February 21, 2007

Amman--In a one-bedroom basement apartment Um Mahmoud sits clothed in a black abaya, surrounded by three of her five children. Though married for many years, five months ago she was thrust into the role of a single mother when her husband was refused re-entry to Jordan.

Um Mahmoud is now like many Iraqi women in Amman, single and trying to raise their children with little hope for work. Unofficial figures put about fifty percent of Jordan’s 1 million Iraqis under the poverty line. No one knows exactly how many single mothers are here trying to get by, but one social worker tells me most of the families she sees are headed by the mother. "For them it is really hard," she says, "I don’t know how they do it."

"When I came to Jordan, my health was good," says Um Mahmoud, "but with the pressure, it’s too much." Now, she says, her health is faltering. She is need of an operation for a gynecological condition, but is in an elevated risk category due to high blood pressure. "Besides, where would I get the money and who would take care of the children if anything were to happen to me?" she wonders.

Um Mahmoud takes in some sewing work, but with faltering eyesight, she is only able to do small amounts.

Her two boys should be in school, but are now working to support the family—six in all. Their work in a factory brings in about $200 a month, barely enough to cover the rent and electricity. Um Mahmoud says she worries constantly for her sons. "Their health is now suffering because of the chemicals at the factory, and now the eldest one is picking up bad habits. He needs his father."

Um Mahmoud struggles to put food on the table and says eggs are the family’s primary food source since they are very cheap. "The children accuse me of trying to turn them into chickens," she says with a laugh. Becoming serious once again, she adds, "but really, I don’t always have money to put food on the table. My children now are blaming me for the situation, especially as the two younger girls are taunted at school for being Shi’a. Now, they don’t want to even go. It’s too much. I don’t know what to do," she says, stopping now to wipe tears from her eyes.

The UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) partners with certain NGOs to provide assistance to Iraqis. CARITAS, for example, helps families with education expenses , while CARE International provides such necessities as blankets and heaters. But with the overwhelming numbers of Iraqi refugees, the organisations say they are doing their best in a bad situation. And while some small amounts are available for health care, most just pray their children don’t become sick.

Many Iraqis criticise the aid organisations, saying they aren’t doing enough and accusing them of spending money on new staff and nice offices instead of helping people.

Um Mahmoud says when an aid representative came to her apartment and saw she had furniture she was told to stop complaining. "But, I do condemn the situation," she retorts. She charges that many of the organisations hire only non-Iraqis who are often dismissive of Iraqi concerns.

One mother of two teenage girls offered this example. "A friend called me and said CARE was giving away blankets, so I went to their offices and they told me 'no,’ they were finished. But another friend who went in just 30 minutes after me was given blankets. Why do it like this? Either they have blankets or they don’t. They should not be playing games."

Compounding the situation for many women is grief for a husband who’s gone missing in Iraq--kidnapped, killed or arrested amid the country’s unrelenting violence.

Noor is from Al-Gadeer in Baghdad where she and her husband owned a home and lived with their teenage son. Yet in three short months Noor lost nearly everything.

When they realised Iraq was to be attacked, Noor and her husband obtained passports for the three of them and were prepared to flee. However, just two weeks before the US-led invasion, Noor says, her husband was inexplicably taken by the Iraqi military. "From the moment my husband was taken until now, I haven’t heard anything about him," she says softly.

"I was alone in the house with my son when the war started, so I escaped to the north with some family. We were gone only 47 days, but when we came back there were people occupying our home. I was negotiating through others to try to get it back, but they threatened to kidnap or kill my son."

Noor declines naming the group that threatened her; she is still afraid here in Jordan. "It’s too risky to say everything; I’m only a single mother with my son." She pauses, then says, "I left everything behind just to protect myself and my son. Now, we have nothing."

Though she struggles to make ends meet, Noor is more fortunate than many because she has a job in Amman, but even as an experienced accountant she makes only $145 a month; she is paid less than what a Jordanian would make.

Visibly trembling while talking, tears welling in her eyes, Noor is telling her story, she says, because, "I am hopeful that there will be some help for Iraqi refugees, perhaps even a visa to another country. The world must know about us."

With some notable exceptions, such as Sweden , the world has mostly stood by watching as the Iraqi refugee crisis has exploded. The US has admitted only 466 Iraqis since the Anglo-American invasion in 2003. The UK accepted just five Iraqis in 2006. In the past week, under immense pressure from Congress and the international community, the Bush administration announced plans to accept 7,000 Iraqis this year.

Ten thousand Iraqis are fleeing their homes each month due to the current lack of security. Exacerbating the situation is a profound distrust by the Iraqi public of both Iraqi and American security forces.

Huda is a computer teacher from a mixed neighborhood in Baghdad who fled to Amman ten months ago with her two children. Her Sunni husband worked at the Shi’a controlled Ministry of Health as a computer analyst where Huda says he was threatened numerous times by the Mehdi Army. In 2005 the family finally decided to flee Baghdad and seek help. Huda says they registered with UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) when they arrived in Amman, but the agency did nothing to help--a common complaint here.

Citing budget constraints UNHCR has registered just 22,000 Iraqis and accorded official recognition—meaning they will seek resettlement on behalf of the refugee—to just 800 thus far.

Frustrated by the situation and their money quickly dwindling, Huda’s family decided to return to Baghdad where she and her husband still had jobs. At first everything seemed to be okay, says Huda. "But, four months later the Mehdi Army kidnapped my husband," she weeps. "I have heard nothing since."

Not long afterwards, Huda overheard two of the Mehdi guards who provide security at the school talking. "They were saying, 'it’s easy to attack her house because she is alone.’ I was very scared. Then one day while I was driving I was shot at. At that point I decided to leave Iraq forever!" Fortunately, Huda escaped uninjured. When asked if she reported any of the incidents, she laughs sardonically and says, no way. Who should she tell? The Americans will direct her to the Iraqi police, she says, but the police are part of the problem.

"I do believe our country is completely destroyed and Iraq won’t be a good situation anytime soon. They [the Americans] took our land and occupied our country, so they have to find another country for us." Huda alternates between despair, anger and a hope she holds onto that her family may somehow obtain a visa to either Australia or Switzerland. Why there? "Because they don’t have aggressive armies," she quickly responds.

Meanwhile, Huda refuses to go back to UNHCR. "All they do is give you a white card to say you’re here. It does nothing." She does some housecleaning to support her household of four, while attempting to gain her visa. She is proud that her12 year old son and 16 year old daughter are attending school. But, she worries constantly. "My father also lives with us and almost all our savings is gone. I really don’t know what to do. I want a job. I’m a teacher and worked for 16 years, but here I cannot work." For now, Huda is able to put food on the table, but as for the future? "I really don’t know what we will do," she repeats, looking into the distance.

"Today the landlord came wanting the rent and I had to beg him to come back later until I can find the money. I want my husband back. I want to go back to Iraq. We just want a normal and stable life again," concludes Um Mahmoud.



www.karenbutton.blogspot.com