Domiz camp
I don't know if I'm going to write something long about our trip - trips, for we went once in June, too - to Domiz refugee camp. Right now I don't have the energy. But I did take some pictures...
These are from June. At that point, there were approximately 1000 people in the camp. Most of those people were part of families, though some were also "singles" - single young men who'd arrived at the camp on their own. This is a shot of the "family" side. Note the sliding board (made of metal). It was about 45°C that day.
I'm sorry this is such a terrible shot. I was holding my camera at my waist and shooting, because I find it super awkward to play photojournalist and not feel instead like a tourist. Anyway it didn't occur to me until later that I should've been doing this kind of picture taking in front of my friends. But you can get an idea of how much the camp has expanded. This was last week, and the camp now has almost 4000 people.
Three more from June:
This was of the "single's" side of the camp, for the young men. When we arrived there last week, the section that had the rows of tents was all fenced in, and it looked like there were water tanks and WCs intermittently available. The section that had the enormous tents -- where upwards of 25 men had lived, sleeping on mats and without access to cold water or WCs -- was replaced with row upon row of white hoop-houses. It looked like there were WCs evenly spaced throughout this new section, and presumably these structures also had access to electricity.
When we arrived last week, we encountered this scene: a truck loaded down with swamp coolers and mini-fridges. I don't know how one qualified for either of those things - maybe simply not having one already was enough - but there was quite a crowd. We also saw a couple of men walk by with huge blocks of ice - something else that wasn't available when we visited in June.
This is a view of the camp from the top of the hill. If you look closely, you can see the sliding board in the distance - I'm facing the opposite way, here, from my earlier pictures. You can also see some of the hoop-houses I mentioned, though this is on the "family" side of the camp. The big metal drums you see are water tanks.
Just a few minutes after I took that photo above, a dust cloud swept through the camp. Domiz camp is situated well outside of Duhok, a large city in the north of Iraqi Kurdistan, and there is not a whole lot in the way of infrastructure or even vegetation surrounding it. I have a feeling dust clouds like this are pretty common.
Pat played High Fives Low Fives with some children as we were getting ready to leave last week. (We'd been there, at this point, for nearly three hours, talking with officials and refugees, and walking around.)
This was the family we spoke with. They gave us permission to take their photo, and they told us they fled the country because of the increasing violence, to say nothing of the lack of food and employment due to the war, so I think it's okay to post these here. (We spoke with some young men in June who'd fled Bashar al-Assad's army, and they - quite understandably - did not want their photos taken or their names used.)
This family is Kurdish, but they were living in Damascus (the Kurdish region of Syria is in its northwest corner). They left, they said, when a missile or rocket from a plane (or helicopter) hit their house. Their hope is to make it to a Western country. There, they said, their sons and daughters will have access to a good education, and learn to speak ten languages, and have laptops. In other words, they want their children to have a better life - a better one than they themselves have known. They see that happening, if they can just get to a Western country.
They welcomed us into their tent, told us their dreams, told us how they had to flee in the dark of night across the border, told us how they left their elders behind to die with the land.
And in return, we promised to tell their story. It's really all we can do. We can't get them visas, we can't grant them asylum. We can just tell their stories. I can just show you these pictures, so maybe they'll affect you like they so deeply affected me.
Look. See. Here are human beings, languishing in refugee camps on dusty plains, with no house to go home to, no jobs, and only hope for the future. Only hope to cling to. Hope for themselves, and their children, hope for something different than Syria, than this camp, than whatever they've known before.
I pray for them, that they might always have reason to hope.
These are from June. At that point, there were approximately 1000 people in the camp. Most of those people were part of families, though some were also "singles" - single young men who'd arrived at the camp on their own. This is a shot of the "family" side. Note the sliding board (made of metal). It was about 45°C that day.
I'm sorry this is such a terrible shot. I was holding my camera at my waist and shooting, because I find it super awkward to play photojournalist and not feel instead like a tourist. Anyway it didn't occur to me until later that I should've been doing this kind of picture taking in front of my friends. But you can get an idea of how much the camp has expanded. This was last week, and the camp now has almost 4000 people.
Three more from June:
This was of the "single's" side of the camp, for the young men. When we arrived there last week, the section that had the rows of tents was all fenced in, and it looked like there were water tanks and WCs intermittently available. The section that had the enormous tents -- where upwards of 25 men had lived, sleeping on mats and without access to cold water or WCs -- was replaced with row upon row of white hoop-houses. It looked like there were WCs evenly spaced throughout this new section, and presumably these structures also had access to electricity.
When we arrived last week, we encountered this scene: a truck loaded down with swamp coolers and mini-fridges. I don't know how one qualified for either of those things - maybe simply not having one already was enough - but there was quite a crowd. We also saw a couple of men walk by with huge blocks of ice - something else that wasn't available when we visited in June.
This is a view of the camp from the top of the hill. If you look closely, you can see the sliding board in the distance - I'm facing the opposite way, here, from my earlier pictures. You can also see some of the hoop-houses I mentioned, though this is on the "family" side of the camp. The big metal drums you see are water tanks.
Just a few minutes after I took that photo above, a dust cloud swept through the camp. Domiz camp is situated well outside of Duhok, a large city in the north of Iraqi Kurdistan, and there is not a whole lot in the way of infrastructure or even vegetation surrounding it. I have a feeling dust clouds like this are pretty common.
Pat played High Fives Low Fives with some children as we were getting ready to leave last week. (We'd been there, at this point, for nearly three hours, talking with officials and refugees, and walking around.)
This was the family we spoke with. They gave us permission to take their photo, and they told us they fled the country because of the increasing violence, to say nothing of the lack of food and employment due to the war, so I think it's okay to post these here. (We spoke with some young men in June who'd fled Bashar al-Assad's army, and they - quite understandably - did not want their photos taken or their names used.)
This family is Kurdish, but they were living in Damascus (the Kurdish region of Syria is in its northwest corner). They left, they said, when a missile or rocket from a plane (or helicopter) hit their house. Their hope is to make it to a Western country. There, they said, their sons and daughters will have access to a good education, and learn to speak ten languages, and have laptops. In other words, they want their children to have a better life - a better one than they themselves have known. They see that happening, if they can just get to a Western country.
They welcomed us into their tent, told us their dreams, told us how they had to flee in the dark of night across the border, told us how they left their elders behind to die with the land.
And in return, we promised to tell their story. It's really all we can do. We can't get them visas, we can't grant them asylum. We can just tell their stories. I can just show you these pictures, so maybe they'll affect you like they so deeply affected me.
Look. See. Here are human beings, languishing in refugee camps on dusty plains, with no house to go home to, no jobs, and only hope for the future. Only hope to cling to. Hope for themselves, and their children, hope for something different than Syria, than this camp, than whatever they've known before.
I pray for them, that they might always have reason to hope.