On the Edge: Iraqi mothers cope with single parenthood

by Karen Button

Amman--In a one-bedroom basement apartment Um Mahmoud sits clothed in a black abaya, surrounded by three of her five children. Though married for many years, five months ago she was thrust into the role of a single mother when her husband was refused re-entry to Jordan.

Um Mahmoud is now like many Iraqi women in Amman, single and trying to raise their children with little hope for work. Unofficial figures put about fifty percent of Jordan’s 1 million Iraqis under the poverty line. No one knows exactly how many single mothers are here trying to get by, but one social worker tells me most of the families she sees are headed by the mother. “For them it is really hard,” she says, “I don’t know how they do it.”

“When I came to Jordan, my health was good,” says Um Mahmoud, “but with the pressure, it’s too much.” Now, she says, her health is faltering. She is need of an operation for a gynecological condition, but is in an elevated risk category due to high blood pressure. “Besides, where would I get the money and who would take care of the children if anything were to happen to me?” she wonders.

Um Mahmoud takes in some sewing work, but with faltering eyesight, she is only able to do small amounts.

Her two boys should be in school, but are now working to support the family—six in all. Their work in a factory brings in about $200 a month, barely enough to cover the rent and electricity. Um Mahmoud says she worries constantly for her sons. “Their health is now suffering because of the chemicals at the factory, and now the eldest one is picking up bad habits. He needs his father.”

Um Mahmoud struggles to put food on the table and says eggs are the family’s primary food source since they are very cheap. “The children accuse me of trying to turn them into chickens,” she says with a laugh. Becoming serious once again, she adds, “but really, I don’t always have money to put food on the table. My children now are blaming me for the situation, especially as the two younger girls are taunted at school for being Shi’a. Now, they don’t want to even go. It’s too much. I don’t know what to do,” she says, stopping now to wipe tears from her eyes.

The UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) partners with certain NGOs to provide assistance to Iraqis. CARITAS, for example, helps families with education expenses , while CARE International provides such necessities as blankets and heaters. But with the overwhelming numbers of Iraqi refugees, the organisations say they are doing their best in a bad situation. And while some small amounts are available for health care, most just pray their children don’t become sick.

Many Iraqis criticise the aid organisations, saying they aren’t doing enough and accusing them of spending money on new staff and nice offices instead of helping people.

Um Mahmoud says when an aid representative came to her apartment and saw she had furniture she was told to stop complaining. “But, I do condemn the situation,” she retorts. She charges that many of the organisations hire only non-Iraqis who are often dismissive of Iraqi concerns.

One mother of two teenage girls offered this example. “A friend called me and said CARE was giving away blankets, so I went to their offices and they told me ‘no,’ they were finished. But another friend who went in just 30 minutes after me was given blankets. Why do it like this? Either they have blankets or they don’t. They should not be playing games.”

Compounding the situation for many women is grief for a husband who’s gone missing in Iraq--kidnapped, killed or arrested amid the country’s unrelenting violence.

Noor is from Al-Gadeer in Baghdad where she and her husband owned a home and lived with their teenage son. Yet in three short months Noor lost nearly everything.

When they realised Iraq was to be attacked, Noor and her husband obtained passports for the three of them and were prepared to flee. However, just two weeks before the US-led invasion, Noor says, her husband was inexplicably taken by the Iraqi military. “From the moment my husband was taken until now, I haven’t heard anything about him,” she says softly.

“I was alone in the house with my son when the war started, so I escaped to the north with some family. We were gone only 47 days, but when we came back there were people occupying our home. I was negotiating through others to try to get it back, but they threatened to kidnap or kill my son.”

Noor declines naming the group that threatened her; she is still afraid here in Jordan. “It’s too risky to say everything; I’m only a single mother with my son.” She pauses, then says, “I left everything behind just to protect myself and my son. Now, we have nothing.”

Though she struggles to make ends meet, Noor is more fortunate than many because she has a job in Amman, but even as an experienced accountant she makes only $145 a month; she is paid less than what a Jordanian would make.

