Whether it’s in the hinterlands of Aarsal on the Lebanese-Syrian border, the Zaatari refugee camp in the Jordanian desert or different homes and tented settlements in Lebanon, Jordan and Turkey, these are the stories that had the most profound impact on me, and many of you. Accompanying and shadowing UNHCR and WFP teams on their field missions and site visits have been an invaluable insight for me and I hope for you too when it comes to how the biggest refugee crisis of our time is being handled by the UN and its partners.
One aspect I am intrigued by is how the UNHCR and its partners can stay in touch with and provide services to the refugees that are spread over hundreds of tented settlements all over the country, as well as thousands of Lebanese towns and cities. After all, with funding never meeting the UNHCR’s needs, it seems like an uphill battle from the start and I was curious to see the solutions put in place.
Last month, I went up to the Tripoli field office and met with my dear friend Khaled Kabbara, the UNHCR external relations associate in the North. I wanted to find out how something that most of us would characterize as a logistical nightmare, actually went down. The answer is: refugees themselves.
I drove into the plot of land that was supposed to be the venue for the World Expo back in 76, plans quickly scrapped after the start of the Lebanese civil war back in 1975. Nestled next to the landmarks that were supposed to showcase Tripoli and Lebanon’s avantguarde outlook for the future, are a series of prefabricated housing units that serve as offices and a registration center that make up the UNHCR Northern headquarters. I mention prefabricated, because as Khaled told me, the minute the refugee crisis is over, they can be hauled off to serve the refugees back home or UNHCR missions in other parts of the world. I got to sit down with a few refugees and ROVs and have a chat with them before heading out to the field.
Refugee Outreach Volunteers (ROVs)
ROVs are Syrian refugees that usually live in the harder to reach parts of Lebanon. They are volunteers that act as a link between the UNHCR and its partners, and refugees who might find it hard to get to Tripoli or other major UNHCR centers. They are the mouth, eyes and ears of the UNHCR amongst refugees, and the refugees’ mouth, eyes and ears to the UNHCR.
ROVs provide information, psychosocial services and other essential services in the towns and regions they are assigned to and live in. ROVs undergo intensive and regular training to be able to provide basic psychosocial services, protection, legal aid, health services and even first aid for refugees along with the UNHCR and its partners. They have monthly meetings at the Tripoli HQ with the UNHCR to discuss and tackle issues they are facing and help refugees waiting to register by answering their questions and helping them with the process.
ROVs include both general and specialized positions. General ROVs are usually young, driven and hard-working individuals who handle the coordination between the UN and the refugees. Specialized ROVs are folks that have had professional experience back home, such as doctors, lawyers, educators, etc. So, a health ROV might have been a doctor in Syria, and an education ROV mostly likely used to teach back home.
With more than 180 ROVs in North Lebanon alone, the daunting task of being able to get the word out to refugees quickly and help them resolve day-to-day issues and more urgent ones, has a framework and infrastructure that ensures the best possible outcome. After all, ROVs are refugees themselves who volunteer their time and energy, ensuring that the best interests of refugees are at heart and who better understand what fellow refugees had to go through, and hopefully help them overcome it.
Practically, it saves a lot of time and money as well. Instead of having to make the journey down to Tripoli, refugees have someone they can talk to and help them in their vicinity, reducing unnecessary travel stress, costs and time. It also gives ROVs tasks that help refugees know their rights as well as their responsibilities such as registering their newborns to make sure they don’t become stateless individuals for example.
Mahmoud and Adnan
To fully understand what it’s like for an ROV, I sat down with two amazing young men, Mahmoud and Adnan, whose stories put all the pieces of the ROV story in place for me.
Mahmoud fell in love with and married a Somali refugee back in Syria years ago, never thinking he himself would also become a refugee one day. What he told me next though, was what surprised me. Mahmoud is one of the lucky refugees who is scheduled to be resettled in a Northern European country soon. When I asked him what he’d plan on doing there, he said he wants to apply for a position at the UNHCR. To think after everything he has been through, he’d want to come back, I had to ask him why. He said because of his work as an ROV and the impact he had had on the fellow refugees he had worked with over the past two years. That’s when I started paying closer attention to the ROV element of that field mission.
Adnan told me about a fellow refugee who had one of his legs amputated after a severe shrapnel injury . He drove a vespa before the incident, but could not anymore with his prosthetic leg. That didn’t stop him though, and together they modified his motorcycle, adding a third wheel to help stabilize the bike so he can get around on it despite his disability and fulfill his ROV responsibilities and day-to-day errands.
Chalets and Refugees
When we think of “Refuge” and chalets, we usually think the slopes in Faraya. Our first stop though, was far from that. We drove up to an old beach resort in Chekka, nestled between the glamorous beach resorts on the gorgeous Chekka coast. All the tenants were Syrian refugee families. A place that was once a summer retreat for many, has been home for these families, some for more than 4 years. The scene was exceptionally telling: at the end of palm tree-lined courtyard, you could see the sandy beach and the Mediterranean Sea, with silhouettes of young boys playing football in the distance with girls giggling and playing clapping games together next to them.
I went up to the roof of one of the chalet conferences, and looked down to the beach and saw three sisters sitting on the sand, looking out to the sea. The same beach I had built carefree sand castles on as a kid, but these girls seemed far more pensive than I ever was at that age, gazing at the horizon, silent in thought, a toy bear sitting next to them.
I got to meet the young boys and girls a bit later, when we sat down with Nathalie Rafei, a community services associate with the UNHCR, for story-telling time. The book chosen that day was written by a Syrian refugee, and the kids moms were present too, to help teach them how to story-tell while also teach their kids in the downtime in this picturesque, yet gloomy complex. A complex that sadly sums up the crisis: normal people, normal place, but under extraordinary circumstances filled with longing for home and uncertainty for the foreseeable future.
“The Oasis” Mall
Our next stop was in Koura, in what was once a mall: The Al Waha Commercial Center. Imagine that your home was now what would have been a small boutique, along with hundreds of other folks, with shared fridges and bathrooms on each level. Some acted as both a home and a shop, selling fresh produce, telephone recharge cards and other basic necessities.
I couldn’t help but draw parallels with our previous stop. Both are places many of us remember in a completely different way. Al Waha was where that cool rooftop restaurant was with the nice views overlooking the coast that you’d have lunch in on Sundays with the family. Then, it fell into disuse. Now, it’s a housing complex for refugees waiting to go home but trying to make the best of it till then, trying to live by the “life must go on” mantra that so many millions have had to learn to adapt to in their temporary houses.
Five Years Later
Five years is half a decade. That’s a really long time, and with no clear end in sight. A lot of times, the economic, social and security situations make us forget the human aspect and toll of this crisis. As Khaled puts it, “these are normal people, under extraordinary circumstances” and we forget that sometimes. Just like these two housing complexes we visited, they’re normal venues we see everywhere, but the circumstances in them are far from normal. The stories of folks like Mahmoud, Adnan and many others are just a tiny fraction that highlight the plight of so many people, yet remain indomitable in spirit, despite everything.
Don’t let the passage of time make you forget how pressing this issue remains and I hope learning about ROVs helped you better understand how this crisis is being managed and maybe ways you feel you can help. The UNHCR provides the ROVs with transportation and communication costs, but their work is on a strictly volunteer basis. You can always help too, and I know many of you want to and always ask how you can help. If not by actually committing time, energy or money, at least in spreading awareness. Here’s how to get involved, and it never hurts to get in touch with the UNHCR and its partners to see what they need and if you can help.
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