What a World

When working in Darfur one tends to become a bit Darfur-centric in their worldview. While we may check the news online and update our selves on current events in an attempt to stay “relevant” and “with-it” we never the less have enough going on here to put the rest of the world on the back burner. Floods in India, car bombs in Iraq, US heat waves, all these things remain on the periphery of our minds, unable to dislodge the tragedy and insurmountable task that occupy the forefront of our thoughts. There is certainly legitimacy to this way of thinking, we have a job to do, and work here requires an extraordinary amount of time and effort. But this week I have been reminded of tragedies far away and brought back to the interconnectedness of our world.

I currently find myself stuck in Khartoum over various issues with NS and HAC…and while this is immensely frustrating it has provided me with time to spend with several of my Iraqi friends and colleagues who live here. In particular two men stick out in my mind.

Hassen (whose name I changed) worked for the UN in Nyala during my first year there. Over the months we became good friends and I quickly learned to value Hassen as some who will always go the extra mile for you, can always be trusted, and who does an amazing job at what ever he is assigned. But Hassen’s world is divided; while he is working in Darfur his family is trying to establish a new life as refugees in Jordan. Both his parents where doctors in Iraq, yet in Jordan they cannot practice medicine, they cannot buy a house, and they cannot leave the country. They left everything in Iraq, house, car, business, money, cloths, etc. in order to flee the violence there. And now every six weeks Hassen is trying to fly back to Jordan to make sure their refugee status is confirmed, their bills are paid for, the house (which Hassen bought years ago) is set up for them, and simply provide love and support to his family that feels alone and afraid. His parents, brother, sister, and children are all refugees now, living in a land that does not want them. And Hassen, at the prime of his life, is now the primary caregiver for all of them. But you would never hear him complain, only state how lucky they are that they are all safe and talk about the next task at hand.

Yussef (name also changed) currently works with me. In Iraq he owned his own construction business, providing jobs for hundreds of men and women. Highly educated and successful before the war began, he was forced to flee with his family to Syria after. Able to sell only a few things before leaving, they took what ever they had in left for Syria. They left their home, their offices, cloths, family, friends and also moved to a land that struggles to cope with the refugee numbers crossing its boarders. Forced to take a job with and NGO working in Sudan, Yussef was faced with the difficult task of being separated from his family for months on end or moving them to Sudan. After attempts at both options they have finally settled in Khartoum, and while it is far safer then their home, the strain of the transition shows in all of them.

Yet both these men will say that they are the lucky ones. The ones that got out, found jobs, and can provide some type of support for their families. They point to the other heartbreaking stories of a mutual friend who lost her husband (who was working for the UN at the time) to the US’s first bombing raid while she was 7 months pregnant with their first child or their friends and relatives who are trapped inside Iraq with no where left to go. They have little hope of returning home and try to take in as much joy out of small victories like futball matches and a day without a bombing. And somehow they move forward, live lives, and remain wonderful and amazing people.

Yet sometimes I think it is the vast amount of promise, ability, and simple goodness that the Iraqis posses that make this such a tragedy. It is as though the world has taken a great treasure and squandered it. Who is to blame? I have many ideas and no idea at the same time. I suppose there are to many responsible to hope for any real type of justice for the mess that has been made. But I know it is not Hassen or Yussef, or the millions of the Iraqis who find themselves in similar situations. And I am angry, frustrated, and hopeless all at the same time. What type of world do we live in?