Baqa’a - the story Exiting the Amman - Damascus Highway at Baqa’a camp I pull off the road and wait. Within minutes my guide, Mahmood, a worker for one of the main Islamic charity organisations, pulls alongside. He greets me as a long lost brother although we have never met; over the next few days he will guide me through the camp and introduce me to many people. The market is busy, the sense of community apparent everywhere, clean well dressed men, women and children, everyone is proud and dignified. People stop and greet me “English ? Do you support Manchester United ?”, “Of course” I reply, hoping they don’t ask the name of any footballers. I’m welcomed, made to feel at home. Is this really a refugee camp? Are these people really refugees? Where are the people with no purpose in their life or the men with guns? Mahmood starts to explain.“Four generations of refugees have grown up with little hope of escaping poverty, let alone reaching their potential as humans, yet the community remains strong.” We look closer at the shops and market stalls, food and essentials only, second hand clothes and shoe stands abound, but no luxuries. Baqa’a is run by UNRWA (The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees), they work alongside all of the charities on the camp. Being a politically funded organisation, the UN is restricted to running the school, health centre, some food distribution and civil projects. The school has 60 students in each class and runs four shifts per day, not surprisingly half of the children do not finish basic education. Yet some do succeed at school, last year the top ten Jordanian graduates came from the camps; there is an escape through education - if you are exceptional and have the financial support.
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Baqa’a - the story The unemployment, overcrowding, lack of proper ventilation, inadequate garbage collection, poor water and sewage systems make the camp a breeding ground for disease. Mahmood struggles to express his emotion, “Every family faces devastation, then hope, followed by devastation - eventually everyone becomes anaesthetised to hope; the mortality statistics, whether through illness or suicide, are just numbers, they loose all meaning.” Mahmood takes me to a narrow gateway, the entrance to a small patch of ground between two houses, he knows the emotion and shock I am experiencing and tries to prepare me, “behind every door you find tragic circumstances, orphans, mental and physical illness, widows, birth defects, nothing prepares you”. In 1948, Fatima was a young girl in her late teens living in Al-Dawayima, a small Palestinian village near Hebron. “We were farmers and had land, we grew figs, olives, and wheat.” As a reminder of those better days she keeps one solitary olive tree growing in the small yard of her home. She and Abdul Rahman, her brother, had expected peace and comfort in the years ahead, but in the space of just a few hours their lives and the lives of everyone they knew changed forever. She remembers every detail of October 29, 1948. Al-Dawayima, was the site of one of the larger, little-known massacres of the war. “Our parents among the dead, we fled for our lives; leaving our home with nothing more than the clothes on our back.” Sixty-three years on Fatima still has nothing. Along with many survivors, they walked to The Hebron Hills where they hid, before walking onto a makeshift camp in Jericho. There would be no peace for Fatima or her brother; during the Arab-Israeli war of June 1967, along with 300,000 Palestinians, they fled Jericho and The West Bank for exile in Jordan. Since 1968, she has lived in Baqa’a with her brother Abdul Rahman and his disabled son; both crippled through Arthritis, neither can walk more than a few tens of yards. “We walked day and night until reaching Baqa’a; this was to be our new home.” Under canvas, many died in the harsh Jordanian winters; steel 7 March 2011 John Ridley / Middle East Perspectives.com Copyright © 2011, John Ridley. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without prior written permission of John Ridley / Middle East Perspectives
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Baqa’a - the story prefabricated huts eventually replaced the tents. “The huts were dry, an improvement on the canvas tents, but as protection against the cold we dug underground shelters.” In September 1972, Israel began aerial bombing of Baqa’a in retaliation for Palestinian attempts to recapture their homeland. The underground shelters became protection from the bombing raids; the whole camp was destroyed. Unable to afford to replace their hut, they lived below their 9 metre by 9 metre plot of ground for 20 years. “Finally, with the help of charity we managed to build a small concrete shelter.” The elderly brother, sister, and handicapped son now live in this one room, rags on the floor to sleep on - they can afford no mattresses or furniture. “We keep hens in the yard, feeding them stale bread, eggs are our main diet. Two to three times a week, more fortunate Baqa’a residents provide us with a meal. Many hundreds of people in the camp live in the same poverty as us.” Despite the hardship, Fatima is a joy and inspiration, she is now in her mid seventies, but as I left her home, smiling, she told me that when she returns to Palestine she will be ready to get married. With every family we meet the stories keep coming. The narrow alleyways between the houses are cold, dark and damp, very little sun light reaches the streets or into the homes. The houses were in dreadful condition inside and out, the personal stories even worse; illness, death, finance, or other tragedy. In 1948, Abdullah’s grandparents, married just five years, were raising their young family in the coastal city of 7 March 2011 John Ridley / Middle East Perspectives.com Copyright © 2011, John Ridley. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without prior written permission of John Ridley / Middle East Perspectives
