Things started to change for me after that first day. Yes, I was going to do my absolute best to teach them English. That was, after all, the reason why we had been invited there and there are few things I love more than teaching English. But I was also going to make sure that every single one of my students knew that I not only saw them but that I also cared and loved them. It didn’t matter that we couldn’t speak each other’s language, I was going to make sure, whether through a smile, a game of frisbee, or a pat on the back, that they knew they were loved. And that’s what I set out to do each and every day that I taught. Before long I found myself eager every morning to get to my classroom because it meant I had three more hours to show love to those kids. Each moment was valuable.
Things changed for them as well. It was awkward for them at first but before long they began to get comfortable with us. Attempts to communicate happened. Invitations to join them in their groups during break were offered. Hand shakes, smiles, and laughs became common in and outside of the classroom. It was a beautiful thing because even when there are few things to bring someone together you can always count on love to step in and help.
Don’t let me fool you, we weren’t the only ones showing love. The people in that refugee camp were some of the kindest, most hospitable people I’ve ever met. Words cannot explain how well we were taken care of during our time in their school. Once we were invited over to a house where we were served a meal that could’ve fed a group three times our size and yet all the hosts could talk about was how they wish they could treat us in their own homes and cook us more traditional food. All they wanted was to treat us as honored guests to thank us for being there. Often their expressions of love were too much to take in at once. People who had seen so little of love had somehow found the strength to overwhelm us with their own love. People who had every right to think of only themselves chose instead to focus on us and make sure we felt comfortable and appreciated.
It was a world-shattering thing to experience. An experience that I hope I won’t recover from.
We came to teach English and English learning definitely happened while were there. I don’t think I will ever forget the shouts of joy of our students as they received their graded homework (with a big checkmark). At the end of the month, however, I felt more joy in my heart knowing that the kids in my classroom knew they were loved. It was evident in the hands that held mine those last few days. In the notes and gifts we received from our kids. From the local teachers, themselves refugees, who told us they were thankful that their kids once again were remembering how to play and have fun again. Despite everything, love was felt that month in Iraq. Love changes things.
What’s the Point?
Before I was an English teacher I was a student of history. History has it’s heroes but to be honest the majority of history is dark. Humanity has this nasty habit of caring for its own self-interest over anything else which has often allowed evil to spread its reign of destruction on whomever it pleases. History will remember the refugee crisis in the Middle East in the same way if we continue to ignore their cries of help.
On top of facing an enemy that threatens them and their families they now have to face the judgment of people who may have an inaccurate concept of reality for them.
When I hear the word “refugee” I will hear the names of my students as I called roll each day. I will hear the names of the teachers who helped us in class when everything fell apart. I will hear the names of the people who welcomed us into their country with nothing but hospitality and kindness. I will hear the names of the people who begged us not to forget them.
When I see or hear “refugee” I am reminded that “that refugee has a name.” He is more than a refugee. He is a person with a name, just like you and me.
