“I buried my five boys underground to hide them... better that way than watching them get butchered and killed. When it was safer I brought them back up, they were suffocating... I swear to God... I saw the plane come and shoot at a group of children, my neighbours... some were killed, others ended up without legs or arms... now I am here with only the clothes I’m wearing and thankfully my children; they burnt everything in my village.”
By 8am on September 16 there were 32,217 refugees at the Zaatari refugee camp in the north of Jordan, mostly Syrians from Dara’a, south of Syria. During the day more came, and surely more each day after that...
Children play and run around the tents, women sit with their little ones in the shade, with nothing in particular to do but wait. Men also sat talking or walking around, demanding to talk to the person in charge of the water supply and distribution in the camp.
After talking with these humble, beautiful souls, we were led out of the gate, but I have not truly come back out
At one point a group of men and teenage boys start protesting in unison inside the camp. They are angry with the situation in their home country, and some are frustrated, they want to get out of the camp, to escape into Jordan, but they are always stopped at the gate, sometimes with force.
Some of them did not want to talk, others were afraid of being in photos, afraid of being caught and tortured or killed, while others invited us into their tent to talk. They humbly offered coffee and food from the rations they received twice daily. The sun and heat was strong, very strong. Yet somehow, the hot coffee and cool shade from the tent were enough... there they are surviving, but in what way...
“What kind of a situation is this? They give us tents and rice and expect us to shut up; it is not enough, we want freedom, we want to be able to go back home, even if everything is ashes now, we will build a new life for ourselves.
“For two years I have been talking to reporters, but nothing happens... why should I bother talking? Some of them just look at us on TV as if we are a film, eating popcorn and watching... Why talk? It will not change anything, many days we sleep hungry, we have nothing, that is our reality.”
What would you reply to that? I nodded and kept silent. Their eyes were distant, as if something had forever clouded their expression and silenced them. Some of them still radiated hope, others seemed ready to give up, yet you could feel their deep yearning for peace.
“I was just walking in the street with my friends; (Syrian troops) started shooting at us... I escaped and found refuge here, but my friends are dead. My little boy heard gunshots and has stopped talking since.”
How would you react to civil war outside your door? Would you scream, panic, cry, despair, fight, give in, lose your voice, run away? Would you bury your children?
Maybe being able to decide where to go for the weekend, for summer, to decide what to eat, how long to stay in the shower, how much water to drink, whether or not to vote in an election... have always been extra little decisions taking up precious time. Maybe working and living in political stability and no violence have made a joke of the truly graceful gifts of freedom these decisions all are.
In the camp I felt I was in some kind of limbo or temporary dimension: innocent people confined and controlled between one world and the next as a result of greed for power, or fear, or anger, something or other which has led to and reached a point so inhuman, and so complicated to resolve.
They have seen and lived horrible things, they have lost family, friends, they have lost freedom and yet have grasped its simple, basic meaning... They want their voices to be listened to, not just heard or watched. They do not want their courage and strength to be in vain.
The desperate reality is, thousands are dying in Syria. They want the killing to stop. Some day soon, they hope the trouble will end and that the lucky ones to survive can go back home, to live, to choose, and go to work or school again.
I hope, in whichever way, that their stories might reach out to you, make you aware of what they go through... we touched such strong emotion in their presence and in listening to their experiences.
After talking with these humble, beautiful souls, we were led out of the gate, but I have not truly come back out.
Everything becomes intense, every moment, every one of their smiles, becomes more precious and powerful.