Same but Different

It’s been a while since we updated this blog. We thought we would be able to write more and write every day, but each day has been spent trying to just deal with the day – either filming or meeting with Iraqis or just spending time and getting to know people we have come to care for very much.

People here in Syria think we are journalists. It’s difficult to explain to people the kind of work we are trying to do. To explain we are not journalists and, practically speaking, not even documentary filmmakers, but simple, ordinary people trying to learn and discover the truth and trying to meet and connect with Iraqis the way we would normally meet and connect with our own friends – drinking in a café, watching a soccer match in a restaurant, or just talking late into the night, about our life and our dreams.

And then it hits us somehow that although the Iraqis we meet are the same as us – we are about the same age, we share similar hopes for the future – we have become different because of where we come from and the situation that we are in.

We met Rahman and his friends Saif and Ali almost two weeks ago, but we feel we are good friends. We joke and laugh over mouthwatering dishes of Iraqi kebab and biriyani. They tell us about their dreams for the future – Rahman wants to become a cinematographer. Saif wants to write screenplays like his uncle and Ali wants to perform in theaters. They also want to get married one day and raise children with security, a good job and a nice home. David and I have similar ambitions. We all want to do something with our lives.


The fan whirs slowly above the four twin beds crowded in the tiny studio apartment Rahman, Saif and Ali share with another friend in a run-down neighborhood in Damascus, known for the thousands of Iraqis that have settled there and for the Sayyida Zeinab mosque generally frequented by Iranian tourists. They pay about $100 a month for the place. But it is high tourist season and due to scarcity of hotels and high demand for empty rooms, the price of the apartment threatens to skyrocket.

Late last night, the landlord knocked on their door and demanded, that unless they can pay three times their normal rent, they must pack up their bags and leave that very night. No due notice; no advanced warning, only a simple threat. Young, single, male and Iraqi, they have nothing and no one to protect them in a country in which they cannot even rent an apartment based on a signed contract or even work for local wages. Without work permits, most Iraqis in Syria work illegally or serve as “volunteers.”

Despite events of the night before, Rahman, Saif and Ali still manage to get up at 6:30am, get dressed in their clown suits and put on a happy face for the children they perform for at the UNHCR registration offices. They perform every day, except Friday and Saturday, and sometimes twice a day. While the parents wait to be registered as refugees at the UNHCR, Rahman, Ali, and Saif bring smiles and laughter to children who have only seen war and violence until their families fled for Syria.

We wonder how they do it; how they can maintain such optimism and how they can manage to make others laugh while they struggle to maintain normalcy in their own lives.

But despite their strength and perseverance, many Iraqis, including Rahman, Saif and Ali, are approaching the edge of their ability to withstand a life without work, without study, without family, and without a secure future.

I went to say good-bye to an Iraqi friend this morning. We will leave for Jordan on Friday to spend some time with Haneen’s family before heading to Cairo on Monday to finish our last story. We had not seen each other for a while. I asked if everything was okay. She said it’s hard to be happy, hard to smile and have fun when life is so difficult. She was smiling and so hopeful when we first met.

We wonder what will happen if nothing is done to remedy, alleviate or assist in this crisis. The UNHCR and other organizations are able to provide some assistance, but their resources are limited. There are not enough funds to fully support educational and vocational training programs necessary to help, especially young Iraqis, move on with their lives.

There are approximately 1.2 million Iraqis currently living in Syria. Approximately 207,548 are registered with the UNHCR. Only 3,710 Iraqis in Syria have submitted applications to be resettled abroad, a decision not dependent on the UNHCR but on the capacity and willingness of sponsoring countries. The majority of Iraqis remaining in Syria and neighboring countries like Jordan and Egypt are left without any durable solution. They must either find a way to survive in these countries or return to Iraq.

One of our friends, a renowned Iraqi scientist, will be returning to Baghdad in a few days. His family left a week before him to assess the situation and recapture their home previously taken over by another family. They must request and even beg and plead to have their home returned to them.

As we walked Abu Mayada to the gate, we wished him a safe journey back, not knowing what else to say or when we would see him again. In a resigned and matter-fact tone, Abu Mayada told us he would surely be killed once he returns to Iraq.