Life Changing Times

I am asked. ‘I don’t know’ comes the facetious response.

A) I’m in Kurdistan, which is legally part of Iraq, but it really doesn’t want to be. It has its own government, systems and I’m not sure if I mentioned, but it really doesn’t want to be part of Iraq

B) I haven’t yet been able to go into Federal Iraq – i.e. not Kurdistan. You have to have a specific visa, preceded by specific papers, preceded by a legal power of attorney to be able to apply for the previous two.

C) I’m unsure of the security systems and how they are implemented. It’s a big thing of mine, fortunately, given my ‘specialty’ is conflict zones. And while we have a lovely security team here, I am not yet confident that I would trust them with my safety. Lovely is not necessarily what I’m looking for.

D) Related to C, ISIS are still very much present in Iraq. Smaller scale, less of a caliphate and more of a marauding group, scattered in small pockets around the country. But very much active. Along with scattered Turkish and Iranian bombings along the borders. I could go on, but suffice to say, I want a lot more than lovely in our security systems.

Therefore. I can tell you a lot about the office. As in, the actual building. And the 15 minute walk to the office as I attempt to keep some sort of exercise going. And about how I should be learning some Kurdish words and how I really don’t want to. I have a handful of Arabic and I am childishly hanging onto that.

I can also tell you about Mohamed, the lovely young Syrian man who works in the cafe downstairs from where I’m staying. You can see straight away that he is a kind, gentle soul. Painfully thin, huge soulful eyes, warm.

We’ve struck up a friendship and on the third day, he asked me, via Google translate, how he could get asylum in Europe. He is still learning English and my Arabic doesn’t stretch to international human rights law. My heart broke a little when he asked me, because I know I can’t help him.

He works every day, 7 days a week, from 7am to 5pm in the cafe. He’s happy to have the job, but it’s also relentless. He’s a smart young man, he is teaching himself English, he is funny and kind and brings all of my maternal instincts to the fore.

He escaped Syria, he cannot go back, he is stuck here, like so many others. He certainly doesn’t have it as bad as many, say I, secure in the citizenship I have that allows me access to pretty much anywhere I want.

I want to help Mohamed. Because I like him, but also because I am feeling quite helpless here in some ways. I’m not sure that I can make the difference I want to make. Because I learned long ago that if I can help one person, that is enough. My work is meant to help hundreds of thousands, and sometimes it does, but helping one is how I reconcile the fact that no matter what I do, it is never enough.