Visibly trembling while talking, tears welling in her eyes, Noor is telling her story, she says, because, “I am hopeful that there will be some help for Iraqi refugees, perhaps even a visa to another country. The world must know about us.”

With some notable exceptions, such as Sweden , the world has mostly stood by watching as the Iraqi refugee crisis has exploded. The US has admitted only 466 Iraqis since the Anglo-American invasion in 2003. The UK accepted just five Iraqis in 2006. In the past week, under immense pressure from Congress and the international community, the Bush administration announced plans to accept 7,000 Iraqis this year.

Ten thousand Iraqis are fleeing their homes each month due to the current lack of security. Exacerbating the situation is a profound distrust by the Iraqi public of both Iraqi and American security forces.

Huda is a computer teacher from a mixed neighborhood in Baghdad who fled to Amman ten months ago with her two children. Her Sunni husband worked at the Shi’a controlled Ministry of Health as a computer analyst where Huda says he was threatened numerous times by the Mehdi Army. In 2005 the family finally decided to flee Baghdad and seek help. Huda says they registered with UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) when they arrived in Amman, but the agency did nothing to help--a common complaint here.

Citing budget constraints UNHCR has registered just 22,000 Iraqis and accorded official recognition—meaning they will seek resettlement on behalf of the refugee—to just 800 thus far.

Frustrated by the situation and their money quickly dwindling, Huda’s family decided to return to Baghdad where she and her husband still had jobs. At first everything seemed to be okay, says Huda. “But, four months later the Mehdi Army kidnapped my husband,” she weeps. “I have heard nothing since.”

Not long afterwards, Huda overheard two of the Mehdi guards who provide security at the school talking. “They were saying, ‘it’s easy to attack her house because she is alone.’ I was very scared. Then one day while I was driving I was shot at. At that point I decided to leave Iraq forever!” Fortunately, Huda escaped uninjured. When asked if she reported any of the incidents, she laughs sardonically and says, no way. Who should she tell? The Americans will direct her to the Iraqi police, she says, but the police are part of the problem.

“I do believe our country is completely destroyed and Iraq won’t be a good situation anytime soon. They [the Americans] took our land and occupied our country, so they have to find another country for us.” Huda alternates between despair, anger and a hope she holds onto that her family may somehow obtain a visa to either Australia or Switzerland. Why there? “Because they don’t have aggressive armies,” she quickly responds.

Meanwhile, Huda refuses to go back to UNHCR. “All they do is give you a white card to say you’re here. It does nothing.” She does some housecleaning to support her household of four, while attempting to gain her visa. She is proud that her12 year old son and 16 year old daughter are attending school. But, she worries constantly. “My father also lives with us and almost all our savings is gone. I really don’t know what to do. I want a job. I’m a teacher and worked for 16 years, but here I cannot work.” For now, Huda is able to put food on the table, but as for the future? “I really don’t know what we will do,” she repeats, looking into the distance.

“Today the landlord came wanting the rent and I had to beg him to come back later until I can find the money. I want my husband back. I want to go back to Iraq. We just want a normal and stable life again,” concludes Um Mahmoud.

Border Closures Hinder Fleeing Iraqi

by Karen Button

Amman - As thousand of Iraqis continue to flee the violence in their country daily, the two main exit routes, Jordan and Syria, are being severely restricted.

Without warning, Syria closed its borders for three days last week citing security reasons. The move took place after Iraqi President Talabani’s January visit with Syrian officials, though any link has been denied. Open for just a few days, the border has now been closed by the Iraqi government as part of the long-awaited US-backed security plan. Iraq has also closed its borders with Iran, preventing both entry and exit to both countries.

In Baghdad yesterday a three-day curfew was imposed as 2,500 Iraqi and 500 US security forces began going neighborhood to neighborhood. Today, officials announced they had sealed six areas within the city. Six car bombs exploded throughout the capital; four were aimed at Iraqi security forces and two at American forces. Later, a seventh went off at a security checkpoint.

At this time, Iraqis have only one hope as they flee continuing violence. That hope is Jordan. Thus far, Jordan’s borders remain as they have for the past months—more or less open.

