maggie’s arsal diary. part 6

Edinburgh Direct Aid Maggie’s blog Sunday 24/2/2015 p 1 of 8

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Maggie’s Arsal Diary. Part 6

FEB 26th

I have fleas. I know that it’s fleas because I’m a world expert. What I don’t know about flea bites just isn’t worth knowing. I’ve been scratching a bit for the last couple of days but have been too busy to register this fact in any significant way. This morning I can no longer ignore my discomfort and on close inspection of my midriff area, the small, scabby red spots are there in all their glory – not too many of them at the moment – I’ve had a lot worse on other projects in other countries. The big question is whether they have already spread further – immediately I start to itch everywhere and now can’t stop scratching. I’ll have to quarantine my Arsal clothing completely when I get back down to Baalbeck – maybe I should throw it in a bin. Probably safest. How on earth do fleas survive in such cold temperatures although the weather has warmed up appreciably in the last couple of days? It’s certainly warm inside the tents when the oil stoves are on. I was also woken by very heavy shelling about 5am. It was booming round the town. Someone was on the sharp end of it and I just hope it wasn’t the few refugees still left out in the buffer zone beyond the far checkpoint. Not a great start to this new morning. Today I spent almost the last of my EDA money. The trouble is that I had to make some difficult choices. I carefully considered a number of ‘spends’ and discussed it with my Syrian team. One of the main contenders was a small camp – about 20 large families who appear to have slipped under the radar of any major assistance. This morning, having successfully picked up the Western Union cash and paid our debt, we were approached by a very diminutive and elderly Syrian man who pleaded with us to come to his camp. He told us that they had only 2 small working water tanks for around 1500 people –

normally each family tent is supplied with one tank. We went immediately to assess. The hygiene condition of the camp and of the refugees themselves was very poor. The children were dirty. Everyone’s clothes looked grubby. The whole place looked run down. I’m always surprised by how clean looking most refugees seem to be given that they have to manage with the most basic of facilities. Five minutes in the camp and for us it was a ‘no brainer’. This camp needed at least 4 one thousand litre water tanks. Water is everything. Life can’t function without it. They had been buying 5 litre bottles from a local shop just for drinking but the bit of money they had for this had now run out.



Within 45 minutes we had purchased 4 large tanks and delivered them to a very grateful camp. Within a very short time these tanks were installed and we ordered the water tanker to come and fill them. Job done. We will return to check that all is as it should be later. We always return for a quick check unannounced. We’re never disappointed with what we find. One of the team receives a phone call. Many of the Homs Commission members have been busy on the construction of a new and very urgent camp to shelter the 55 families who will soon be thrown out of their hovel of a building. Time is running out to get the camp ready –the eviction is very soon.

The Norwegian Refugee Council is sending up all the wood needed for tent frames for this big camp. Some of it has arrived but the rest is stuck down in the Bekaa Valley because there is trouble in Labweh, the Shia town at the bottom of the hill through which all must pass to reach the mountain road up to Arsal – Labweh is the town which I hate passing through. Apparently there is much shooting in and around the town but no one is sure why. It does happen – the Shia get stirred up by something or someone and they decide to riot and stop all transport up to Sunni Arsal – I guess they have their reasons but it seems awfully immature! If this situation carries on tomorrow, I too will not be able to pass through the checkpoints out of Arsal to return to Ballbeck. We’ll see – not much to be done about it. The whole region is volatile – it’s a fact one has to accept when working here. This wood issue is serious – these people will be out on their ears very soon. They have

nowhere to go. The camps in Lebanon are all ‘informal’. They’re mostly illegal but the authorities turn a blind eye. The government doesn’t want to set up a formal camp system like the huge, high quality ones in Jordan and Turkey because it’s worried that the Syrians will stay for ever – they already have many large permanent Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon and it’s such a tiny country. It’s taking more of it’s share of this problem than seems fair. However people need shelter. It’s an inescapable humanitarian fact. This afternoon we carried out more distributions – our brand new jackets are proving a real hit with both children and parents. Distribution is a skill – I haven’t fully mastered it yet and even the Syrian team often struggle with