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Baqa’a - the story Jaffa. “My grandfather came from a trading family, buying and selling citrus fruit from the orchards for export. We were not rich, but we wanted for nothing.” “As the escalating violence reached Jaffa, my grandparents decided the family should leave the city.” The family packed for a short trip, they would return home in a week or two when things settled down. They covered their furniture, locked the door, and left, heading for Ramallah on foot, carrying just the provisions they could manage - and the key to the door of the house. Every family I visited showed me their house keys - ‘The key’ has come to symbolise the right of return for Palestinian refugees worldwide. “Countless people walked together towards an unknown destination, we walked until dusk, resting in orchards overnight. My mother was six months old and very ill, doctors had said that she would not survive.” The family was in great difficulty, carrying four young children and provisions. “On the first night my grandparents begged the owner of an orchard to care for their dying child until she passed away.” Another refugee intervened, leaving his few possessions, he carried her for two days until they reached the safety of Ramallah (translates to The Heights of God). Finally, the refugees arrived at the emergency shelters, home from 1948 until 1967. “My grandmother, with help from The Quakers, supported the family by selling crochet and knitting to people in Ramallah.” In 1967 the Israelis again declared war on The Palestinians, forcing a second wave of violence and expulsions. “Again we were refugees, left with nothing.” Exhausted, after days of walking, they arrived in Baqa’a on the Jordanian East Bank; home was to be a canvas tent, allocated to the family by the United Nations. “By 1972, most tents had been replaced by steel shelters, each family, usually eight to ten people over three generations, was allocated just 96 square metres, but we were not left in peace to rebuild our lives, Israelis continued fighting Palestinians. In September of that year Israel again attacked us, this time dropping bombs from aircraft onto Baqa’a, killing thousands and destroying the camp.” Abdullah’s mother survived, she is now 63 and lives with him, his wife, their four daughters and three sons.
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Baqa’a - the story Just two weeks before I met Abdullah and his mother, Ayishah, Abdullah’s fiveyear old daughter had died of cholera, “very common in all the refugee camps, caused by sewage in the streets when we have heavy rain.” As a Palestinian refugee arriving in Jordan after 1967, Abdullah has no nationality and can only find simple work outside the camp, for which police approval is needed. “Palestinians, even those with Jordanian nationality, have differently coloured identity cards, we face discrimination everywhere in our lives, once a refugee, always a refugee.” Abdullah now works for the Imam in the Mosque, “I earn very little money, but it is better than nothing and reduces my dependence upon charity.” I had taken so much of Abdullah’s time; despite the emotion of his story, I enjoyed his family’s hospitality and friendship. His wife thanked me for showing interest and concern for Palestinians, no one could remember the last time a western person, besides politicians and charity workers, had chosen to visit the camp. They thanked me for wearing the Palestinian Keffiyeh; I explained, “the Keffiyah is a symbol of the Palestinian resistance and solidarity and I am honoured to wear it, but Amman is cold, the Keffiya keeps my neck warm, it is also very fashionable.” Abdullah and his wife looked me up and down a couple of times before laughing. Leaving the house, they presented me with a copy of The Quran and asked me to promise that I would come back; I promised to try. The edge of Baqa’a to the roundabout of the main Damascus - Amman Highway is fewer than twenty metres, few people know what lies behind the tatty shops, workshops and second hand tyre stands fronting the road. Not many from Amman turn into the camp, unless they want to buy vegetables from the market stalls at a fraction of the price of Safeway. Few do. Our car turns onto the highway, in less than five minutes we are in Amman, driving past the highly respected Queen Rania Hospital for Children and the
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Baqa’a - the story upmarket City Mall. Baqa’a is just far enough outside Amman to be forgotten. The world may look away, but the forgotten people of Palestine will still be there.
7 March 2011 John Ridley / Middle East Perspectives.com Copyright © 2011, John Ridley. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without prior written permission of John Ridley / Middle East Perspectives
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