Attempts to actually pin down the government’s border policy proved tricky. Authorities maintain that Iraqis are welcome in their country and that the border remains open. Iraqis insist there are frequent closings and indiscriminate refusals of entry.

Several white SUVs with Iraqi license plates line the parking lot of a transit company that carries passengers between Amman and Baghdad. Last year the lot overflowed with at least 100 SUVs, but ironically, as the Iraqi exodus continues to grow, today there are perhaps only fifteen vehicles standing by. Drivers say this is due to increased danger along the road as well as the gamble of entry.

A half dozen drivers at this particular company agreed to speak, but the manager remained nervous and said they had been advised by the government not to talk with journalists. He advised me not to stay, both for my safety and the safety of the drivers and then shut himself inside his office. The drivers were all willing enough to talk, yet all refused to use even their first name.

Drivers like these make weekly trips between Iraq and Jordan, carrying four to six passengers at a time. They cross terrain known for robberies where there are no checkpoints and for ID killings (those killed for having the wrong last name in the wrong area) where there are. Add to this the uncertainty of gaining entry to Jordan after traveling hundreds of kilometers and it’s understandable when drivers say many people now prefer to fly, even though it costs six times more.

At the Iraqi border, some four and a half hours from Amman, one driver says it’s impossible to pre-determine if Jordanian officials will allow entry. Though Iraqis worry they won’t be admitted if they have the old “S” series passport, as opposed to the new “G” series, both government officials and the drivers say it doesn’t matter. In general, “people are just rolling the dice and taking their chances,” said the driver. “There are no regulations, it just depends on the day and the mood of the officers.”

At the Ministry of Interior, however, spokesperson Ziad Zoubi insists, “the border is open 24 hours. It is closed only for shift changes. All Iraqis can enter Jordan. No one is stopping them.” He says those who are sick and elderly especially are allowed in.

Zaineb disagreed. She shared a ride from Baghdad with two elderly women who she said were in their mid-late seventies. “The way they were treated was very disrespectful by the border guards. They were made to strip completely, even their underwear. And then they were refused, and weren’t given any reason.”

Zoubi said certain restrictions do apply. Children under 18 are not allowed without a guardian, those who have past fines for overstaying a previous visa are not admitted, and, he added, “terrorists” are not allowed. When pressed on the definition of a terrorist, Zoubi explained how easy it is to forge documents in Baghdad. “We’ve found a lot of forged passports since 2003.”

Jordan is understandably nervous. In November 2005 simultaneous explosions took place at three upscale hotels in Amman, which killed at least 67 people and injured 300. Al Qaeda in Iraq—led by Jordanian Abu Musab al Zarqawi—claimed responsibility.

Zoubi said, “a lot of people can pay money for a doctor report [to gain entry to Jordan] and really be a terrorist.” However, he added that most of the refusals are due to non-payment of previous fines. Their names having been registered in a data base when they left Jordan, Iraqis are not allowed to pay when attempting to return, instead they are turned away.

Zoubi would not say how many documents are forged, nor give a figure for how many Iraqis are refused entry. But, he says, those who are allowed in can easily stay.

Iraqis claim they are able to stay for only three months, then must leave the country to gain another three months. Zoubi denies this is the case and says Iraqis need only request their stay be extended from local police stations where they can get their passports stamped. He said Iraqis are even allowed to permanently stay if they meet certain criteria—though after fifteen minutes, the only criteria I could determine was that they own a place.

Zoubi also pointed out that Jordan is generous enough to provide a return ticket for those refused entry at the airport.

“This is not true!” insists one Iraqi man, who arrived Amman by plane a month ago and is awaiting a visa to the UK. “You must have a roundtrip ticket in case we’re turned away. In Syria, no. You just need a one way.” A friend sitting with him agreed. The friend, who holds both American and Iraqi citizenship, had flown in two weeks prior. He claims Jordanian authorities treated arriving Iraqis very poorly, while he was simply waved through security after showing his US passport. “I know many people who were turned back at the border and at the airport who’ve never been to Jordan before.”

