Blue eyes in Iraq!

So the last 17 days of my life have been some of the most hardcore days of my life and career! Starting with 5 days in my beloved Palestine where we cancelled our trip to Gaza and stayed in the West Bank because of two days of bombing from Israel in Rafah, where our village is. I was inundated with fabulous Palestinian hospitality and food.

After these five days I started the journey from Palestine to Iraq. This was a trip that I told very few about; my parents, my housemates, my cats but they seemed least concerned. Understandably I did not want people to worry unnecessarily.

As I sat in Istanbul airport on transit from Iraq to Morocco, I told my siblings this morning and my little brother asked if I was going to blog about it. I was not sure how to write about such an experience but thought that it might do my head some good to write about what I saw and heart.

So my driver takes me from Bethlehem to Israel to catch my flight. On the journey Elias tells me I should not fly to Iraq, it is dangerous there, some irony when you are leaving Palestine...

I arrive at Tel Aviv airport where I am registered as a level 6 threat to Israel; the highest threat level you can have, I start my interrogation.

'Where are you going?'

'My next stop is Istanbul.'

'Is that your final destination?'

'No, my final destination is Erbil.'

'Where is that?'

'Iraq.'

'…………(long pause) …….Is it not dangerous there?'

So after some hours of questions I board my plane for Istanbul. We were delayed, as I enter the airport they are announcing last call for my flight. I dash through the airport and make it onto my flight, just.

It is quite a surreal experience flying somewhere you have not been before; A country which has one of the worst reputations in the world; Going to a place where the front line with Da'esh (ISIS) is 40 kilometres away and the Syrian border is 50 kilometres away; Flying from a country who is at war with Kurds and landing in the Kurdistan region of Iraq. With no wine or any form of alcohol on the flight to distract I focus on a film- The Race- it is well worth watching and before you know it we begin our decent to Erbil airport. I do not know how other people who do this job cope but I just tell myself that if the worst happens life has been so fabulous so far.

As I enter the airport building there are people all over the place and I am trying to work out which queue I need to be in when an immigration office approaches me.

'Madame which county are you from? You have beautiful eye!'

Once it was established I was English this apparently warrants me to be able to use the diplomat’s entrance to Erbil with two Iraqi immigration stamps! I am not looking forward to explain that to immigration in the UK next time I am home.

We travel for 2.5 hours across Iraq on amazingly well made roads, not something I was expecting. A few check points later and we arrive in Duhuk.

There are 36 official camps for Internally Displaced People and Syrian refugees and many unofficial camps and people squatting in unfinished buildings. The scale of the situation is epic. An area of 40,000km accommodates this.

On 3rd August 2014 Da'esh attack The Sinjar Mountain range where the Yazidi community lived. Yazidi’s are a community which have their own culture and religion. They are a peaceful farming community who mainly lived in the Sinjar Mountains.

From 3^rd August, 5000 women and children were kidnapped and taken as slaves. Women over 40 were executed on the spot. Many men were also killed or kidnapped. Young boys were taken and trained as Da'esh fighters. Hundreds of mass graves have been found since and many 1000's of people are still missing.

When the attack happened on 3rd August, thousands of people fled their homes and villages and went up the mountain, many many people have told us of being on top of the mountain for 9 or ten days with no food or water, trying to work out what to do next. In absolute desperation they eventually started the 13 hour walk down the other side of the mountain, not knowing what to expect on the other side.

In Duhuk you have many families who survived. 77% of these families still have family members who are missing or known to be kidnapped. 95% are suffering from extreme trauma.

We were there to do an assessment to support these communities. There is already many NGO's operating here, but no one is supporting income generating activities and there is only one project for young boys who have been bought back or escaped from Da'esh. This is somewhat like a detention center where the boys are in-prisoned. No one knows what to do with this generation of child soldiers trained by Da’esh. As the days progress we realized quite clearly that these NGO’s have nice offices and paid staff but literally no activities on the ground. Apart from 2 well known organizations none of the others were having any impact and did not seem to care.

Our project will provide income generating activities for women, psychosocial support for those who need it and a rehabilitation program for young boys who were kidnapped and trained to fight and kill.

The camps sprawl for miles in desert with mountains in the backdrop. During the day it is unforgivably hot and when the breeze does come it brings with it dust and sand which covers everything.

Whilst on this 10 day mission we have met many families, we have been to many camps, informal and otherwise. But one of the families we met will stay with me forever.

We arrive at a 2 roomed house where 14 people are living including a tiny new born baby.  We meet the grandmother who looks to be in her 60's but really it is hard to tell. She managed to escape with some of her family but her daughter and sons and all but one grandchild were kidnapped or killed. She does not know where her brothers or sisters are.

She introduces us to her granddaughter Ilham. Ilham is now 19, she was kidnapped at 17 years of age. She was raped between 30 and 40 times a day by her captors and was beaten daily. She was kept as a slave, sexually and in every other way of a slave. She was one of the lucky ones who risked everything to escape.

