Summer in The Hamptons is fun and relaxing as I get to hang out with friends from high school, shop, and check out the latest restaurants. I make sure to take time to visit with my grandmother and the rest of my family. I even meet up with Max when he’s in the city for business.
Even though the classes I’m signed up to take at the UNHCR are in English, I figure it can’t hurt to brush up on my French. So in August, I head to Provence France. The first week at the French immersion class is really difficult, since my French is so rusty, but something kicks in around the second week, and I start comfortably talking.
When I head to Geneva for training, my mom joins me. This works out great since she rents a pied-à-terre within walking distance to my classes at the UNHCR headquarters. I spend my days in classes where they teach us the basics of working in a refugee situation, our responsibilities, what we need to watch out for, and then a million logistics details so we can perform our jobs. I’m assigned to the team that coordinates activities with other NGO’s while we build the camp. Once we start taking in refugees I’ll be working in the processing center where the refugees first enter. This I learn, is where we assign them a shelter based on their home of origin in Syria, and help reunite them with people they know.
Mom and I spend our weekends traveling. We visit Switzerland’s beautiful towns and head up to Austria visiting Vienna and Saltsburg. While I’m in class, she spends her days reading and going to museums. In the evenings, she spends her time harping on me to get transferred to a safer location. It’s almost a relief when she heads back to New York.
When it’s finally my time to ship out, I’ve lessened my load considerably. Not only do I need to travel light, they have heavily impressed upon us that jewelry, expensive clothing, and electronics put you in a high-risk situation. Sending my jewelry and most of my nice clothes home with my mom, I wind up shipping another big box with more clothes, my laptop and tablet home. I only keep one nice dress and my hiking clothes with me.
I’m surprised how stressful this is. I actually start having a panic attack as I bring my box to the FedEx office. Afterword, as I wheel my little suitcase through customs, I wonder how I will survive a year with so few things.
***
My body buzzes with fear and excitement as I arrive in Amman Jordan. It’s a city of a million people with skyscrapers and lots of white building covering its hills. The smells of the Middle East, spices like cumin, cinnamon and cloves, the jumble of people speaking Arabic, and the noise of traffic reminds me of my visits to the Arab section of Jerusalem.
There’s only an hour time difference between Geneva and Jordan. Since I’ve acclimated to the European time zone already, I find my hotel and take off to check out the city. My mom wanted to leave me one of her Hermès scarfs, but I convinced her that would be ridiculous. Instead, I head into the market to add to my wardrobe by buying some local clothes so that I don’t stand out. I also buy some bedding and toiletries, along with a few Arabic novels. I know I shouldn’t have electronics, but I can’t bear not to be able to have Conner reach me via FaceTime and send and receive texts from my family and friends, so I figure I can keep my iPhone on the low down.
Unfortunately, Conner is in the wind, an expression he uses when he’s not in a position to use FaceTime. I’ve learned not to ask where the wind might be, though I’ve also learned how unique it was when he was in school, and we had such a regular calling schedule. I keep reminding myself that I’m here for me and not for Conner. As my first evening in Jordan approaches, I can feel the enormity of my decision. In the evening I avoid the local outdoor food stands for fear my western stomach is not up for the local microbes, instead, I opt to eat at an upscale hotel.
Arriving back at the anything but fancy hotel I’m put up in, I check the bed sheets to make sure they’re clean as I wonder if I should use the bedding I just purchased. While I lie on the cool white sheets and surf through the TV channels, I can feel the ball of fear that has taken over my chest start to expand and encompass my entire body.
Watching TV does not lower the dread or make me feel any more relaxed. I have way too much nervous energy, but as a woman traveling by myself, I don’t feel comfortable walking the streets of Amman alone at night. As I look out my window, I wonder if this was the most stupid decision I’ve ever made. Instead of being here, I could be back at school, living in a grad school apartment, and taking classes. I remind myself that I’m tough.
When Juliette and Isabelle go camping or hiking they always push themselves by saying, Pioneer Women hiked this mountain in crappie shoes and a long dress, if they could do it so can I. I take a deep breath and create my own mantra, Syrian women were chased out of their homes by bombs and are now living here with a family to take care of, if they can do it so can I. My grandma was forced to flee her ancestral home, if she did it, I can do this. This grounds me. I have a purpose, I have a goal.
At three in the morning I find myself wide awake. The dark night makes my fears jump and twist around my brain. I find myself hyperventilating from fear. I play my little Syrian women mantra in my head for the next hour. It doesn’t seem to help, but it’s not like I have a choice.
I didn’t bring my hairdryer, thankfully my hotel has one. Then I start to panic. How am I going to deal with my hair if I don’t have a dryer? Where will I buy hair products? After I pull myself together, I grab breakfast and I find the bus that will take me to the camp. By car, the camp is only an hour out of Amman, but the rickety old bus stops at all these little towns, the trip takes close to three hours. I’ve been told that once the camp has refugees, there will be more bus services, I wonder if that means traveling will be faster.
Before getting to the camp we have a fifteen minute stop at the closest town, Azraq, which is only twelve miles away. I get out to stretch my legs and buy a cold drink. The defining feature of Azraq is their old castle. It was originally built by the Romans to protect the nearby oasis and more recently it was used by T.E. Lawrence as his headquarters during the Arab revolt. Also, the Shaheed Mwaffaq Air Base is located here, a fact I hope brings Conner to town.
As I look at the meager offerings in the small stores located near the bus stop, I figure I’ll need to head to Amman when I need supplies. As I get back on the bus to get to the camp, I reflect that the desert reminds me more of Nevada than of the sand dunes typified in the Lawrence of Arabia movie. From the window of the bus, I take in the flat rocky terrain that’s periodically dotted with scrubby bushes. The feeling of dread that’s been plaguing me for the last few day lands in my stomach. I remind myself to breathe. Have I really committed to living here for the next year?