Invisible refugees: No light at the end of the tunnel for runaway Iraqi couple
Suha urgently needs a lung transplant, but there is no word from UNHCR doctor.
Adil tries to reassure Suha at their home in Rawalpindi. PHOTO: MYRA IQBAL/EXPRESS
ISLAMABAD:
When Suha left her home in Basra, Iraq, she was beset with maddening fear and a sense of liberation to board an airplane for Rawalpindi, a city whose letters she had traced in her imagination for the last nine years. She hoped that the unfamiliar city would embrace her in the way it had embraced Adil Jaffar, who was waiting for her there.
Since he first attained refugee status in 2003, after a family feud in his hometown escalated into death threats, 37-year-old Adil has worked as a car mechanic in Rawalpindi. Until two years ago, Adil’s nights had been filled with his cousin Suha’s voice over the phone, reassuring him of their future together.
The now married couple had little idea that the reunion was just the beginning of the end of their trials.
“It was a leap of faith,” Suha speaks in Arabic, a strained smile across her pale face. Sitting on her knees in the corner of their bedroom, where the only furnishings are some pillows, a sheet and a pair of plastic chairs, Suha is out of breath.
Unable to converse in English or Urdu, she explains her condition with some exasperation, the narrative spread out in front of her in the form of doctors’ prognosis. Suha has bullous emphysema, a regressive lung disease that causes blisters in the lung, impeding the flow of oxygen which leads to difficulty in breathing and digestion over time. “Doctors have said that she needs surgery immediately or she won’t live long,” said Adil.
A refugee card entitles Adil and his wife to free medical care and a monthly stipend of $100. The couple occupies a single room above another Iraqi family, eking out a living. For the past eight months, Adil has been without a job.
Pakistan’s refusal to sign the Refugee Convention in 1951 means that refugees can neither work, nor acquire citizenship. They remain invisible to the government and are mostly in touch with local non-government organisations, which act as a liaison between the refugees and UNHCR. The latter’s office is in the diplomatic enclave, inaccessible for refugees, inciting bitterness and frustration amongst the hundreds of registered non-Afghan refugees in Pakistan.
According to UNHCR spokesperson Duniya Aslam, “Suha’s condition is critical and while we are aware she needs a lung transplant, doctors have suggested that she avoid travelling.” Adil has a doctor’s letter citing that while air travel might be risky for his wife, it cannot be written off completely.
“Sach, a partner agency of the UNHCR, has agreed to send Suha for an operation but on the condition that she goes alone,” said Adil, explaining that the NGO is unwilling to let him accompany her and unable to provide her with a female attendant. Suha can barely make it to the open verandah adjacent to her bedroom, which serves as a kitchen, on her own without getting out of breath. The thought of being separated is unsettling for both.
Last week the NGO told us to make preparations for travel, but we have not been able to get through since then,” Adil explains that the UNHCR doctor overlooking Suha’s medical care has not responded to their calls or messages. The Express Tribune was unable to get through for a comment after repeated attempts.
Having abandoned their families for each other, returning to Iraq is out of question for Suha and Adil, but a third settlement elsewhere is one that a majority of refugees hope for. According to UNHCR, however, priority is given to refugees who are most at risk: minors without parents, minorities at risk, family reunions.
Non-Afghan refugees include Russians, Iraqis and Somalis. Their stories echo a similar frustration: the NGOs they are forced to deal with are erratic and unreliable.
Leaving behind war zones, refugees in Pakistan live invisibly in a country that refuses to make exceptions that will allow them to find employment to sustain themselves.
Tucked away in pockets, in cramped flats above old markets and narrow lanes in the unforgiving chaos of Rawalpindi, the refugees go by unnoticed. Since assimilation is a problem, few are able to pick up the local language.
Last year when Suha had a miscarriage, she was gripped not just by pain but by fear. She was unable to communicate with the nurses who wheeled her into the operating room. An injection administered to her at the time is the one that Suha believes triggered her breathing problem. Suha uses an inhaler six, and sometimes eight times a day.
