Damascus: Time is Relative

We have been in Syria for several days and I think we would all agree it is very difficult to track just how many. There is a bit of a time-machine effect: a result of what often happens when traveling and also a result of trying to accomplish a month’s work in just a few days. I wonder what time is like for the refugees who have little or nothing to do but wait – wait to get water (a valued commodity) delivered, wait to hear if family members they have been separated from are safe, wait to get an appointment to tell their story to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), and wait to hear if they will ever be able to restart their lives, which are decidedly in limbo. It would appear that a primary activity for many refugees is waiting and hoping against hope for something to change.

Our first day in Syria, we visited seven Iraqi refugee homes, including the home of Hussein’s family. Hussein is a refugee who has been living in Santa Clara for about five months, but his family is stranded in Syria. They live in a neighborhood on the outskirts of Damascus where many Iraqis have congregated. The household consists of Hussein’s brother’s family (Abbas, his wife and two children), Hussein’s wife and two young girls, and the brother-in-law. They were gracious to us and anxious to hear if we could help them. There is frankly little we can do. Although Hussein is now legally living in the United States and is desperate to be reunited with his wife and children, the waiting game could take years. We showed them an article in the San Jose Mercury News that had Hussein’s picture on the front page. I somehow failed to realize the understandable impact the picture would have as it has been more than a year and a half since Hussein’s wife or brother have seen him. Though I knew how difficult it must be to be separated for so long, their collective response to seeing his picture was almost more than I could bear. Just imagine what it must be like for them.

We visited six other families that day and each had a story as tragic as the next. Our last visit was to the home of a family who had lost their son. He had worked for the U.S. military. Their grief and anxiety were palpable. There was nothing we could do for them but listen.

We’ve met with a variety of non-governmental organization (NGO) representatives, some who have demonstrated greater candor than others. The situation here is challenging and all are working hard to make a difference. They showed a great deal of generosity with their time in meeting with us. We met with representatives from the World Food Program, International Organization for Migration, UNHCR, and a local economist who is conducting a study on the impact of this influx of refugees on the local economy.

Bottom line: I believe we have a responsibility to many of these people. Those who sacrificed their lives to act as interpreters for the U.S. military would be one such group. We need to do more.