some of these people likely had homes, jobs, and decent lives in Iraq, however humble. They had to leave all of that behind, though, just for a chance to survive. Picture yourself living under such conditions, or your family, friends or neighbors reduced to living in squalor through no fault of their own.  

Refugees and ‘visitors’, like Um Mohammad and her family, are stuck in limbo; they lack the ability and opportunity to improve their situations, at least not in the short term upon arrival to their host countries. They are rendered helpless, and must rely upon God and the handouts of others. For better or for worse, Jordan, like my home country, offers a safe harbor to so many in need, but it can only do so much. Complicated politics and religious tensions aside, the fallout from the countless conflicts and wars in this region has impacted individuals and families on all fronts: not only financially and materially, but emotionally, physically and spiritually as well. Enduring something of this magnitude would shake even the strongest spirit to its core. 

As we drove away, my husband and I both felt a cloud of sadness come over us that stayed with us the rest of the night and we couldn’t stop thinking about this family. We know they are only one family among hundreds of thousands who are homeless and living in poverty in Jordan. Many are denied the ability to work or attend school, so must resort to demeaning ways of earning income just to survive. The plight of Iraqi refugees is ‘old news’, though, with the more recent influx of Syrian refugees who are suffering horribly in over-crowded and under-supplied camps in other parts of Jordan. The number of people crying out for assistance has overwhelmed Jordan’s economy and it can’t keep up with their needs. Resentment has grown among Jordan’s own population as these refugees compete to find a way to rebuild their lives through various entrepreneurial pursuits. Outside aid is slow or inconsistent in coming. Global society, with its short attention span, is beginning to become apathetic to such humanitarian crises, feeling inundated with news about the status of refugees. Man cannot give up on his fellow human beings; we must each do whatever is in our power, capacity and means to lift up our brothers and sisters, and to let them know we have not given up on them.  We must stop focusing on the differences that exist between men, and instead start seeing the ways we are interconnected as human beings.

I encourage everyone reading this, wherever you reside in the world, to commit yourselves to making a personal difference in the life of someone in need. Give generously of your time, your talents, your energy, and most importantly, your love. No matter what your belief system, I think we can all agree that charitable acts are a worthy cause. During this blessed season where many of us remember Christ’s love and the sacrifices He made on our behalf, the highest praise we can give to Him is to show our love for His children on Earth. My wish is that we all share our love and generosity throughout this beautiful season and into the coming year until it becomes an essential part of who we are. It is through the more privileged, capable or fortunate that the downtrodden can rest assured that “God will provide.”