Recently Da'esh has been 'offering' to sell people back to their families. They take photos of their victims and share them amongst themselves. All Da'esh members have slaves and the salves identify who the people are and pass on contact details of their families thinking they are being released.

Photos are sent to these families with a price tag per person. These range from $1000-$4000. These people who have lost everything and their loved ones and living in refugee camps or squatting are supposed to find this money to pay for their family members. Each potential sale has a time limited and if you do not get the money in time your loved one is sold on to another Da'esh member.

I have seen these messages and photos with my own eyes. Our translator telling us what the messages are saying. This is not an exaggeration, this is happening.

Ilham's brother is 7 years old. He was taken when he was 5years old. 10 days before we met them Ilham and her grandmother borrowed $1200 to secure his release. He was made to forget his Kurdish language and learn Arabic. He was made to read and learn the Koran. He was taught how to use guns and knives to kill people. He was forced to watch videos of people being beheaded repeatedly and told that he will have to do this one day. He was beaten daily and no longer has finger or toe nails as daily these were crushed until they did not grow back.

He is now extremely aggressive and whilst we were there repeatedly slapped, kicked and bit his older brother who had fled with the grandmother. Da'esh had told him to kill all Yazidi people. He is Yazidi as are his family. It is truly horrendous.

Sadly this is not a one off situation. There are thousands and thousands of Yazidi people still held by Da’esh. There are much worse stories we were told which I still cannot bring myself to think about let alone write about.

So as to not end this post on a miserable note I thought I would also share my perceptions about the area of Iraq I was in. We were in the northern part of the country which is very mountainous. We were in the city of Duhuk which is a small city in comparison to England. Throughout the mountains are villages and tourist spots. Yes tourists! The Kurdistan region has the more forgiving weather in the country so over the summer months Iraqi’s flock to the mountains for respite from the 50+ weather in desert conditions.

As with all countries which I frequent meat and chickpea based foods are the main options. We were also served lambs tongue, it literally looks like a tongue and the texture was so grim to me that I cannot even tell you how it tasted. I was also presented with something luminous green- I just avoided that and some soup which looked like snot. Also avoided.

For the first time in a long time I was not accused of being from the US of A but instead I was asked at least three times if I was Russian. I actually googled whether it would be better to be Russian, ‘Merican or British in this circumstance…. As with all missions my eyes become a cause for attention particularly at check points when you have to take your sunglasses off!

 This was one of the hardest things I have ever done and I did not live through what these people have! I just heard their stories and saw on their faces the haunted looks. I cannot even begin to comprehend how the human spirit allows you to continue. I am humbled by these people. I am also encouraged that we will be setting up a strong and sustainable program from September. We hope that what we will do will help these people rebuild themselves as humans so that once Da’esh’s front line is pushed back further from Sinjar Mountain they can return home; a wish that every single person I met had. 

Shakira in Egypt!

At present it feels like I am travelling constantly and the few days I am back in Casa are spent on the terrace with the cats, sunshine, wonderful housemates and as much relaxation as possible before boarding the next plane.

Last week I returned from 17 days in the field; Egypt and then Lebanon. However, for once the mission started with a three day holiday in Giza, Egypt. It was my housemate, Emily’s, birthday and we though there would be no better way to celebrate this than to ride camels around pyramids…… This was almost true.

Emily arrived late on Thursday evening and I was arriving at 5.30am the next morning. As I board the plane she messaged me to say that we had not in fact been given the deluxe room with the pyramid view. As I settled into the flight with my miniature bottle of wine I pondered how to solve this first world problem on my arrival in Egypt.

My flight landed one hour early which in this region is very perplexing. Immigration did not ask me one question, also very perplexing and my luggage was on the carousel as I arrived. It was an Egyptian miracle. I negotiated my taxi fare and Ahmed sped through Cairo with the obligatory loud Arabic music playing. After some wrong turns and slightly insane driving we turned a corner and there were the pyramids! And there was my hotel!

On arrival at reception I greeted Mahmood the receptionist in Arabic which brought much merriment to the occasion. I tried ‘Plan A’ to get our rooms changed for a pyramid view as booked. Explaining with as much drama as possible that Miss Emily’s lifelong dream has been to wake up in beautiful Egypt on her birthday to drink Egyptian coffee and see the sun rise over the pyramids. If we could not change rooms I would be personally responsible for ruining her birthday. Mahmood understood my plight and was so pleased we thought his country was beautiful that we got a room upgrade and the much anticipated view! For the rest of the trip Miss Emily was greeted with birthday salutations.

After some rest and some sunbathing with a view we decided to brave the outside world. The hotel staff were most concerned that we would not take a chauffeur but instead venture onto the street to find a taxi. We met Moses a taxi driver who spoke good English and was to become our tour guide over the next few days. Off we set to the Egyptian Bazaar in Cairo.

We arrive at a bustling square with a huge mosque in one corner and grubby cafes as far as the eye could see. We decided to grab a quick Diet Coke to catch or breath after the drive and to work out how to tackle the bazaar. We were instantly surrounded by people trying to sell us all sorts of random things. I kept being called Shakira and Emily got a variety of names from Sophia Lauren to Madonna. We abandon our drinks and set off through the bustling market.