containment. All recipients are registered on computer. The list of everything they receive is also recorded. This system proves more difficult when the distribution is being done away from the warehouse and in the refugee buildings and camps. We have to rely on good camp managers. Somehow the team manage it once again this afternoon and my admiration for their social skills and organisation increases. We all need a rest. We decide to take a couple of hours off to draw breath before a busy evening session begins. I go back to my storeroom to sit by the stove and have a nice cup of tea! Where would I be without tea? At 8pm we set off in a loaded van into a very dark and cold night. The team were given a job lot of black woolly hats and black fleece scarves, some time ago. Tonight there are three team members and when I unlock my door to let them in for a minute I step back in complete alarm. My heart leaps. They have their scarves up above their noses and their woolly hats pulled right down against the cold of the night. I can only see their eyes. I had one thought – IS militants – they’ve finally tracked me down and I’ve meekly opened the door to them. Very quickly the team realise what they’ve inadvertently done and pull off their scarves. My heart is still racing. Then we all laugh. I don’t laugh quite as heartily as them. I’ve been living with this slight fear all the time I’ve been here but have tried to put it to the back of my mind. It surfaces at night. They’ve brought me the same head garb which they insist I wear because of the cold. I too become a militant. We’re off on a secret mission to supply once wealthy and proud Syrian refugees with the aid they need but are too ashamed to collect from the warehouse. How the mighty are fallen. It’s a sad business and it’s a kind act that our team carry out on a regular basis. I stay in the van – best that they don’t see me. We fly around the deserted town – bump along rough tracks – drive down narrow dark lanes - penetrate the very heart of Arsal as we go from one delivery to another. We have our new jackets, warm winter clothing, hygiene materials and food from the Commission supplies. We don’t just visit Syrian refugees. We are delivering to poor Lebanese families too. They also need help. The economy of this town has been wrecked by the close presence of the likes of IS and the Al Nusra Front. The stone quarries outside the far checkpoint in the buffer zone are now mostly no longer accessible. This major employer of local Lebanese men is now a shadow of what it was. Unemployment is rife and people are struggling. With around 80,000 refugees, the pressure on all services and utilities is becoming untenable. This only serves to increase tensions between Syrians and Lebanese. We continue to deliver our goods. All I can hear from within the van is ‘shukran, shukran’. Thank you. Thank you. All brief conversation is in hushed tones - almost a whisper. No one must know what we’re doing because it will make life difficult for the recipients.



Finally we make our last and most difficult delivery at 11pm. We return with great caution to a storeroom close to the small camp we‘d supplied earlier near the new de facto Lebanese border. Evening can be a little risky here – the circle of army defence posts is on high alert. They now have sophisticated monitoring equipment courtesy of the French and Saudi governments. They check for movement on both sides of this border but we have vital deliveries to make. One month ago, a refugee was shot and killed in the camp we supplied – the shot came from the army checkpost. This happened during the day – I was staggered – why would this happen? Why would they shoot down on a refugee camp – a mistake? We switch the headlights off and park behind a large building out of sight of the army posts. Maybe this was another reason for wearing black? I feel once again like I’m a bit part this time in some spy blockbuster. Another delivery of new jackets and other EDA goods to a proud Syrian family – this time I go with the team and the family are pleased to see me. We don’t linger long here. It’s bitingly cold and very late and not a good place to be. I want my store room. It’s not much but for now it’s home. FEB 27th My plan to leave today for Baalbeck gets shelved. We’re not sure about the situation in Labweh and I’m persuaded to stay another day. I make the necessary psychological adjustment and stop packing. I was planning to spend the very last dregs of my cash before I left this morning anyway so now I can do it at leisure. Leisure! When did that word ever apply to anything I do here! The team come and pick me up later in the morning – it’s Friday so it’s a holiday here – a day for prayer. The team pray at 12 noon and then come to collect me. Today is about relaxation for them – a day or at least part of it to spend time with family and friends. We’re off to a football match! Two Syrian teams play every Friday on the new pitch supplied by a Lebanese business man. It’s also used by aspiring young Lebanese boys who dream of Barcelona stardom. They all talk of Barcelona –no British teams. I know nothing of this. I’ve never been a football fan. Sometimes the Syrians play the Lebanese – there’s no problem – just good sporting competition – at least that’s what they tell me. The match has already begun when I get there and many of our Homs Commission members are playing – it’s five a side and it’s fast and furious. There are no women present – only me and I get many curious looks. Everyone is friendly and wants to talk. Some try out a few words of English on me. I enjoy the game – there’s no amateur dramatics –no tantrums – no nasty tackles and absolutely no conflict – no one dives and rolls about in agony and there’s no referee. This is football as I’ve never seen it. From my very limited viewing experience, Manchester United doesn’t seem to play like this. They appear to spend all their time lying on the grass in apparent agony. Maybe it’s a different sport I’ve seen on TV at home! The game is a draw but there’s some banter about a disallowed goal – lots of laughter.



