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 14th March marked the end of the 5th
year of war in Syria and the 15th March the start of the 6th
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.
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.
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.
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