Short Biography of an Iraqi Refugee

Azaldeen Seff

A Short Biography of an Iraqi Refugee

“Since I have seen what this world is like, I have no dreams.  Do you know the feeling when you wish to cry and you can’t?  It’s so hard.  I wish to cry.”

His hands covered his face, his eyes were moist with tears, and his voice strained to gain composure as we sat together in a living room in Amman, Jordan.  

Azaldeen had been waiting for 45 minutes in the hot sun during Ramadan for us to pick him up.  We were late and he was hot, thirsty and unable to drink anything, but he had jumped into the car with a smile on his face, thankful for the ride.

The first time we met was at a roof-top cafe on Rainbow Street.  People were enjoying a variety of food and drink, smoking the traditional shisha after the sun went down.   Our group was settled in the corner comfortably sipping tea and filling the cool evening air with conversation and laughter.  He and two friends arrived half an hour later, and he was introduced to us as “Deen.”  His broad smile made his face beam with happiness, and his animated hand gestures and body language spoke of his zest for life.  His lean, but sturdy stature stood tall next to his friends as he pulled up a chair from a nearby table.  He had close cropped, brown hair and a square, defined jaw bone.  A two inch scar ran down from his eyebrow past the corner of his right eye.  Clad in stylish jeans, a deep army green t-shirt and sneakers, he quickly made himself comfortable among our group of foreigners.  It wasn’t his demeanor or sense of humor or his ability to put a smile on everyone’s face that piqued my curiosity; it was when his friend spoke the words, “He is a refugee, and his family members have been killed by war.  His story is sad and unbelievable.”

Through the bustle of new friends getting acquainted and old friends sharing stories, I listened, dumbfounded, as Deen opened up his heart.

He began in Iraq, a place of beauty, happiness and friendly community. 

He told me about how the war started and described how the marines came in to invade his country.  He told me of how, at the age of thirteen, his childhood sweetheart died running from a bomb explosion inside a Hummer.  A marine killed her with a gunshot to the head.  Deen said that the marines would shoot everyone around the bomb area, women, children, anyone.

Deen recalled events that had occurred a decade ago with as much pain in his eyes as if they had happened yesterday.  He described scenes and scenarios of his childhood being torn apart and he spoke of death as a common thing.  He told the story of his home being destroyed and how he, along with his family fled to Syria.  The somber tone of his story would randomly be broken with a small joke, or a fleeting burst of laughter, but then he would look at me and say, 

“Do you know what I mean?  Could you imagine that?”

He was picturing the Iraq of his childhood with his eyes closed.  A slight smile formed on his lips as he remembered the “old Iraq” and how it used to be during his carefree childhood.  Iraq was the first country in the Middle East to get “home services” where each household had three hoses, one for water, one for petrol, and one for natural gas.  The search for “black gold” led many Iraqis to dig up the ground to find their fortune, but Deen’s mother was a well educated architect and interior decorator, and his father was an engineer.  Deen described Iraq as a place that looked like Dubai right now.  It was a beautiful and modern country.

Rather than play with his friends as a child, Deen spent a lot of time thinking.  He was considerate of other people, and if they had a problem or worry, he would take it upon himself to help them out.  Like any other kids, he had big dreams about his future.  

Deen lived with his parents and siblings in a neighbourhood called Sadamhood.  The people were happy and friendly.  He laughed as he recalled celebrating the ‘Water Holiday’ where people threw water at whoever they encountered.  People would drive-by and open their windows up so the kids could throw water inside.

 

I was lost in the joyous and almost fairy tale-like way that Deen described his life in Iraq.  But a snap of his fingers resounded when he told of how quickly everything changed.

“It wasn’t just about my future or anything, it was my childhood that got destroyed, it was my house, my family, I lost the best thing I had, the one who showed me the world.   Yes, I was a kid, but she was the one, and she’s dead.  She’s dead.”  

Noraldeen, his older brother, was on his way to work when a Hummer pulled up, blocking his path along the street.  Marines came out of the vehicle and said nasty things then smashed their M16s into his face.  After this encounter, there were attempts to kidnap him because of his skills as an engineer.  His brother then moved to Kuwait.

The people of Iraq including Deen and his family loved and believed in their leader Saddam Hussein.  In their eyes, Iraq was the best country in the Middle East.  He was ‘The Big Father’ who took care of his people.  Saddam had one rule:  Do whatever you want but stay away from the government family.  When the United States came to “free Iraq” the general attitude of the country was,

 “No, we have Saddam Hussein.” 

Deen’s family moved outside of Baghdad to Salah-al-Deen in a village called Dhuluiya for fear of Baghdad being captured by the American troops.  They stayed there for ten months.  As Deen’s family would watch the news, he felt like he was watching what hell looked like.  He saw everything that he knew being destroyed.  From the rooftop of his house, they could see missiles flying through the air and fires all around them in the distance.

Deen waved his hands through the air, following the path of the missiles flying over his head.  He described the situation like something we would watch in the movies, but for him it was real life.  He even slapped his own face to see if he was dreaming, and if this was really real.

When they saw these things, his family ran downstairs and turned out all the lights, not knowing what else to do.  In the safety of his house, fifteen members of his family began reading the Koran. They read the story of Surat Al Qaria and Surat Al Fatiha describing the end of the world.  Deen felt safer when the Koran was read because through it he felt a special connection to God.

“If we lived we would be together, and if we died, we would be together.”