At the end I’m approached quietly by one of the team members – they can only play each Friday if they can raise 10$ to give to the stadium manager. Is there any chance I could pay for next week’s game? Ten dollars! It’s not a fortune to enable these young men to enjoy an afternoon of sport – it’s important for them – they let off steam in the most beneficial way. I pay for the next 3 weeks – 30$ - £20 - money well spent I’d say – I pick up the receipt and we move on to the next task. I’m eking out my last dollars now – I must spend well. My team have received another desperate call. Three families living in a large store room are being evicted tonight at 8pm because they can no longer

raise the 100$ needed for one month’s rent – twenty two people will be on the street - there are eight children and four of them are under the age of five. I enter the store room – it’s squalid and another heart breaking sight. These families had all been farmers in the Qalamoun region of Syria, a rich fertile area. One family had owned 3,000 apricot trees – a wealthy and healthy life but now all gone. They are reduced to this – a dirty store room – just the few possessions they’ve managed to salvage from the ruins of their former life. This is abject misery – where do they all sleep? I really can’t imagine. The women look gaunt and hollow eyed. This is another ‘no brainer’ – EDA must pay their rent for another month until our Homs team find a permanent solution and they most certainly will.

These families had been registered with UNHCR but because there were young men of working age in the group they were struck off the list – but there is no work - they receive no aid apart from what our team provide. UNHCR can’t take any blame – what do they do? They can’t help everyone and they too have to make difficult decisions. It’s just that they perhaps don’t see the ‘sharp end’ in Arsal. In order to pay their rent up to now these families had not been able to purchase enough heating oil through the winter snows. It must have been freezing – apparently EDA had provided some oil to them through a payment sent out to the Homs Commission during the blizzard emergency. Now we pay



their rent – I’m glad to do it – it’s 100$ - £60 to keep three families sheltered for another month – this will take them into warmer weather but we also go and buy them some heating oil – they have none and it’s still very cold at night – it’s cold in their store room. The women cling to my arm in gratitude. They repeat their thanks endlessly. I don’t want it – I’ve had my fill of this misery. I want to see this Lebanese landlord – the one who is prepared to throw these families onto the street at 8pm tonight. I want to ask him how he can do it. The team say this is not a good idea – if he sees me he may demand more rent – I might get violent! Maybe he too is struggling – lost his job at the stone quarries out in the buffer zone.