“Adil is all I have,” Suha’s voice is a lull, “I still remember when I walked out of the airport and all I could see was him, everything else was a blur.”
Published in The Express Tribune, October 4th, 2013.
When Suha left her home in Basra, Iraq, she was beset with maddening fear and a sense of liberation to board an airplane for Rawalpindi, a city whose letters she had traced in her imagination for the last nine years. She hoped that the unfamiliar city would embrace her in the way it had embraced Adil Jaffar, who was waiting for her there.
Since he first attained refugee status in 2003, after a family feud in his hometown escalated into death threats, 37-year-old Adil has worked as a car mechanic in Rawalpindi. Until two years ago, Adil’s nights had been filled with his cousin Suha’s voice over the phone, reassuring him of their future together.
The now married couple had little idea that the reunion was just the beginning of the end of their trials.
“It was a leap of faith,” Suha speaks in Arabic, a strained smile across her pale face. Sitting on her knees in the corner of their bedroom, where the only furnishings are some pillows, a sheet and a pair of plastic chairs, Suha is out of breath.
Unable to converse in English or Urdu, she explains her condition with some exasperation, the narrative spread out in front of her in the form of doctors’ prognosis. Suha has bullous emphysema, a regressive lung disease that causes blisters in the lung, impeding the flow of oxygen which leads to difficulty in breathing and digestion over time. “Doctors have said that she needs surgery immediately or she won’t live long,” said Adil.
A refugee card entitles Adil and his wife to free medical care and a monthly stipend of $100. The couple occupies a single room above another Iraqi family, eking out a living. For the past eight months, Adil has been without a job.
Pakistan’s refusal to sign the Refugee Convention in 1951 means that refugees can neither work, nor acquire citizenship. They remain invisible to the government and are mostly in touch with local non-government organisations, which act as a liaison between the refugees and UNHCR. The latter’s office is in the diplomatic enclave, inaccessible for refugees, inciting bitterness and frustration amongst the hundreds of registered non-Afghan refugees in Pakistan.
According to UNHCR spokesperson Duniya Aslam, “Suha’s condition is critical and while we are aware she needs a lung transplant, doctors have suggested that she avoid travelling.” Adil has a doctor’s letter citing that while air travel might be risky for his wife, it cannot be written off completely.
“Sach, a partner agency of the UNHCR, has agreed to send Suha for an operation but on the condition that she goes alone,” said Adil, explaining that the NGO is unwilling to let him accompany her and unable to provide her with a female attendant. Suha can barely make it to the open verandah adjacent to her bedroom, which serves as a kitchen, on her own without getting out of breath. The thought of being separated is unsettling for both.
Last week the NGO told us to make preparations for travel, but we have not been able to get through since then,” Adil explains that the UNHCR doctor overlooking Suha’s medical care has not responded to their calls or messages. The Express Tribune was unable to get through for a comment after repeated attempts.
Having abandoned their families for each other, returning to Iraq is out of question for Suha and Adil, but a third settlement elsewhere is one that a majority of refugees hope for. According to UNHCR, however, priority is given to refugees who are most at risk: minors without parents, minorities at risk, family reunions.
Non-Afghan refugees include Russians, Iraqis and Somalis. Their stories echo a similar frustration: the NGOs they are forced to deal with are erratic and unreliable.
Leaving behind war zones, refugees in Pakistan live invisibly in a country that refuses to make exceptions that will allow them to find employment to sustain themselves.
Tucked away in pockets, in cramped flats above old markets and narrow lanes in the unforgiving chaos of Rawalpindi, the refugees go by unnoticed. Since assimilation is a problem, few are able to pick up the local language.
Last year when Suha had a miscarriage, she was gripped not just by pain but by fear. She was unable to communicate with the nurses who wheeled her into the operating room. An injection administered to her at the time is the one that Suha believes triggered her breathing problem. Suha uses an inhaler six, and sometimes eight times a day.
“Adil is all I have,” Suha’s voice is a lull, “I still remember when I walked out of the airport and all I could see was him, everything else was a blur.”
Published in The Express Tribune, October 4th, 2013.