In a separate interview, Hayder, a driver who had arrived the previous night from Kirkuk, related the following story. “While I was there [at the border] a young man tried to enter,” he said. “He was in a different car than mine, but I overheard his situation. He was from Baghdad and had received death threats. He was so terrified he left without anything. He had only a small plastic bag with his documents. That’s it. He didn’t even have a change of clothing. He had never been to Jordan before, but they refused him. He was so scared, he was crying and begging them not to send him back. It was too sad. We couldn’t do anything.”

Back at the transit company, one driver says it’s frustrating to him that people must travel so far without knowing what will happen. Without clear rules, he says, “It’s all on the disposition of the authorities if people can enter or not.”

I asked Zoubi if it wouldn’t be easier for Iraqis and Jordanians both to just require a visa. “Why would we do that?” he asked in return. “Iraqis don’t need a visa in Jordan.”

Even with all the regulatory confusion the drivers say they don’t completely blame the Jordanians. “Look, the number of Iraqis coming in exceeds the number leaving. This is the problem,” says one as others nod.

An unemployed engineer who arrived five months ago is standing nearby listening. He agrees, then adds that the burden of Iraq’s refugees should not belong solely to the Jordanian government. The US, he says, needs to step up and solve the problem they created.

“What kind of democracy did the Americans bring us? It’s not that I hate the Americans, but we were safe in our homes before. I didn’t agree with the previous regime, but at least my children went to school. Now it’s completely collapsed. Would Bush accept that his children didn’t attend school? That they are refugees? This is a crystal clear issue that needs to be addressed!”

Discrimination Felt as Iraqi Refugee Crisis Grows

by Karen Button

Amman -Since a report released by Refugees International in November declared Iraq the “world’s fastest growing refugee crisis,” political pressure has been building for the international community to recognise the situation for what it is—a humanitarian disaster.

Nearly 100,000 Iraqis are fleeing the raging violence of their country each month. Per day 2,000 attempt to cross into Syria and 1,000 into Jordan. The rest are dispersing throughout the region to countries like Lebanon, Egypt and Libya.

Cedric Turlan, spokesperson for the NGO Coordinating Committee in Iraq (NCCI), said he believes 3-4 million Iraqis have already fled. Accurate figures are impossible to determine since only those who register as refugees with the UN High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR) are counted. Turlan points out since many Iraqis are living without any formal documentation, the number is clearly higher. In Jordan, for example, there are officially 700,000 Iraqi refugees while organisations like NCCI and UNICEF believe the number is at least 1 million.

Yet little international support has arrived. The UNHCR said their budget last year amounted to only $1 per person in dealing with the Iraqi crisis. And even though this year’s budget has doubled, it still only amounts to $2 per person for the year.

The organisation’s coordinator of the Iraq unit, Andrew Harper, wrote in the latest issue of Forced Migration that “Iraq is haemorrhaging." He estimates that one in eight Iraqis is now displaced, making it, he says, the largest migration of people in the Middle East since Palestinians were displaced by the creation of Israel in 1948.

(To put it in perspective, if an equivalent number were displaced in the US, it would be over 35 million people, and over 7 million were it the UK.)

Iraqis now account for 10-20 percent of Jordan’s population, placing a huge strain on the country’s already beleaguered resources. It is not a wealthy nation; Jordanians make an average $5,096 USD annually and unemployment is as high as 30 percent. It also ranks among the top ten most water-deficient nations in the world and imports all its energy needs. Jordan is hardly prepared for an influx like it has witnessed.

Not surprisingly, tensions between Jordanians and Iraqis are on the rise. There is a notable difference even on the street since my last visit to Amman this past spring. In conversations strangely reminiscent to those in the States regarding Mexican immigration, Jordanians openly state their frustration with the situation, believing Iraqis are burdening the country’s economy and taking away their jobs by their willingness to work for less pay.

Yet, the Iraqis who’ve fled for their lives and are trying to eek out an existence in Jordan are equally frustrated. They feel discriminated against, they say, in a country Iraq helped for years by providing very cheap oil.

Feelings of hopelessness and despair permeate the Iraqi community as family savings dwindle and options are limited. Food, shelter, medical care, school supplies, clothing, and gas for heat all cost money that many Iraqi refugees simply don’t have.

