We arrived late this afternoon to Amman. It is spring here – the snow this winter brought green, lush grass along the highway and a booming economy is bringing freshly constructed limestone buildings to the city.
I remember my trip to Amman last September to connect with Iraqis and families that have fled their homes for Jordan and to shoot the trailer for the documentary.
An Iraqi friend of mine, Abu Ahmed, greeted me at the airport and brought me home to his wife and two sons. They had only been in Jordan for ten days and had recently moved into their new home only five days before. They arrived with only two suitcases for the entire family. They did not bring more; fearful they would be turned away at the airport in Amman, like thousands of other families.
The night I arrived, Abu Ahmed's wife, Om Ahmed, kissed me heavily on both of my cheeks and assured me that her home was my home, although she was barely getting used to the new kitchen, the new cookware, the new furnishings that were so different from the ones she left behind. She showed me their small front yard with meager bushes and flowers and reminisced about the fig and palm trees in their spacious garden in Baghdad. "When we left our home," she said, "I felt like my arms and legs had been cut off."
I stayed with the family for the entire two weeks I spent in Jordan. I noticed the children were eating less and less. Since they arrived in Jordan, they had lost their appetite. Mostafa was six years old and Ahmed was just turning 16. They had recently enrolled in a school but were always asking to stay home. They said the children made fun of their Iraqi accent and refused to sit next to them or associate with them. They feared making friends, concerned their situation was only temporary and they would be forced to return to Iraq and start their lives all over again.
Six months later, I returned to their home for dinner, this time with David. Mostafa rushed to the door, poking his head through the iron grill to give me a hug, while Ahmed searched for the keys. Mostafa had been waiting anxiously all day for me to arrive.
Om Ahmed cooked a feast for us setting large trays of lamb and potato biriyani, stuffed dolmas, cucumber and tomato salad, grilled eggplant and a turine of meatball soup on the table, a stark contrast to the simple dinner I was greeted with six months ago when Om Ahmed was getting used to her new kitchen.
Om Ahmed held my hand while we ate and told me she was so happy her “sister” had returned. She dreamt of our arrival two months ago and knew that we would be back soon.
I was also delighted to be back with them again.
David’s parents visited us before we took off. It occurred to them suddenly that we were leaving to a strange part of a world they had never been before and had only heard about on television. They were both scared and worried about all the things that could possibly happen to us “over there.” I assured them that we would be fine, that people in the Middle East are extremely kind and hospitable, and that we would always have family to help and welcome us in Jordan and Syria.
We talked and laughed about many things over dinner. I noticed Mostafa was a little plumper. Ahmed cut his hair and his cheeks were rosier than before. School is better now. The Jordanian children have become more accepting and they are making new friends. Mostafa even speaks like a Jordanian picking up the accent and using Jordanian words.
Their faces lit with hope.
The family is looking forward to leaving and resettling soon in the United States. Ahmed is excited but also nervous. He always dreamt of going to the US. For Ahmed, everything American is better. But like most of his family, he is also anxious about what to expect when he is there.
Abu Ahmed and Om Ahmed are both determined to resettle in the US, but only temporarily. As soon as the security situation improves in Iraq, they promise they will return to the country that is their true home. Ahmed, however, insists he will never go back. There is nothing for him in Iraq but suffering and hardship. He never knew Baghdad the way Abu Ahmed and Om Ahmed knew it – when the streets were full and the markets were bustling and there was some kind of stability and peace.
Tomorrow, the family will drive two hours outside the city for a picnic. It is their first time out of Amman since they arrived in Jordan. The trip cost them $600 (the fine they were forced to pay for overstaying on their visas) and a three-month extension on their visas, which they were only able to get because they will be leaving for the states shortly. Like many families living in Jordan, they feel trapped, unable to move freely outside their home.
The move to America is a move towards freedom, but also a move further away from their home in Iraq.
I remember my trip to Amman last September to connect with Iraqis and families that have fled their homes for Jordan and to shoot the trailer for the documentary.
An Iraqi friend of mine, Abu Ahmed, greeted me at the airport and brought me home to his wife and two sons. They had only been in Jordan for ten days and had recently moved into their new home only five days before. They arrived with only two suitcases for the entire family. They did not bring more; fearful they would be turned away at the airport in Amman, like thousands of other families.
The night I arrived, Abu Ahmed's wife, Om Ahmed, kissed me heavily on both of my cheeks and assured me that her home was my home, although she was barely getting used to the new kitchen, the new cookware, the new furnishings that were so different from the ones she left behind. She showed me their small front yard with meager bushes and flowers and reminisced about the fig and palm trees in their spacious garden in Baghdad. "When we left our home," she said, "I felt like my arms and legs had been cut off."
I stayed with the family for the entire two weeks I spent in Jordan. I noticed the children were eating less and less. Since they arrived in Jordan, they had lost their appetite. Mostafa was six years old and Ahmed was just turning 16. They had recently enrolled in a school but were always asking to stay home. They said the children made fun of their Iraqi accent and refused to sit next to them or associate with them. They feared making friends, concerned their situation was only temporary and they would be forced to return to Iraq and start their lives all over again.
Six months later, I returned to their home for dinner, this time with David. Mostafa rushed to the door, poking his head through the iron grill to give me a hug, while Ahmed searched for the keys. Mostafa had been waiting anxiously all day for me to arrive.
Om Ahmed cooked a feast for us setting large trays of lamb and potato biriyani, stuffed dolmas, cucumber and tomato salad, grilled eggplant and a turine of meatball soup on the table, a stark contrast to the simple dinner I was greeted with six months ago when Om Ahmed was getting used to her new kitchen.
Om Ahmed held my hand while we ate and told me she was so happy her “sister” had returned. She dreamt of our arrival two months ago and knew that we would be back soon.
I was also delighted to be back with them again.
David’s parents visited us before we took off. It occurred to them suddenly that we were leaving to a strange part of a world they had never been before and had only heard about on television. They were both scared and worried about all the things that could possibly happen to us “over there.” I assured them that we would be fine, that people in the Middle East are extremely kind and hospitable, and that we would always have family to help and welcome us in Jordan and Syria.
We talked and laughed about many things over dinner. I noticed Mostafa was a little plumper. Ahmed cut his hair and his cheeks were rosier than before. School is better now. The Jordanian children have become more accepting and they are making new friends. Mostafa even speaks like a Jordanian picking up the accent and using Jordanian words.
Their faces lit with hope.
The family is looking forward to leaving and resettling soon in the United States. Ahmed is excited but also nervous. He always dreamt of going to the US. For Ahmed, everything American is better. But like most of his family, he is also anxious about what to expect when he is there.
Abu Ahmed and Om Ahmed are both determined to resettle in the US, but only temporarily. As soon as the security situation improves in Iraq, they promise they will return to the country that is their true home. Ahmed, however, insists he will never go back. There is nothing for him in Iraq but suffering and hardship. He never knew Baghdad the way Abu Ahmed and Om Ahmed knew it – when the streets were full and the markets were bustling and there was some kind of stability and peace.
Tomorrow, the family will drive two hours outside the city for a picnic. It is their first time out of Amman since they arrived in Jordan. The trip cost them $600 (the fine they were forced to pay for overstaying on their visas) and a three-month extension on their visas, which they were only able to get because they will be leaving for the states shortly. Like many families living in Jordan, they feel trapped, unable to move freely outside their home.
The move to America is a move towards freedom, but also a move further away from their home in Iraq.
1 comment:
"The move to America will be a move towards freedom, but also a move further away from their home in Iraq."
I now have no doubt that you understand what the Iraqis are going through, even us in the US.
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