The first thing which became very apparent is that we were very clearly the only non-Egyptians around. Later we were to learn that since the Arab Springs, the military rule and various terrorist incident tourism in Egypt has died leaving a desperation as this was the biggest economy. It also meant that we were somewhat ‘exotic’ and caused some excitement.

As we walked around people stopped, stared, pointed, took photos and shouted random things at us. Shakira was to become the norm for me, I presume the only blond person they knew but the best question was where Emily was from in Japan……

We turn into a quieter side street and find a cute small shop where we negotiated for some Egyptian tables and lamps. Before you knew it we were drinking tea with the owner and his brother and being invited to their house in the mountains. Shakira and Japanese Madonna politely refused that invitation. With our new purchases we headed back up to the main square where Moses was supposed to be collecting us. Within minutes we had a crowd of thirty plus people around us, men, women and children taking our photos. A police man came to break up the scene and made us stand up on the pavement which just gave our paparazzi a greater opportunity to take more pictures. Moses finally arrived and we rushed to safety and set off for dinner on the Nile.

The next day we were true tourists. An American and a Brit off to see the pyramids up close! It was 30+ degrees and very dry. Moses takes us to his friend to start negotiations. Apparently it was inconceivable that we could just walk around the pyramids so after some tea and hummus, we agree a price and I was put on a camel. Once the old boy stood up I was terrified. They are taller than you would think, terribly uncomfortable and I just had a small wooden handle to try and grip too with my sweaty paws. The whole experience lasted less than a minute before I was off and we were in a horse and cart.

It soon became apparent that our tour guide did not know so much about the great pyramids as he explained that Allah had built them. I am pretty sure there is confirmation that humans built the pyramids rather than God himself. It also became apparent that we were more interesting than the pyramids as more people stopped to take our photos. We eventually let the horse off and walked as watching the poor beast try and drag us around in the heat was too horrendous and in fact walking around was far more pleasant. After all of the crazy we returned to our hotel pool from which you could still see the mighty pyramids and relax.

On our final day of holiday we had reserved the Cairo Museum, something we were both very excited about, until we arrived. Only then did we discover that during the Arab Spring in 2011 the Museum had been looted and nearly everything had been taken. After wandering for an hour, being followed by people taking our photos, we finally saw the Tutan Khamon exhibition which was the only thing which had survived the Arab Springs. It was worth the boredom of the rest of the museum.

Sadly Japanese Em’s then left me and work began. A male colleague was to be with me at all times to make sure I was OK. This is great in theory but he also kept taking photos of me which was all getting rather too much. We traveled up to the town of Tanta to see some of our projects there and then onto Alexandria to sleep before seeing our projects there the following day.

Alexandria does have some beautiful parts to it and watching the sunset over the ocean was rather special. My hotel room however was not. I enter the room, put my bag down and something catches my eye: there is a cockroach on my pillow. I pull back the bed covers and 4 or 5 of them are in the bed and scatter. I grab my bags and head to reception to demand my money back so that I can change hotels. Finally after some negotiations with my Egyptian colleagues and the hotel I was resettled in a new cockroach free hotel.

This all felt very first world issues when the next day we met ladies from our family strengthening program in Alexandria. We run these programs all around the world, teaching women skills and helping them to set up a business so that they can keep their families together.

We met around ten ladies who we have been supporting. All of them have either been widowed or the husbands have left them. It is better to be widowed than left as if you are a widow there is some financial support and no shame. If you husband leaves you, as a woman, you bring shame on yourself and your family and there is no financial support at all. Most of these women have had arranged marriages, their families excepting a dowry for them to be a bride with often no choice on the women’s side. It seems heart breaking to then understand they are unsupported and often ridiculed if their husband chooses to leave them.

One of these women, Fatima, was wearing a full burka. All I could see were her eyes. She explained that her husband took a second wife; this is perfectly legal in Egypt. He then two years later walked out on them both and disappeared. This meant that the first wife had to live with the shame of her husband taking a second wife but also the shame that he left as well as the need to support his children whom she bore and the children of the second wife. Her eyes were filled with tears as she tells this part of her story.

When she joined our program she got psycho social support and after sometime we helped her set up a business. Her enterprise was completely her idea. There is no such thing as ready meals in Egypt however more and more women are working and are still expected to provide a home cooked meal for their husbands. Fatima makes and freezes these meals so that the Egyptian working woman can still give the image of being a perfect wife. As Fatima’s business expanded she also came up with new ideas. Garlic is grown in January and February in Egypt. She buys in bulk and peals and chops millions of garlic cloves and freezes them ready to sell all year round. Now she has enough money to pay her rent and pay for her children’s schooling, reinvesting the rest back into her business. She said that the best part of it all is that she no longer feels useless, a feeling she had had all of her life until now.

