Reflection Three: Life in Refugee Camps as an American Volunteer written by volunteer Mark Rafferty
It's rather remarkable how at home I felt in Jalazone Camp. By appearances, it was the most foreign place I could imagine, but as I settled into life in the camp and got to know the people there, I found that in many ways it was just like a small town anywhere else: close knit, friendly, full of gossip, and warmly hospitible to newcomers.
Every time I stepped out the door of the house onto the dusty, unpaved road that leads down the mountain to the Karama Center, a new learning experience awaited me. The people that I met on the streets of Jalazone were curious about where the strange looking foreigner was from, and just about every block I walked, kids and adults alike would stop me and ask me where I was from. At times, we'd share a quick exchange in Arabic and move on, but when there was free time, I loved sitting with young people on street corners and getting to know them. I didn't speak their language terribly well, but somehow, it was always the children who communicated best with me. They'd ask me about life in America, and I'd tell them in broken Arabic about my town, my family, and my culture. We'd sing songs together, and I would try making jokes in Arabic, which usually failed miserably. At times, we'd talk about religion and the relationship between Religion and Islam; maybe our conversations went so well because their basic understanding of the topics matched perfectly with my basic vocabulary. I also took the time to get to know the adults of the community, which was easy enough given that the men sitting on the sidewalk drinking tea were almost always issuing invitations to sit and talk. In the coffee shops and in the internet cafes, I learned about the political currents in the camp and the people's aspirations for the future, and I got a fuller picture of what it means to be a Palestinian refugee.
Living in the camp was hard at times, on two different levels. First, there were the physical discomforts, such as the frequent water shortages and power outages, but these were a shared trial between us and the community that provided laughs and brought us closer together. The more difficult part of being a volunteer in the camp was dealing with the different mentalities that challenged what I valued. For the most part, the people in the camp were respectful and kind, but nonetheless, we have our differences about politics, religion, and cultural values, and sometimes the differences felt overwhelming. This was the first time in my life ever being in the religious or cultural minority in a community, and at times, I exhausted myself trying to explain and justify myself to my friends and neighbors. It was at those moments of tiredness and hopelessness that I learned about the true nature of cross cultural empathy. While I used to think that it meant agreeing with what people feel, I came to realize that in fact it means understanding someone's mindset and respecting their freedom while still maintaining the ability to respectfully disagree with them. And more importantly, despite our cultural differences, and it was the air of friendly hospitality that almost always prevailed in my relationships in the camp. The people that I worked with constantly expressed gratitude for my caring to come to help, and in turn I felt grateful to them for their warm hospitality and kindness.
Looking back now, I think that our living in the camp was essential to our work there. Primarily, it helped us to understand the community; not just its history and its politics, but its daily life. In a small community where aspects of family life are interwoven, its impossible to understand the struggles that children face without seeing firsthand the struggles of their mothers and fathers, and likewise, it's hard to open new doors of opportunity for the next generation without understanding the nuances of the world they inhabit. More importantly, living with the people of Jalazone enabled us to build relationships, which hopefully extended beyond the patron-client relationship into the realm of genuine friendships. Spending quality time with other guys my age and enjoying life with them helped me to establish friendships that have extended beyond my work in the camp, and in the two months that I lived and worked and celebrated with the people of Jalazone, we slowly built bonds of trust that won't be severed by time, space, or politics.
I'm confident that I'll return to Jalazone, and when I do, I know that there are people waiting for me. We all know that there's more work to be done in the camp, and we're ready to do it together, not as coworkers, not as “foreigners” and “locals”, but as friends who understand, and friends who do the work they do because they care about each other.