Maybe he has a large family to support – this store room could be his only asset. We pay and go – the Homs team will monitor. Now the bras. We need more bras! I’m very happy to buy bras and Obidaa is very happy to come with me. What a breakthrough. Brilliant. We go and pick up the camp manager who has requested another 20 pieces for those women who didn’t get any from the last delivery I bought in Baalbeck. This time the purchasing job is so much easier – a piece of cake because the camp manager is with me. We go to the Arsal haberdashery which is run by a man! A good example to Obidaa I think. In Baalbeck I was so careful to only buy black or white bras – nothing gaudy because I thought the camp women wouldn’t like it. With gay abandon our Syrian camp manager, herself a refugee, plunges into the mountain of bras on the counter, discarding all plain black and white ones. She throws them aside almost in disgust as her eyes feast on the vast array of deep purple, shocking pink, dazzling yellow and jaunty leopard skin colours. She seems to go wild for a few minutes, oblivious to everything around her. Obidaa looks in amazement – I watch with surprise but pleasure. I thought she might find this task a bit tricky – she’s dressed in a traditional black chador and hijab but this means nothing. She wants colour and plenty of it! The gaudier the better. Rock on I say. As we emerge from the shop with our purchases, the little burnt girl is in the street with her father, mother and sister. Her father emotes almost as much heartbreak as his daughter. He appears so vulnerable himself – as though he doesn’t quite know where to turn – we shake hands and then the little girl holds out her deformed, burnt and useless hand in greeting. I take it very gently in case I hurt her and Obidaa does the same. We watch them walk off down the street – she never lets go of her father’s trouser leg but never goes near her mother.



She limps badly – the result of the shelling which inflicted such terrible damage on her. Obidaa will monitor what happens to this family. We so hope that the UK contingent of visiting doctors will help her. So the final evening is spent saying my goodbyes to the families of the team members – succumbing to the pressure to eat more food, drink more coffee, teach more English words, learn more Arabic words and then finally head off to my store room for the last night. We had one final task – to check on the small camp where we had supplied the four new water tanks. It was dark and late by the time we entered the camp but all was well – the tanks were all in place and full of fresh, clean water. We slipped away before people emerged to thank us all over again. As with each evening, I was escorted up the dark stone stair case to my store room – the stove was lit for me but the power was off – it’s always off at this time of night but at least I could make a nice cup of tea before bed. Epilogue – Saturday 28th February There’s been some loud shelling this morning – it’s not in Arsal but it’s close. I plan to be away by 10am but it doesn’t happen – people keep coming to say goodbye and bring me small presents. The team have bad news. They tell me that yesterday around 50 families fled the nearby village of Wadi Medh about ten minutes from here because militants attacked one of the fortified army posts. The army shelled the village and there has been a lot of destruction. The residents were terrified and have sought shelter in Arsal – our team will offer what help they can and provide whatever might be useful from our EDA stock at the warehouse. We’re also sending stuff out beyond the far checkpoint to the few small camps still left out in the buffer zone. One Syrian worker has special permission to pass through the checkpoint with his car and IS give him no trouble. He will deliver to those who need it – he himself, like many others, has brought his family into the town for fear of army shelling. He’s also able to tell us that around 40 -50 young men from these outside camps, the same camps I distributed food to last August, have been recruited by the Islamic State. This is the danger in this region. It’s happening. Finally, Rashid the Lebanese truck driver is ready to leave and I’m having a lift down the mountain with him. He is going to Beirut to pick up a big load of blankets from the main Dar al Fatwa warehouse in the city. Another truck is coming with us so that I can send the final consignment of EDA goods up from Baalbeck. The packing team in Edinburgh have done a fantastic job and selected well. The Homs Commission are delighted with the quality and variety of clothing. I say my final goodbyes but it’s hard – it’s best done quickly for all of us. Rashid roars the engine and we go.



We sail through the checkpoints without trouble – Rashid has no English but he’s proud of his ability to negotiate these checkpoints with such silky smooth ease – I try to ask how he manages this but communication is difficult. I give up – I don’t want to talk. I want to absorb all that has happened although there are parts I want to forget. Soon I take my first shower and put on the first clean clothes in 12 days.

maggie’s arsal diary. part 6

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