Everything Is Okay in the Now

Home sweet home

I wasn’t given very detailed information about my job before I arrived. I remember telling people, as sort of a half-joke, that my job would be to run around, talking to different groups of people and making everyone feel happy. In essence, that is what I’m doing here, though there is much more to it. What I didn’t realize is that the harsh reality this place would affect me so much, so quickly, and mostly without my realizing it. Let me give you an average day here before I explain that further.

I’m in my office trying to check emails and finish a report. A woman comes in yelling with a baby at her hip. Her baby is one week old. She is demanding cash assistance from one of us to help with this newborn child. I have to cut in and explain to her that she needs to request such things from the field office. Then a group of 4 men come in – they are from the disability committee in the camp. They need us to assist them in preparing elections for the board members. Someone comes in to say that a man tried to attack one of our counselors in the field office. UNHCR has just emailed saying they are holding a training tomorrow and can I gather this specified number of staff to attend? Someone is screaming outside the door and I am praying the hot mess doesn't come closer. Perhaps someone is angry with another office today.

Another day in paradise

I am late for a meeting and then have scheduled to go with a community worker house to house for a while, something I try to do once a week so I have an idea of what the community workers face. In the camp there is no shade, no car and the sun is hot. We walk to door-to-door, or rather tent-to-tent on this day. The residents show me the dirt ground where their children are sleeping and broken stoves. I hold up my hands and shrug towards the community worker. Their job is to check up on the camp residents and see if there is any way to assist them, provide them with necessary items or refer them to counseling at the field office. We have 7 community workers who - in theory - visit every home every 2 weeks. There are over 2,000 ‘homes’ to visit -it is impossible. This is what leads to refugees showing up in the compound office, demanding assistance.

The social unit manager comes to me and says one of the counselors is refusing to assist any mental cases, as she is overwhelmed. Okay, let’s take this slowly...

By 1pm, I am exhausted and hungry. I come back to the women’s section of the compound and lay down until lunch is ready. The 12 women take turns cooking lunch and dinner for everyone, and they never let me cook, which gives me a break. Today it’s the older woman with a family in Aden, unlike most of the girls who are single. This woman can cook, thank goodness and by 2pm we are all sitting on the floor in a circle, around a large plate holding rice, lentil stew with canned tuna and arugala leaves. The girls use their hands to scoop the sauce-soaked rice, but I’ve given up on that. My feeble hands are too slow for how hungry I am and I use a large spoon. As I eat I listen to them speak Arabic to each other, trying to decipher their words. Occasionally one of the few girls who speak English well translates something. The counselor refusing to see mental patients is there, looking weathered and tired and explaining to the other girls what a day it was.

We sleep for an hour or so before working the evenings. Most days for me, this means 3:30 – 9. The evenings are usually a bit quieter, and I meet with my team.

I stay at the office until 9:30 without eating dinner. I am starving. I come back to the compound to find dinner just being served – only it is chicken, which I do not eat. It is not their fault, and I need to learn to plan better, but after such a long day, I am exhausted and upset. The ‘restaurant’ in camp is closed by now and I can’t go out by myself at night anyway. I’ve run out of my emergency stockpile of peanut butter and tuna, as I haven’t been to Aden in a few weeks. I snack on some oranges and honey before making hummus out of canned chickpeas and pouring it over bread to eat.

It’s time to go straight to bed. This is when my trouble begins. I’ve never experienced insomnia until now, but it’s been a couple weeks of restless nights lying awake. First I thought it was the sound of rats in the ceiling keeping me awake. Then I thought maybe it was the loud rumble of the air conditioner. Perhaps it’s the fact that I am constantly eating at 10pm, when I’m used to eating at 6 or 7. Maybe I was too hot from the stuffy room, or too cold from the chill of the AC. I tried yoga before bed, incense and meditation. Praying. Anything but still every night I don’t sleep.

Of course when it comes down to it, I am stressed. I am not sure how to be a manager or how to properly spend our tiny budget or how to provide support to weary staff, or how to please angry refugees who come to the office. I can’t think of any skills we can teach the people with the amount of money we have or the location we’re in. I have a car back home which is sucking up my money and sitting in a friend’s garage, a nuisance to him I’m sure. I’ve got my belongings back home in 5 or 6 or 7 different places, I can’t remember by now. And I can’t remember what those belongings are anyhow, so will I even miss them? The numerous things I left at my old workplace are still sitting at my desk as far as I’m aware – maybe they were thrown out; not sure.

The heaviness in my heart. I realized today that even though I kept smiling in the office, and kept telling myself I am here to make people happy and take some of their burden… I was letting all the issues of the entire camp weigh on my little shoulders. No matter how many serious issues are taking place around me, I need to be strong and make light of it in my heart. For the sake of the staff around me, it does no good to act in that typical American way that exclaims, “Oh, these poor poor people! How can I personally help them all? What can I do? Surely there is people I can call from back home, or ideas that my privileged, educated mind can conjure that will solve everything.”

Let those sweet thoughts come from someone in anywhere, USA who is watching the news at night. Let them come from some kind friend of mine who wants to know how they can help make the world a better place.

We're going to be alright? Yes!

But for me, for my job here in this camp, it is to take in the news and react as calmly and patiently, light-heartedly as possible. When I heard of the attack today, I called for a meeting to discuss it. I vowed we would speak to UNHCR and the police about keeping our staff safe. I gave the counselor a hug. I furrowed my brow and watched the crazy man from a distance as the police haggled with him. I asked what else we could do. I listened to several different accounts of what happened. I took in all the pieces and let them sit here, here inside my heart. But as I passed to my home with that weight inside me, I ran into another staff member – a counselor. He told me a few details and then said in his very broken English, “But it’s okay, it’s okay. It was no problem, just small small problem which is normal. Everything is okay in the now.” His words couldn’t have been more true. I felt the weight fall away and realized how silly I was being. When in a place like this… listen, be calm, take in the information and see what can be done. Simple. Do not think over and over how you could have changed it or how I can make the counselors feel safe or how we can punish the man or at least make him understand his wrongs. Just react calmly and look towards the future. Everything is okay in the now.

I’ve slept soundly every night since then.