UNHCR and UNICEF say they are doing their best, but many Iraqis are in the situation of Abu Mohammed. A 35 year old man from Kirkuk, Abu Mohammed was threatened with death and fled to Jordan in 2005 with his wife and children. But, he says, “it’s impossible for me to work here because they might catch me and deport me.” That would leave his wife alone with their four children, not to mention the danger he would be thrust back into in Iraq. Instead, the two eldest work to support the family. But, insists their father, employers “don’t give Iraqis the same salary.”

Fourteen year old Mohammed works full time in a grocery story. His fifteen year old sister, Noor, works half-time in a print shop. Between the two they bring home about $130 USD a month, barely enough to cover rent and electricity.

As teenagers, the two should be attending school rather than working, but as Iraqis without residency, they are not allowed. Last year the Jordanian government banned all Iraqi children from attending public schools, but softened the policy after two weeks. Families tell me they are now at the mercy of school administrators. In Abu Mohammed’s neighborhood, close to the bustling and mixed downtown area, Iraqi children are not allowed.

Across the city, Um Ahmed says her children are able to attend school, but are tormented because they’re Shiite. She says the family has lived in Jordan in relative peace they arrived in 2001, but since the 2003 US-led invasion attitudes began to change.

“It wasn’t like this before. It changed against the Shi’a since after 2003. Jordan blames us for the occupation,” she claims.

“Then it became worse after Saddam’s death.” A few days after Saddam’s hanging, Um Ahmed says her eight year old daughter Hana was asked if she was a Sunni or Shi’a. “She answered she was Shi’a and they told her, ‘we should dismiss you from this country!’ She came home crying and blamed me, asking, ‘why did you put us in this situation?’

“In the schools they are always focused on Shi’a or Sunni. Now the children are hating to go to school because of this. Last year their marks were much better.”

Um Ahmed’s situation is made worse by the fact her husband left five months ago to visit relatives in Iraq and hasn’t been allowed back in Jordan since. Her two sons, one of them only 10 years old, now work in a shoe factory to support the family. Tears slip down her cheeks as she talks. The five children miss their father and she is in a constant state of worry about where their next meal will come from.

Sectarian differentiation is clearly spilling over the borders—a Jordanian man who struck up casual conversation in a store volunteered that the country has always been Sunni and he worries about too many Shi’a entering. When I ask why, he reveals a deeper concern about Iran. Iraqis also report being asked if they are Shi’a or Sunni by border officials, though everyone I’ve spoken with who’s crossed—Sunni and Shi’a alike—express disgust at the question.

But most Iraqi refugees at this point say they’ve felt discriminated against because they are Iraqi, rather than by their sect.

One man relates his experience at a medical clinic, which he was told provided free health care to refugees. He says not only did the doctor treat his family with disrespect, but he was also given a bill for the services. To top it off, he was also given a long list of expensive medications and tests that should be done for his son outside the clinic. Unprepared for the fees, he says he was deeply ashamed. Abu Amar’s family is one of the poorest I’ve met with, though they were from the middle class when they lived in Iraq.

“I was so shocked at the treatment,” he says. Then adds, “as you know, Iraqis have their dignity.”

The stories these families share are only a highlight of the growing fissure between Jordanian authorities and Iraqis living in the capital city. Initially welcomed in Jordan, the government now refers to Iraqis as “illegal immigrants” rather than refugees from war.

In statements made off the record, humanitarian advocates are quick to criticise the Bush administration’s lack of support. They say the US is responsible for creating the refugee crisis and should be giving financial assistance to Syria and Jordan, especially.

The UN High Commissioner for Refugees António Guterres is currently touring Middle Eastern countries that where Iraqis have fled. While acknowledging Syria’s and Jordan’s generosity, he called for greater international aid to hosting nations.

“The pressure over society, over resources and infrastructure, over social systems and education, is enormous. The sacrifices made by these countries are remarkable and the international community needs to assume full responsibility supporting them."

Yet, as Mr. Bush seeks over $700 billion for next year’s military budget, and the US spends $8 billion a month on the occupation, a scant $20 billion was allocated this year for refugee assistance.

