Menna Meta3wde

   I still am struck with fresh hurt and compassion  every time I sit with a woman new to living in the refugee camps. The adjustment is so intense, so other worldly. The mud, the sounds, the crowded living, the way all the kids congregate together to play and all bad habits grow exponentially. Learning to cook over a gas stove, all their work is done hunched over...laundry, cooking, chopping. These women came from homes and counter tops and Laundry machines ( even if manual)  and showers.

 Their tough bodies protest with aching backs and shoulders, their minds protest as they work through anxiety and fear of letting their children play with the rougher children- an obstacle they have never had to cross.

 And most of these beautiful people -why are they fleeing their war torn homes? Is it the bombs? The violence and the threats? The lack of food and lack of electricity? Of course all of that contributes- but the thing that drives them over the edge...the thing that makes them leave everything and flee into the unknown territory of living in a camp in mud- their children's education. 

  They can no longer bear their kids growing up not knowing how to read and write. Not having a future.

  I sit with a woman who fled Syria to Jordan and has now arrived here. Her plight is rough, the travel from Jordan - back through Syria- to arrive here was uncertain and she and her four kids were placed in a holding cell.

And I can feel and sense some of the signs of trauma- the flashbacks, the regret, the pain, the anxiety and anger that comes and goes. I sit across from her so humbled. So deeply humbled. That I can give a little bit of my time to show up. To listen and ask questions, to cry about all that she has lost and share her joy that all her kids and husband are alive.  

 I don't want to grow weary or hardened to the weight that this adjustment and heart ache is for every.single.one.of.them. There is nothing normal about this. No easy answers and no way to wipe away the pain and loss. 

    The really small, insignificant thing that I can do is offer friendship in this place.  Sitting in the tent with them and giving the tiny offerings I can give... love, listening, glimmers of hope, prayer, compassion.