Days of war dragged on.  Deen befriended a marine, Chris Kalvin, who was from Alabama.  Kalvin left an impression on Deen that has influenced him to this day.  During the war, Deen visited and played football with the marines everyday.  Some friends and neighbours became disgruntled about Deen’s friendship with the Americans, but at a young age, Deen was able to see and explain that these soldiers were just people following orders.  His mind had switched from a hatred of the marines, who had destroyed his country, to an understanding of war through his friendship with Chris Kalvin.  The dark, army-green shirt Deen had worn the first time we met in the cafe had been a gift from Kalvin.

Still, despite his positive friendship with the Americans, danger lurked around every corner.  Deen lived in a constant state of life-threatening tension.  Day after day as his family would leave their house, they said a special Muslim prayer called the Shahada.  This prayer is usually said by someone who is about to die.  Translated it states: “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and I testify that Mohammad is the messenger of god.”  They said this prayer because they never knew if something would happen to them, or if they would make it home alive.  Despite the constant fear for their lives, the family decided to stay in Iraq until Deen had finished his schooling.  One day as he was going to school, a militia called Mahdi Army from the Iranian Shia closed up the school and stated that whoever got an education or tried to learn would get himself killed.

  On that very day, Deen’s dad picked him up from school and he and his family fled Iraq.

Syria was a new and foreign land, and although it was tough to leave everything he knew, Deen made a decision to start a new life, with a new hope for the future.  He got a job at UNICEF and was able to help other people who were refugees, just like himself.  The opportunity to teach basketball and dancing made him purposeful and busy.  His talent in drawing and photography developed as he settled into his new life and grew to love the land and the people.  To Deen, Syria was a land of opportunity, laden with green, lush nature, street-side cafes and restaurants and the most delicious, fresh food.

Deen took a deep breath as he told us about fresh the air in Syria.  He claimed that there was never a single moment when he got bored.  Everyone was happy.  Deen was full of expression as he talked of the people walking down the street.  Jokingly, he held his hand up in the air and said, “This is how you have to walk down the street, ‘Hi, hi!’ and wave to everyone, and not put your hand down.  I developed good shoulder muscles.”  He laughed.

Deen explained how the lives of his family members went in different directions.  His sister was married and came to live in Jordan, one brother stayed in Iraq, Noraldeen was in Kuwait, and Deen lived in Syria with his other older brother and their parents.  They had a beautiful apartment with big trees in their front and back yards.

He told a story, one that he said will be in his memory forever.  At UNICEF, Deen worked with families, adults and children, but in particular, he loved the kids.  As he was playing with the kids, one child came up to Deen and, without words, planted a kiss on his cheek.  Deen described this as one of the most genuine and beautiful displays of affection and love he has experienced.  

Just as everything was going well, and life was happy once again, an uprising wrought havoc upon the nation of Syria.  In 2011 anti-government protests inspired by the Arab Spring in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya took to the streets.  In attempts to snuff out the protests, security forces used tanks, gunfire, and made mass arrests.  The Baath government was slowly collapsing in their central authority.  To Deen and his family, the circumstances were all too familiar.  Their life in Syria, which had taken 7 years to build, was being ripped apart by war once more.  At age 22, Deen and his family escaped from Damascus to Jordan.

For Deen, this was even more difficult to bear than the first time he had had to flee from his home.  He was older, and understood more about life.  He had new dreams in Syria.  He had friendships and a great job.  But now, it was all falling apart.  His whole life, and all of his dreams were shattered.

I asked Deen what the difference between Syria and Jordan was.  He said to me:

“Compared to Syria, this is like a grave.  Since I came here, I am useless, I am like a dead guy.”  

Sadly, Deen’s negative opinion of Jordan doesn’t stem from the hurt he suffered in Iraq and then Syria, but from the mistreatment he suffers from the people around him because of his nationality.  He tried desperately to feel at home and to start over.  He wanted to finally be in a place where he and his family could feel safe and at peace.  He wanted to live in a place where his dreams and goals could be reached.  But here in Jordan, Deen’s dreams have been smothered by politics and racial injustice.

“Everyday I look though the newspaper to find a job.  I try and try, but the men meet me and they say, ‘Wait, what nationality are you again?’  ‘...Iraqi.’  Then they’d say, ‘Mmm, I’m sorry.’   Why?!  ...Why?”

Deen was rejected over and over.  He even faced opposition from local Jordanians when he graciously took our group to some historical ruins.  They claimed that he was not able to show us around, that he knew nothing about the ruins because he was from Iraq.  We were all up for a day of fun, but the heated struggle he went through at the ruins sent another dart into Deen’s already broken heart.

Alzaldeen Seff, a young man with a kind heart, compelling personality, many talents and an eminent future, has overcome war and destruction and is now facing an equally distressing hardship.  He is not welcomed in the place he calls home.  What can a man dream if his dreams are stolen away? What can a man accomplish if he is forbidden the opportunity?  What can a man do when no one is there to help?  Deen is only one among millions of refuges in Jordan.  There are many others who are in worse conditions and suffering in refugee camps.  The refugees who do not have “wasta” (connections) or a lot of money are not given an equal opportunity to succeed.

 What can a man dream if his dreams are stolen away? What can a man accomplish if he is forbidden the opportunity?  What can a man do when no one is there to help?

Deen told me that meeting my team has been his happiest moment since coming to Jordan a year ago.  I wanted desperately to help him become happy again and to have that ‘fire’ for life reignited in his heart but there are no words that could bandage a broken heart and crushed spirit.

  I had been the listening ear and a shoulder to cry on that he desperately needed and left Jordan with hopes that in writing Deen’s story, it would inspire someone in better circumstances to 'help a brother up'.