Sometimes it is a good reminder in life that a strong independent woman needs to be encouraged to believe in herself and that a book should not be judged by its cover. She chooses to wear the burka because that is what she believes her religion says she should and she loves her god. Not because she is a weak woman forced too.

Egypt was a crazy experience. A country where something which could take 1 hour takes 4, just because it can; A place where men are most definitely more important than women; where the average meal served to me had more meat on the plate than even the average American does not consume in a week; where cockroaches in your bed are apparently normal……. I left my Shakira persona in Egypt! 

Are your eyes real?

‘So let me get this clear: you are British, living in Morocco and you have flown here today from Sweden……. Now how do you explain these Israeli stamps in your passport? Who is your father? What is his father’s name?’ 

This was my arrival in Beirut in the wee hours of the morning. As a result of the ‘tension’ between Israel and Lebanon I have to explain my passport stamps each time I land in either place!

I had left 7 degrees in Stockholm and landed in 25 degrees in Beirut. After some sleep I went off to see the American University of Beirut: A huge campus which stretches all the way down to the ocean. Many of the buildings are beautiful and old having survived the war in the 70’ and 80’s. It is a very calm and peaceful place to walk around. Not something you can say about most of Beirut.

The city has been largely rebuilt since the wars making you feel you could be in any calm city in the middle east and then you turn a corner and there is a building where the outside wall is completely pocked with bullet holes.  Walking around the streets of Beirut you see a large police and army presence. It makes sense when you think of their history and the constant threat of terror attacks. The worst part for me is that men regularly stop their cars and try talking to you in Arabic or Lebanese French (which is in fact the same as French but just with an accent making it harder for me to understand). I thought that these were taxi drivers trying to make a fare but on talking to my Lebanese colleague about this they are just men, just driving, just trying their luck with women. This swiftly put an end to me walking around Beirut!!

A lot of people ask me what I actually do. The reality is that I spend most of my time in an office or in meetings trying to counteract the madness and writing reports and emails.

The rest of the time I am in the field and frustrated that people are forced to live in poverty and forced to flee war and wishing that there was less bureaucracy and more that we could actually do to help.

This trip was no different.

I traveled up in to the mountains, to Lebanon Mountain no less. I went to visit our center for unaccompanied and separated Syria children. Our center currently hosts 36 permanent children and many more who join for the day who do still have parents who are residing in the nearby areas. We want it to be more but for this we need more staff and space.

The youngest is a 14 month old baby who came to us at 8 months old. The oldest are young teens. On arrival we are greeted with hugs, giggles and questions. The main preoccupation was the color of my eyes:

‘Why are they so blue?’

‘ What’s wrong with them?’

‘ Are they real?’

‘What is wrong with your hair? Why is it so crazy??’

Standard stuff!

The staff that run then center are amazing. We have a mixture of Syrian’s and Lebanese working together. One of the reasons is so the children hear their own language. Arabic may be spoken all over the Arab world but in each country there is a different dialect.

The children receive education, balanced meals, play games, do art, get to play outside if it is not raining and most of all get hugs and love. One of the most important services we provide to these children is psycho social support. Many of them have been through more than most adults in Europe will go through in their lifetimes.

During the visit nine year old twins were telling me about their experience before their parents fled to Lebanon. They had lived in an area of Syria which has a heavy ISIS presence. They told me that if you behead someone you should do it from behind as it is the most painful way to do it. This they had learnt from having seen it with their own eyes. I do not know how many other things they have been told or have seen.

The next day I went from mountains to Valley, travelling to the Beqaa valley which borders with Syria. My taxi driver was clearly thrilled at driving through winding roads in the mountains as he drove far too fast, overtaking trucks on blind bends whilst talking on his phone, all of this magic was accompanied by loud Arabic music.

 The only two saving graces were that I could smoke and the amazing views of the mountains and valleys we were rattling through. We turned one bend to see the most beautiful view for as far as the eyes could see.

Finally we reach the Beqaa Valley, the driving was no less erratic but as there were no mountain edges to fall off I was a little calmer.  If I thought that there was a big military presence in Beirut it was nothing in comparison to the Beqaa Valley.

There is also a heavy Hezbollah presence in this area. Many residents of the valley support both Assad and Hezbollah, for many reasons but one I hear repeatedly is because they keep ISIS out.

There are many posters up in the street of both martyrs who have lost their lives in war or of Assad being celebrated.

However, the thing that is most apparent is the refugee tents, everywhere. I am seen a number of refugee camps in my time but this is something different. After the influx of Palestinian refugees and the civil war, Lebanon now refuses to acknowledge refugee camps; therefore there are no formal camps anywhere in Lebanon. This is not to say that refugees cannot stay here in tented accommodation, it just cannot be called a refugee camp and it is limited in how many numbers in each area. Normally no more than 50 tents in one place.

Seeing the conditions these people are living in is heart breaking. Having fled war, starvation and atrocities committed by ISIS and others they now live in tents. Many of these tents have limited or no furniture.  This is no exaggeration. I visited so many tents which were just empty rooms. The families had to sleep on the floor just with blankets.

