Day In The Life 1: The Zoo
A day in the life as a humanitarian aid worker in the world’s largest Syrian refugee camp.
I arrive to the office at 7:45 with my to-go coffee in hand, from Rumi, my favorite café down the street. Americano, a little bit of milk. It’s one of those mornings I enjoy getting to the office early before anyone else is around, with a nice coffee, and getting a head start on my day.
I open my laptop and pull up the Powerpoint that Katie and I will present today to one of the working groups in Zaatari, about a recent research study she led for us. Given the intense media attention on Zaatari, there are constant research studies in the camp, and it feels like a zoo of researchers, journalists, documentary filmmakers, government officials from all over the world, even celebrities.
Once while walking in the camp, I turned the corner around a small cluster of trailers-as-houses and came face to face with Sponge Bob, larger than life, walking around the camp trailed by a gaggle of laughing kids.
For research studies at least, the group we’ll present to is responsible for approving all studies in the camp, to keep the zoo under control and make refugees feel less like they are living in one.
I edit the slides and try to make our presentation more palatable, more understandable, to the group. I try to smooth over weak spots in our methodology. I add language that will make sense to them: raising awareness about Gender-Based Violence (GBV) and enhancing access to Child Protection (CP) services. I speak UN fluently by this point.
I reorganize our findings, write some new recommendations. Rushing, rushing to get done by the time we need to leave for the camp. Keep moving, keep moving.
Sayf comes in with blood on his arm from falling down the stairs this morning while carrying his little son Sami out the door of his house. Apparently he tripped on Sami’s trailing blanket. “Oh no!” I peer at the scrapes on his arm. “I think there’s a first aid kit in the hallway, maybe get some gauze and bandaids?” I finish my edits (barely) by 9:00 when the rest of my team filters in.
Sayf, after bandaging his arm, has been on the phone. Now he comes back into our office and tells me and the others that our upcoming training in Aqaba has been approved by the Jordanian secret police, but that five of our staff will not be allowed to leave the camp to join the training.
The Aqaba training: the coveted, most-looked-forward-to week of the year for our Syrian staff who live in the camp. An all-expenses-paid week in Aqaba, the port city on the Red Sea in the south of Jordan, with training sessions during the day and swimming in the sea (the actual sea!) in the golden evenings. The relief of getting out of the oppressive environment of the camp, just for a week.
The annual Aqaba training is a rare gem for them — which usually means it is a nightmare to plan for us. Especially if some names from our tight-knit team have not been approved to attend.
The Jordanian secret police: reserve the right to not allow any refugee to travel outside the camp for a training in a different region of the country. We never know why some names are approved and others are not; we just have to break the news to the unlucky few.
This time around, Kamal, Ahmad, Ayman, Khalid, and Salah were not approved. We discuss. I feel so bad for these five, especially Kamal, who loves the ocean and has been so looking forward to this training.
We know when we get to the camp, we will get attacked with questions about the training, and we as the Jordanian staff (plus me) need to present a united front. The six of us need to give the same answer, Yes, it is still planned for the same dates. No, we don’t have any more details right now. We want to avoid telling them that some names were not approved until Sayf speaks with the police again to see if there is any wiggle room on the five names. (Probably not. But worth trying.)
We pile into our two staff cars and drive. An hour and 10 minutes north over monotonous desert plains to get to the camp. On the way, I tell Sayf about the Skype call to take place this afternoon between Salma, one of our Syrian staff, and Hannah in New York.
Salma is going to be featured in an upcoming UN report and Hannah from the UN agency wants to interview her via Skype. I will be there to help translate if needed, though Salma’s English is really good. We will need a quiet room (not going to happen) and reliable internet (also not going to happen). I can feel my insides tightening, physically bracing for the hectic day.
I spend the rest of the ride briefing Katie on the changes I made to her slides, getting her opinion, and prepping for our presentation. I call Yasser, driving the other car, and remind him not to mention the issue of the five names that were not approved for Aqaba. Though we’ve just been over this, he’s the newest of my direct reports, and I’m worried he will share all the details too soon.
Driving into the camp, we pass the two police checkpoints — all refugee and staff movements in and out of the camp are controlled on this one road — where we roll down the windows and flash our staff badges. Then the bumpy, 10-minute drive through the dirt roads to our youth center, smack in the middle of the camp in District 5.¹
Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this piece. Here is Part 2:
¹ Zaatari is divided into 12 districts. Remind you of something?
Originally published at http://georgienink.com on August 28, 2022.
