Voices from the Camps by Marshood Nabil;

Author:Marshood, Nabil; [Marshood, Nabil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University Press of America, Incorporated
Published: 2010-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A Voice of Frustration

As Kheir drove through the camp streets again on our way to the bus station, one section was more crowded. I was amazed how people could drive in these streets. “Have you noticed the funeral tent?” he asked me. “No. What do you mean?” I asked. He drove back, in reverse, to show me a small tent, actually a blanket-size semi-tent located between two housing units with a few plastic chairs in it. “People don’t have room to welcome guests, so if there is a funeral, they build a little tent like that for people to pay their respect to the dead and his or her family.”

We continued through the market street of the city of Irbid. It was also crowded with vendors and people with hardly any parking spaces. As we proceeded through my companion, Kheir, made a few observations relating to camp life and to the city of Irbid. Women hold their young children by the hand and they keep the children on the side facing the traffic. There were laws to regulate traffic and business but nobody seems to care or to respect those laws. The unemployment rate nationwide is very high, but it is much higher in the camps. This is the reason for many young men and children aimlessly roaming the streets. A large number of people were employed by the government, but due to economic and international changes (globalization), the new king—His Majesty, King Abdullah—has changed the structure by encouraging private business and private investment. “It is sad that the Arabs are lazy. They are used to working for others and waiting for a handout,” he said. Aware of his gross generalization, he added, “Some,” then continued: “We Arabs—people and countries—don’t know how to invest in human capital. There is a brilliant student here at Yarmouk University but they won’t sponsor him to continue his education which would allow him to return and serve his people. So, he has found an American university to sponsor him. Why should he come back?”

As he spoke, my companion was in pain. With a deep sense of frustration, he lamented, “Look at people —refugees or not—and their faces. They are not happy. People don’t smile. They have nothing to smile about. They have no hope.”

Kheir and I drove to the DPA office in Irbid, and walked up to the third floor. The entrance and the staircase were filthy and a foul odor emanated from somewhere inside. “This is a public government facility. Why is it so filthy?” I asked myself. Inside the office, we found a group of men sitting, drinking coffee, and smoking. They greeted us and offered us coffee. After we were acquainted, they offered their assistance if needed. “Just call us if you need anything,” they said. Again, His Majesty was looking down at us from his picture hanging on the wall.

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