Many families have no income source so the husbands have returned to Syria in the hope to be able to send some income to their families. One ladies husband had gone back 3 years ago and has not been seen since.

All of the children are malnourished. You can tell by their stunted growth and their brittle hair, let alone their frames. I am handed a 2 month old baby. An absolutely beautiful little boy but whom is so tiny. It is hard to imagine what future this little boy has.

Later in the camp there are some urgent mutterings in Arabic, I understand ‘English speaking’, ‘baby’, yala yala – come.

We enter a tent where there is a girl who can be no older than 13 or 14 on the tent floor. She had given birth to a baby boy two days earlier, in this shitty dirty tent. The little boy is put in my arms. I sit with my colleague to talk to the mother or the child who has become a mother who looks very unwell.

Her wedding was arranged for her in Syria in the midst of the war. Her husband got her to Lebanon and then went back to Syria. She gave birth in the tent with the help of the other women as she is not officially registered in Lebanon and therefore is not eligible for medical treatment or any other support. The greatest fear for the unregistered is that if they go to the hospital they will be returned to Syria.

She refuses any help, worried that she will be returned to Syria. She then begs me to take her child, until one of the elder women points out I have no wedding ring….. 

This is just a peek into the world of the Beqaa valley. There are over a million Syrians living like this, which is known of at least.

Like Palestinians they have become statistics, not people.

I wish that instead of building walls and fences we were more excepting and welcoming.

I wish that children were not giving birth and that babies were not arriving in this horrible world right now.

I normally try and end my blog with some banter but I am all out today!

Another day for you and me in paradise.....

The roller coaster of working in the Middle East and North Africa continues. Daily life in Morocco now seems normal. Public transport is a shitty 20 year old beaten up red Peugeot which you share with two other strangers where each morning you hustle in FraRabic (a combo on French and Arabic) for a spot in the taxi to take you to work. There is something fabulous about it that cannot be explained until you have done it. It becomes the norm to state you destination and then in unison say with the driver ‘Inshallah’, aka god willing, god wiling we will make it to you destination alive!!  With a taxi I can handle that but the last Royal Air Maroc flight I took the pilot told us we would be landing in Rome at 3.35pm, Inshallah. Not such a comfort on a plane in the sky.

The endless questions about your husband and then advising you that a nice strong Moroccan man is better than an English man, why not get an upgrade are almost daily routine.

The joys of having to dash home on days when the two local football teams play- a sport which obviously only men watch and means the streets of Casablanca are filled with men showing off to their buddies to see who can say the most sexually overt thing to you. 

Equally and very much to balance, a country in which the majority of the population are warm and friendly. A country which is so beautiful and diverse in landscape. A place where at least 3 or 4 times a week someone will say ‘Welcome to Morocco’.

A trip to the corner shop turns into an Arabic class and if you can remember what you were taught on the last trip it is met with merriment and applause.

Not so long ago I was working from home. I went into my bedroom to fetch something and when I went to leave the door handle had broken, spinning around in its place leaving me trapped inside. My phone was on the other side of the door. Fret not, I thought, I can fix this with my Swiss Army Knife. I could not.

I go to my balcony and my concierge is nowhere to be seen but there is a man on the balcony opposite. I shout to him in French, in Arabic he summons the guy that guards the cars who goes to get my concierge who arrives ten minutes later with much merriment. Man on balcony translates my bad French into Arabic to the concierge who comes trotting upstairs knowing he can get a tip from the crazy white lady if he frees her. Another ten minutes pass. . . he returns downstairs with a coffee in hand…..Arabic is shouted up to balcony man who explains my guard cannot get in as my house keys are in the door. At his point there is quite a crown to watch the spectacle and much amusement.

The guy that guards the cars says not to worry he can break into anyone’s house and dashes off to get tools…. Another 15 minutes pass….. followed by much banging at my front door. Finally I am freed by two giggling Moroccan men with a broken front door and broken bedroom door. Many hours pass…… many Dirhams spent…… and all is fixed and calm is restored. Pride took a little longer to return.

 6 weeks ago I went to Palestine. Here I met Amira.

Amira lives with her children, her daughters and her grandchildren. There are 24 of them who live in 4 metal containers in a make shift camp. Their containers are in rows next to many other families containers. They used to have a house which accommodated all of them but that got blown up in the last war. The children all show their scars from shrapnel that was or still is lodged in their skin. One boy has been bleeding from the ear since the last war but the family cannot afford the surgery to have it fixed. Rain water was turning the sand between the containers into a quagmire and my chair was sinking lower and lower as I try and sip the boiling tea I have just been served. My Western mind cannot help but be grateful that the tea is so hot as I know the water will not be clean water and at least this way I am less likely to be sick. They had run out of wood to burn and cannot afford to buy anymore so a piece of foam which was once a cushion is burning for warmth. The smoke was thick and black and suffocating. Amira explained to us that the youngest boys go out to work most mornings, collecting rubble to sell to people who can afford to rebuild the houses- it is OK, she said, the UN taught them about unexploded devices, they know not to pick them up.

