Michael Jansenreports from Amman on the lives being lived in Jordan by hundreds of thousands of refugees
IN THE run-up to the 2003 US war on Iraq, the UN made elaborate preparations at Rweished, Jordan, for the reception of tens of thousands of refugees. But the refugees did not come during the conflict.
The tent camps folded. The Iraqis came later in waves, particularly after the attack on the Shia shrine in Samarra at the end of February 2006. Today they number 750,000, some 300,000 registered with the government or UN and the rest illegals. Although there are twice as many Iraqis in Syria, the proportion is higher in Jordan, with one in eight in the kingdom migrants from Iraq.
Early arrivals did not need visas, but, alarmed by the steady flow of long-stay refugees, the Jordanian authorities limited entry by imposing strict conditions and insisting on a financial guarantee of $100,000 for a couple and each child over 18. The guarantee has been reduced to $25,000 but can mount up for large families.
Processing visa applications takes 40 days. Many are rejected. Mona, a Christian from Baghdad, says her parents have left their home there because it is too dangerous and moved to the north of Iraq. “I am alone here. I want to bring my parents but they have been refused visas. I am making a new application. It’s not safe where they are staying now. Christians have many difficulties.” The refugees are from all classes, sects and ethnicities. There are fabulously wealthy businessmen who build white stone mansions in the Abdoun neighbourhood of the capital; upper-middle-class Iraqis with adequate resources; and middle- class families who struggle to maintain a decent standard of living. The poor, the majority, live eight or 10 in flats they rarely leave for fear of deportation.
The Jordanian authorities have tried to ease the plight of hard-pressed families by admitting Iraqi children to local schools, and charitable groups provide healthcare. Iraqis from different backgrounds stick together. They go to Iraqi-run shops and restaurants and meet at weddings and funerals.
Iraqis are not permitted to work. However, businessmen operate Iraq-based firms from Amman or form partnerships with Jordanians who then have 51 per cent ownership. Iraqi doctors treat Iraqi patients at home while others work undercover in Jordanian clinics with low pay. The poor take sweat-shop or manual jobs.
Nuha, a businesswoman, says many middle-class Iraqis sell their homes to finance their exile. “When the money runs out and they are forced to return to Iraq they . . . stay with relatives.”
Those who return and still have homes often cannot live in them because their neighbourhoods are too risky for people of their sect or they find their homes taken over by squatters with militia backing.
Unemployment is high in Iraq and many professionals and former civil servants cannot find jobs. Before the war, salaries and the cost of living were low in Iraq. But today’s higher salaries cannot keep up with climbing costs. “The prices of houses and flats are soaring,” Samia, a writer, says, “and people have to be careful where they rent or buy because of sectarian divisions which did not exist before. No one knew who was Sunni or Shia. I don’t want to hear these words!”
Iraqi painters and poets have moved on, she says. “But they are miserable in the US or Europe. Some don’t speak the language. They are far from home. Iraqis don’t like living outside Iraq.”