When “Enough” Isn’t Enough
By: Lara Mohammad
Tags: Refugees, Syria, Summer, Helping Others, Humanitarian

Day 1

The next morning, I came to the location that I was given and found a bus waiting for me full of people that I did not know and a destination that I would soon find out. As the bus started on its journey, I couldn’t help but watch the city of Amman fade into the distance behind me with a sense of confusion and anticipation. Pretty soon it was just desert road with a cluster of houses appearing every 10 minutes. Two hours of driving later and the bus pulled up to the Zaatari Refugee Camp in Mafraq. The following stories I will be sharing with you are of what I saw and my honest feelings regarding my days at the different camps. As for the pictures I will be sharing, I have gotten permission from the families to post, but keep in mind that a lot of the stories and things I saw I will not be sharing out of respect for the refugee’s families.

To say that I was unprepared would be a massive understatement. But I needed to be unprepared so that I could truly take it all in and feel. By not being prepared, I had no idea of what I was “supposed to say,” what I was supposed to do and feel. I would just be in the moment and experience it. The first camp we visited was about 5 miles from the Syrian border. We drove past the border and the long fence that separates the two countries as we were arriving at the camp. Knowing that these people, these kids that had their entire lives ahead of them, were only a couple miles from their country but couldn’t return because of everything that their country went through in the past and is currently going through was heartbreaking. They had houses over there, jobs and offices, and a happy and content life. More important than jobs and houses, they had homes. Memories that were passed down; traditions and places that hold special thoughts and feelings. The traditions and memories of their parents and grandparents and all of those who have influenced their lives in some way were only a couple miles down the road. Now, they live in hot tents with water tanks set up every thirty feet to provide a source of water for drinking, cooking, and bathing. Once we parked, the kids immediately ran up to us with the biggest smiles on their faces. The little girls were really shy at first, but once funny faces were made and hugs were given out, they started giggling and dancing around us. The little boys were the funniest group of kids I had seen. They were really rowdy and energetic, and asked about a million questions a minute. I learned more about PUBG and Fortnite in 5 minutes then I had ever known in my entire life. One of the little boys I met was named Khalid. The way he talked and acted reminded me so strongly of my little brother that I was taken aback for a long time. I couldn’t help comparing the two boys in my head. Khalid and Abood both loved Fortnite, swimming, and drawing. Abood plays Fortnite everyday and can swim and draw whenever he wants to. Khalid rarely gets the opportunity to pursue the things he loves. Abood is a picky eater and often leaves his plate almost full and wastes food. Khalid was short and underweight for his age group due to long term malnutrition and lack of the proper nutrients. The comparisons and contrasts are many, but I found one striking similarity. They both have the same laugh, one that starts out as a giggle and then turns into a soundless laugh with a big toothy grin, a smile so wide that their eyes almost close, when they are happy. My little brother was both 6000 miles away and 6 feet away, smiling at me. After we played with the kids for a while, I helped set up a women’s clinic inside one of the bigger tents. I thought that would be where my job ended in regards to the medical aspect, and that I would be giving away supplies to the kids for the rest of the day. I was wrong. The visiting American doctors didn’t speak a single word of Arabic other than “Assalamualaikum.” The refugees did not speak a word of English other than “Hi.” They had brought one translator as a volunteer but he was helping with the men’s clinic a few tents over and could not help all 4 doctors that had come to the camp. That meant that, other than the volunteer that was helping in the men’s clinic, I was the only one who was bilingual. I had originally thought I was coming to observe, but I actually translated for the doctors in the women’s clinic. The women would come up to the doctor, introduce themselves, and then tell me their problems and pains. I would then translate to the doctors, and then relay back to the patient. This would continue back and forth until tests were done and a diagnosis was reached. Although it seems orderly, it was a very chaotic experience. The tent was very overcrowded; many of the women were very old in age and had a hard time understanding the doctor’s advice. The tent was covered in dust and every movement would disturb dozens of flies that were flying around the tent. A majority of the refugee’s problems were caused by the environment that they live in. So many of them have asthma and sinus problems because of the dust in the camp. A majority of them had severe dehydration and hypertension. Many of their bodies were overheated because the women would wear a lot of layers, even though it was very, very hot outside. The temperature was in the high 90s but at night, it drops tremendously and stays in the 30s and 40s. They had no heating system other than fires so they layer up their clothing. Diagnosis after diagnosis, and the chaos started to grow. Many of the refugees were scared of doctors, while some of them would try to disregard the order of patients and see a doctor immediately. A lot would request any medicine, even if the doctor would tell them that there is no medicine for their problem and that certain lifestyle changes can help with certain problems. Children were running around and crying, and the heat was stifling. As the only translator, I was running back and forth between a doctor of Internal Medicine, a Pediatric doctor, a Physical Therapist, and a Cardiologist. At one point, after 5 hours of translating, I began to feel very tense and uncomfortable with the pressure to help so many crying children and suffering women at once. I was getting pulled in many directions and being spoken to in even more, to the point that I was talking nonstop. People were trying to get my attention, patients were anxious, and the doctors were overwhelmed. In the midst of all the noise and pulling, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a very old lady smiling at me. She was wearing traditional middle eastern clothing, and had stained her entire hands in bright orange henna, a very traditional practice that many women forego today, preferring simple designs and patterns over covering the entirety of their hands. She had jet black kohl lining her eyes, the type that was ground up naturally, not the type you can buy at Sephora. She smelled like “misque,” a smell that brings comfort to many as it is a very old, special perfume, obtained near Mecca, a holy city for Muslims. Faded, black lines and marks dotted her face, a form of tattoo known as “washm”, another ancient practice that many do not continue today. Sensing my discomfort at being overwhelmed, she did something that brings tears to my eyes as I am writing this. In Middle Eastern culture, and I believe other eastern cultures as well, the elderly, especially grandmas, perform an action that immediately brings a sense of comfort to people. They grab your face with both hands and give you a big kiss, first on the left cheek, and then the right, and then the left again. She looked at me and said “Nawarti hayatna ya hilwa, shokran.” This roughly translates to “you light up our lives darling, thank you.” A sense of calm washed over me when I saw the grateful smile on her face. Then I realized just how selfish that would have seemed to the refugees themselves, if I had gotten tense and uncomfortable around them because of the stress. The vast majority of them graciously thanked us, and invited us to their own tents for tea. Those who had the least were the most generous. Soon, the evening was upon us and the sun was starting to lower in the sky. Translating for about 4 doctors, we must have treated about 120 refugees. After packing away the medicine and handing out supplies such as food and clothes and other necessities, we brought out gifts. The little kids received toys and the women, to my surprise, were not excited about the new hijabs and clothing the most. They were excited about bar soap. The soap was the most valuable commodity at the camp. I do not think I have to say how that made me feel. All I can say is the next time you complain about a luxury you do not have, remember to be grateful for the necessities you already have. Others can only dream of being in your position. After many hugs and high fives, we packed up the bus and said goodbye to the kids. I was told we would be visiting this camp again later in the week, so the tears were kept at bay. Khalid asked me if I was coming back to see him again and I was very grateful that I could say yes. I knew, however, that there would be a time coming very soon when I would be asked that question and my answer would be different. That wraps up Day 1. We drove the two hours home and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.