 We discuss how we can help. We have provided tarpaulin to cover their containers and Amira assures us it makes the world of difference keeping the rain water out. Last winter they had to wake up every two hours to move as puddles formed around them. We enroll the women onto our family strengthening program so that they can learn a skill and make a living and this way the boys can go back to school and upon leaving we ring the Red Crescent (equivalent of the Red Cross in the Arab world) to enroll the young boy with a bleeding ear for immediate medical care.

These people are lucky. Because they are displaced people from the last war they are also entitled to support form the Palestinian UN agency, UNWRA. We tell them this and put them in touch with the right people.

In Gaza, if you were displaced from any of the last 3 wars in the last 6 years and you lost your house you are considered displaced. If you previously lived in parts of Palestine which became Israeli settlements and subsequently Israel you are considered a refugee. You too can get support from the Palestinian UN agency. If you are just poor, and have been poor and were born in Gaza there is no help at all because you do not tick a box on a form.

A new project we are setting up in Gaza is to support hundreds of families who have always been poor. Their houses are shacks built on sand not far from the sea. They have always lived here and always lived like this. With an unemployment rate in Gaza of 43.9% these people do not stand a chance to change their lives. We will work with them to teach them skills, to fix their houses and to ensure their children go to school so that they have some chance. 

The saddest thing is….. you can educate their children but they have nowhere to go when they finish school. They cannot leave Gaza. They are trapped in what many describe as the world’s largest open air prison. You can only hope that they can improve their future and the future of the next generation with their education and knowledge. 

When you are in Gaza you do not think of your own safety, that only crosses you mind before you enter and when you leave. When you are there you are consumed by the extreme situation in which many are trying to survive.

As there is only power for between 2-4 hours a day you go to bed when your working day is finished. As you lie in bed you hear gun fire, you think it is from the Hamas and Jihadi fighters training nearby. You also hear or feel the odd bomb drop every now and then and that you cannot find a way to rationalize…..

Tuesday 14^th March marked the end of the 5^th year of war in Syria and the 15^th March the start of the 6^th year. There are still 15 areas in Syria which are completely besieged, which means they have had no food, water, medicine or aid for months. We have been to Madaya and are working to evacuate children from there are two other areas, Kafaya and Foah but this process is ongoing. 

There are millions of Syrian refugees in Jordan, Lebanon, Iraq and Egypt to name just a few countries. According to the UN there are just fewer than 5 million Syrian refugees in these fragile countries. To put this in perspective the population of Lebanon is just over 4 million. They have over 1 million Syrian refugees on top of this.

According to the UN there are around 900,000 Syrian refugees in Europe. IN THE WHOLE OF EUROPE.  And just under 5 million in fragile neighboring countries to Syria.

Today the EU struck a deal with Turkey that any refugees who try to cross to Europe will be sent back. This literally means that people who have risked their lives on the Aegean Sea will be put back on boats and sent back to Turkey. In exchange the EU will reopen talks to discuss Turkey joining the EU and give a few million Euros to ‘help the refugees’.

What astounds me the most is the arrogance of our Western Leaders? It is against International Law to deny anyone the choice or chance to apply for asylum. We are doing just that by building fences and paying and bribing a nation to keep Syrians there. I dread how I will answer my children and grandchildren’s questions about this when they learn about it at school. I am sad and I am angry and what we as Westerners can do and can justify as the right thing to do.

As a Syrian friend and colleague recently said children are children. The more a society would try to keep them in the corner and despise them for a war they didn’t start and life conditions they didn’t create and can’t change, the more ignorant and violent they may become when they are adults.

No child is born violent or aggressive unless they feel that they’re abandoned, humiliated, or treated differently.

You can run from the bombs but you cannot hide from hunger.

I feel very lucky because I love my job. I really do. I get paid to travel the world and see places many people will never see. I get to experience different cultures and some amazing food (also some pretty dire food….. such as in an unnamed country where green pepper puree is included in every meal). No day is ever the same as the last and I get challenged. The most ridiculous things occur which are hard to explain to anyone back in my ‘real world’ as they are too bizarre to understand or explain. For at least 10 months of the year I get to live in sunshine and grey skies are reserved only for when I return to the UK.

I recently had the joy of meeting an amazing woman who benefited from our family strengthening program. As is the tradition in some parts of Morocco whilst she was married she would stay at home with the children, if she went out it would be with other women from the family to purchase food to prepare for the family. She never finished formal education and had never worked. One day her husband became very ill. He was taken to hospital and sadly did not survive. She told me that she will never forget leaving the hospital with her four young children and thinking ‘what on earth do I do now?’.

She enrolled in our family strengthening program and was taught to become a tailor. She started to sell the things she was making. She soon had enough to buy her own sewing machine. Now she has bought her own car so that she can deliver her products to her clients. Her business is booming and now she is supporting other women to set up their own enterprises. Hearing her story, and knowing how many women globally benefit from our family strengthening program, is the kind of job satisfaction only a few of us get and I am one of the lucky ones.