Stuck in Iraq

by Karen Button

This past week the Jordanian authorities began strict measures at the border they share with Iraq. Though hundreds of Iraqis attempting to flee the untenable violence in their home country each day, only a few are now being allowed to cross in to Jordan. The Syrian government, traditionally very friendly toward fleeing Iraqis, has taken similar measures. The new measures are being touted as part of the new security plan implemented by the Iraqi government and carried out jointly with American forces.

As I arrived in Amman I learned my dear friend and translator was spending the night on the border between Jordan and Iraq. Hers was among dozens of other vehicles in a long line-up hoping to cross. Trying to reach her proved impossible. It was only late the next day when she called from Baghdad I learned she was among the unlucky who were turned back.

For the past three days life has been defined by a flurry of phone calls and text messages, worry and an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. In other words, what some 700,000-1 million Iraqis in Amman go through every day.

Her neighborhood has been under fierce mortar attacks for the past couple days. “You can’t imagine what it is like,” she says over the phone. “Last night the mortars were really terrible. There was also shooting all night long.” In the morning a neighbor tells her 100 people have been killed.

“Oh my God,” she says suddenly. What? What? “There’s another attack!” she cries, just as I hear it hit in the background. Across the miles I hear the fear in her voice. Afraid for her life, tears spill from my eyes as I try to imagine the scene. The fabric of family, neighborhood, and country ripped apart in the struggle just to survive.

“We are living in a big prison,” she says, “especially now if we cannot even be allowed to leave!”

Though Syria has intermittently closed each of its three borders, her travel agent (who, in these times, arranges not just flights, but the car transport most Iraqis depend upon) has told her those borders are still open. Please, just fly to Syria, I tell her. She is promising to call the agent when suddenly the phone goes dead. I’ve run out of credit.

I quickly text message her that I’ll call back soon and dash out to purchase another phone card, which can be purchased only in small increments. Unbelievably, it’s much more expensive to call Iraq from Jordan than it is from the States.

When we finally reach one another again, she is laughing incredulously. “You won’t believe it--the travel agent just told me all flights to Damascus have been cancelled.”

The closure is part of the so-called new security plan put forward by the Iraqi government, in which American and Iraqi forces are “securing” Baghdad. Again.

By this time, she, her sister-in-law and two nieces had gone to a relative’s house in another neighborhood. Not that it’s safe, but at least there are no mortars or gunfights—for now. “If you can tell me you still have this feeling that we will see each other, then I will have some hope,” she tells me as we say goodnight.

When we next talk, she relates another harrowing tale. Today was her eldest niece’s birthday. “She was crying because she wanted a birthday cake, something to tell her it was her birthday. We wanted to have a small celebration, of course. So, my sister-in-law was able to buy her a cake and my sister and I went to a small shop nearby so I could buy her a present. When we stopped, a man came up to the car and told us we had to park in a nearby lot that he was wanted to charge us for. You know, this is how it is now, these gangs are running the streets. I told him, ‘I am just going to be in the shop for a minute and my sister will stay with the car.’ He started shouting at me, so I left and went to toward the shop. Then he started arguing with my sister. When I looked back, he had pulled out a pistol and was aiming it at her.”

My god, did he shoot? I picture her sister, a woman who is not afraid to speak her mind facing this man.

“No, because she drove away very quickly.”

And what did you do?

“I had to walk back--by another street, of course. And, of course, we had to go to the police. So, we drove to the traffic police to report it and he said it was none of his concern, go to the Iraqi National Guard, which was nearby. So, we did that. But then as we were going back, the roads were suddenly blocked from a car bomb that exploded nearby.

“This is how it is here. It’s a nightmare.”

I listen to all of this and realise this is what some 700,000-1 million Iraqis in Jordan alone contend with daily—the feelings of powerlessness and constant worry for loved ones still in Iraq.

Later on, while meeting with two other Iraqis, the elder man keeps looking at his watch. On the hour he tells me, “I will now send a missed call to my son in Baghdad to make sure he and his mother are still alive. Watch, he will send a missed call back.” Moments later his phone buzzes. He looks up smiling, “You see, they are ok. We do this twice each day at specified times.”