Faiza keeps a blog – A Family in Baghdad – with her three sons, Raed, Khalid, and Majid. The father, Azzam, “is not interested.”
I first got in touch with Faiza last year after reading the family’s blog. She always kept journals but stored them away for private perusal and away from public eyes. The blog was her son’s idea, a way for her to express her thoughts and share with the world all the things that touched her.
And Faiza had much on her mind when David and I first met her for coffee.
I asked Faiza to meet us in a small café near where we are staying. I selected the place because it was fairly quiet and I had met another Iraqi woman there before.
David and I arrived a bit earlier so we could grab a quick snack. We were the only ones there. As time passed, the music became progressively louder and more people entered, including women with tight jeans, busty blouses and smoky cigarettes. I immediately became nervous. I had never met Faiza, but something inside me knew she would disapprove of the place.
Faiza was calling on the phone so I went downstairs to receive her. We walked up the stairs slowly. I hoped Faiza would not notice the women sitting across the staircase, trying to block her view with my body and avert her attention with conversation.
It was useless. She immediately began commenting on the blouses, the trendy cafés and restaurants and the mega malls that were popping up everywhere in Amman. I apologized profusely for our selection on a meeting place, but she told us not to worry. She understood our mistake. But she did not understand so much all the people around us.
For Faiza, the Middle East is losing its identity, grounding itself more and more on materialist values rather than humanity and compassion.
For Faiza, the consequence of the Iraq war is a case in point. Millions of Iraqis have been displaced within and outside of Iraq. Over a million Iraqis have been killed. But everyone sits and watches without taking action.
The rich and affluent Iraqis are simply fleeing and saving their own lives while others less able are left behind. Why can’t they do something to help? Why can’t they offer some of their resources to help their brothers and sisters in need? Faiza works with the Jordanian Women’s Union to assist the UNHCR in providing assistance to Iraqis now living in Jordan. Faiza is doing something to help. Faiza is also married to a Jordanian and has permanent residence.
I wondered how to respond to her questions. Many of my friends have fled or are in the process of resettling in a third country. None are rich or affluent but all of them care about their future and want only the best for their children. They cannot get permanent residence and are therefore unable to find permanent work in Jordan. They have no future here. At least in a third country they will be able to “settle down” and establish some kind of life for their children before or if they can return to their home country.
As I faced Faiza, I wondered about my own family, the way we fled our country without looking even once behind. Once we left, my father vowed never to return to Cambodia. He kept his promise until the day he died.
Faiza said all these things as we were saying good-bye. I looked into her warm eyes and knew she felt strongly for her people and her country. In many ways she is right.
What happens to Iraq if everyone leaves? Who will be left to help rebuild the country? We are witnessing the consequences of that now.
But can anyone be expected to sacrifice the future for a present that is uncertain?
I first got in touch with Faiza last year after reading the family’s blog. She always kept journals but stored them away for private perusal and away from public eyes. The blog was her son’s idea, a way for her to express her thoughts and share with the world all the things that touched her.
And Faiza had much on her mind when David and I first met her for coffee.
I asked Faiza to meet us in a small café near where we are staying. I selected the place because it was fairly quiet and I had met another Iraqi woman there before.
David and I arrived a bit earlier so we could grab a quick snack. We were the only ones there. As time passed, the music became progressively louder and more people entered, including women with tight jeans, busty blouses and smoky cigarettes. I immediately became nervous. I had never met Faiza, but something inside me knew she would disapprove of the place.
Faiza was calling on the phone so I went downstairs to receive her. We walked up the stairs slowly. I hoped Faiza would not notice the women sitting across the staircase, trying to block her view with my body and avert her attention with conversation.
It was useless. She immediately began commenting on the blouses, the trendy cafés and restaurants and the mega malls that were popping up everywhere in Amman. I apologized profusely for our selection on a meeting place, but she told us not to worry. She understood our mistake. But she did not understand so much all the people around us.
For Faiza, the Middle East is losing its identity, grounding itself more and more on materialist values rather than humanity and compassion.
For Faiza, the consequence of the Iraq war is a case in point. Millions of Iraqis have been displaced within and outside of Iraq. Over a million Iraqis have been killed. But everyone sits and watches without taking action.
The rich and affluent Iraqis are simply fleeing and saving their own lives while others less able are left behind. Why can’t they do something to help? Why can’t they offer some of their resources to help their brothers and sisters in need? Faiza works with the Jordanian Women’s Union to assist the UNHCR in providing assistance to Iraqis now living in Jordan. Faiza is doing something to help. Faiza is also married to a Jordanian and has permanent residence.
I wondered how to respond to her questions. Many of my friends have fled or are in the process of resettling in a third country. None are rich or affluent but all of them care about their future and want only the best for their children. They cannot get permanent residence and are therefore unable to find permanent work in Jordan. They have no future here. At least in a third country they will be able to “settle down” and establish some kind of life for their children before or if they can return to their home country.
As I faced Faiza, I wondered about my own family, the way we fled our country without looking even once behind. Once we left, my father vowed never to return to Cambodia. He kept his promise until the day he died.
Faiza said all these things as we were saying good-bye. I looked into her warm eyes and knew she felt strongly for her people and her country. In many ways she is right.
What happens to Iraq if everyone leaves? Who will be left to help rebuild the country? We are witnessing the consequences of that now.
But can anyone be expected to sacrifice the future for a present that is uncertain?
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