However, sometimes the work that we do is challenging. So challenging because you cannot begin to comprehend how one human being can treat another. These are the days that I have to do a dance in the bathroom with the most upbeat song I can find on my ipod or to watch Modern Family reruns to try and get a balance and to laugh, because otherwise you would cry.

This past week has been one of the most challenging weeks yet.

The government and rebel forces in Syria agreed to allow humanitarian aid into three besieged towns in Syria. These towns have been besieged since July (under heavy fire) and have received no aid – medicine, fuel, food, anything external since October. One child told us ‘once they had eaten all of the donkeys they started eating cats. Now we have spices in water or cooked grass’.

On Tuesday aid was finally let into the areas. However, Madaya is a pro-government controlled area with government forces and Lebanese Hezbollah in charge. Kafaya and Foah are rebel held areas. For the same number of trucks which enter Madaya an equal number must enter the other two towns. This is because besieging areas is a tactic of war. When one side ‘weakens’ and let the aid in, it can lead the other side to gain greater ground. The same applies for evacuating children and adults: equal numbers from each place.

As a result in the coming week we aspire to travel to all three areas to determine the children most in need and how we can evacuate them to get them ‘safely’ to our Interim Care Centers in Damascus. So many variables come into play to make this a success.

We were the only aid agency allowed access until the late evening on Thursday. We came out with first hand stories, images and footage of what we saw which has now gone global in the media telling the world what is happening. Being able to give these people a voice is at least a small step in the right direction. 

One little boy told us 'you can run from the bombs but you cannot hide from hunger.'

The next round of peace talks for Syria is held on 25^th January 2016 and no matter what the reality is we must have hope that something will change.

https://drive.google.com/folderview?id=0B5zC5YByd6rxYWZRTTF0T1BqYlU&usp=sharing

As I said at the beginning no two days at work are the same and in these circumstances the rules changed hourly. I love my job. I love that we change lives. I love that when you have a hard day you remember it is not that hard or as hard as those who live with this reality daily. And i love that I have family and friends who support what i do and that i have  two cats to snuggle with! 

The badger in a headscarf in Gaza!

All opinions in this blog are strictly mine and are absolutely no reflection of my employer.

‘Ladies and gentlemen in 30 minutes we will enter Israeli airspace, after which you will be obliged to stay in your seats with your seatbelt securely fastened until the flight has landed. ‘ It is not the first time I have flown into Israel or visited Palestine but this announcement is a nice little reminder that you are entering a rather volatile area. It is also a nice little reminder to order that glass of wine to provide the dutch courage needed to deal with the immigration questions on arrival at Tel Aviv.

And so it begins: where are you going? Why are you working with Palestinians? Why have you been to Lebanon? You have been to Africa, have you been exposed to Ebola? My passport full of stamps is like cat nip to an immigration officer. Within 10 minutes of questions, I am escorted off to a room by an armed guard and left for an hour. Finally someone comes to get me, mainly to ask me where my father was born and where his father and fathers father was born. Two hours later and I am free to leave!

First stop is Bethlehem. A beautiful city filled with old winding streets, stunning buildings and a lot of Christian tourists strolling around in yellow caps (not sure why!!)On night one I am invited to join my hosts as a Palestinian wedding. The hair dresser arrives and after 20 minutes expresses his extreme disappointment at the lack of volume he is able to create with my useless hair.

We arrive at the venue where men are women celebrate the wedding separately. So us women are in a rather brightly lit room all sat around tables waiting for the Bride to enter. Dressed in a huge Disney style dress she finally arrives with her husband. They dance for us and then the groom leaves to join the men in another room. For two hours various guests are called up to dance with the bride. Then the groom returns, they do another dance, the cake is cut and the wedding is over!!

Our next destination is the old city of Hebron. Anther beautiful city but one which is less relaxed. An Israeli compound has been built right within Hebron and with some of these settlements built over the houses of Palestinians and the main market square. Many streets have been restricted with no access to the Palestinians by the Israeli’s and this means that the Palestinians who live in houses on these streets must now enter their property through their back door, if they have one or through a window at the back of their house through the main market street if they do not have a back door.

As you walk through the market there is netting and material hung everywhere possible from above. It becomes apparent why, as rubbish and human waste is thrown from the compounds above onto the Palestinian market below. On expressing my shock to this I was informed that it is not uncommon for bleach or worse to be tipped down on the streets  also. It is like a scene out of a terrible BBC adaptation from year gone by.

The next morning it is time to set off for Gaza. As we arrive at the Erez border there is a mix of emotions running through my mind and in all honesty the only one I could focus on was- keep calm, you can do this. After 20 minutes of immigration questions I am ushered through to a gate where I am then left. There are no signs just a series of doors and gates with not a soul in sight. I work my way through this maze to find 1.5km of no mans, covered in cage, to walk along. Camels and sheep graze on the grass on either side of the cage as I stroll through! All very surreal.

I am greeted warmly on the other side by colleagues and taken to meet Hamas immigration. My passport is taken from me, something that is now becoming a regular occurrence on this trip, my bag is searched for contraband (booze mainly!) and then I am in Gaza! Head scarf dutifully out on we begin the second part of my Palestinian adventure.

There are 23,338 Palestinians taking shelter in schools and make shift camps. 

1.5 million people in Gaza have limited or no access to water supplies.

26 health facilities were damaged and are seriously low on vital medications.

16,792 homes have been totally destroyed or severely damaged, and 5,635 homes have suffered major damaged but are still inhabitable and yet families have no choice but to live in them still.

Gaza is about a quarter of the size of London and over the next 3 days I saw pretty much every part of it. Absolutely everywhere you look there are buildings that have been bombed, empty spaces and holes filled with debris where homes once stood and those buildings that are still standing are pocked with bullet holes. But this is six months after the war and life continues. The streets are full of people, markets stalls, and children coming or going from school, the call to pray resonating around.

There is the most horrendous smell in the air and it is the sewage plant that was bombed in August 2014 but due to a lack of building materials allowed into Gaza no reconstruction can be done so sewage is spewing out of the plant and into the sea. The sea where the fishermen are only allowed to fish up to one kilometer out to sea and therefore the meager catch is contaminated with human waste.

As you drive through each area there are either green, red or black flags hanging but mainly green ones. Green representing Hamas and therefore the government of Gaza: Red the Shia’s: black the Jihads. Each area also representing the many many training grounds for their soldier. At one point, the driver decides to turn around and take a different route, explaining it is a Jihad area and with my British passport we could have trouble. REMAIN CALM AT ALL TIMES!

We visited many families whose houses had been destroyed. Various aid agencies have been and now gone, to another war zone to start a process which is not finished in Gaza. Families live in either the remains of their damaged houses or in tents next to them. Food is scarce and expensive and you can see that these people are literally starving and at a complete loss of what to do about their situation. At each house you are greeted and the people desperately want to tell you their story, who they lost, how much damage was done, praising God that they are still there even if they have nothing.  Children are playing in the rubble of destroyed houses as if they are their new play grounds.

One house which clearly used to be 2 stories high is now reduced to rubble and yet a family still live underneath the collapsed building. We see another house which has been reduced to rubble where the family has to climb up over the devastated building to climb through a window and get into the only part of the house which is not completely collapsed. We met an elderly couple whose house is completely destroyed who now live in a small metal container next door to shell of their former house. All their container has inside is a fridge and two thin mattresses on the floor. These sights and stories are endless.

No one asked me for anything other than to hear their story and share their story with others outside of Gaza.

One evening I am sat with some Palestinians telling me their stories when Youssef said he would arrange for me to see a tunnel. I thanked him but said really it was not necessary. ‘You must, you must, we can take you all the way to Egypt underground, you have insurance right?’. Having assured them I was really ok NOT seeing their tunnels the conversation returns back to the war and the current political situation.

But now to tell you some more positive stories!! One of the things the NGO I work for does is provide a loving home for orphans or abandoned children. It is not institutional care but villages all around the world where children grow up in a house with a mother and siblings. Our village in Gaza has 75 children living there.

Two of those children are brothers who were living in Gaza city. Their house was bombed and all of their relatives were killed. They were found a day later hiding in a wardrobe. When they first came to our village they had to have extensive surgery on their injuries. They did not speak for the first few months and had repeated nightmares. Through the work with our mothers, child therapy and being in a safe environment they have progressed so well in the 6 months since they arrived. To anyone who did not know their story they are just normal boys running around and getting into mischief. They were both very proud of their hairstyle which were loaded with hair gel but for me was just the most beautiful ‘normal’ thing in the world.

There were so many cases of children in our village which were similar and the impact of the work we are doing there felt so vital and important. Providing a chance for these many children to actually be children was amazing. To really add perspective to this any child over the age of 6 in Gaza has now lived through 3 wars.

In addition to our normal work in Gaza we are also running an additional Emergency program to help support children in the aftermath of the war. We are working with local grassroots organizations to help identify those children most in need. Although these children may have lost their parents they are likely to have extended family but are currently not connected with them. We are setting up a short term ‘home’ for these children to ensure they have somewhere safe to live and access to a good education . Whilst they are living with us we will work to find their extended families so that they grow up with their relatives.

We are also providing a medical outreach service which will work across Gaza to support those children whose families are suffering and cannot afford or get access to medical care. When you are on the ground in Gaza meeting families you see the real urgent need for this service.

There is very limited psycho social professionals in Gaza and so many children that need support and play therapy. We are now providing this support to many children across the small stretch of land.

I feel proud of the work that the team are doing. It does not seem to ever be enough to help so many families and children who have lost so much but what we do we do well. It genuinely makes a difference to very real lives.

This blog really does not do justice to what I saw or begin to tell the many stories I heard of lives destroyed. I will never be able to capture the human spirit of those who have lost so much and yet are so humble and try to continue with what they have left.

At night I would go to bed listening to the Jihad’s and the Hamas soldiers training and shouting into the night. A foreboding feeling that this war is not over, it feels like it has not really started.