My first year as a refugee from Syria

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/dec/22/my-first-year-refugee-syria

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Ours was the journey of people who have left behind their homeland, going somewhere that we didn't know. When we left our home in Al-Najah, a desert village outside the city of Daraa, we left everything – and stepped into something like a new place. It was early dawn when we set off. We packed clothes and photos of my children, my family, the memories of my life. I said goodbye to my sisters, and we walked for 10km. Some members of my family had a reason for not coming: my father is old, my mother has a kidney illness. But my husband said: "I want to take my children to a safe place." We have four children. I carried Taha, my youngest son, who was not yet three. When we arrived at the Jordanian border from our home in the province of Daraa, it was night.

There are several kinds of caravan here. The one we have is around 4m long. It was empty when we arrived. We collected mattresses, blankets, clothes and pots for cooking from the UN Refugee Agency. And so that's what you find inside – and us.

When we arrived, I went to the doctor and he told me I didn't have any physical problems. What I was feeling was all psychological. I felt sadness. I felt frustration. I was devastated by the idea of being a refugee and thinking of my family who did not come with us. The impact of suddenly, in a blink of an eye, losing everything.

The camp is divided into streets of 84 caravans. Each street is divided into neighbourhoods. There are six caravans in a neighbourhood. When we arrived, the six caravans were in a row. But we moved them, put two together, made little private gardens. It grew and grew, our neighbourhood. Now we share social events together; one woman's son is getting married. Me and my neighbours have this daily routine of coming together, sitting, making some coffee. We sit and drink, and each one of us who has a burden in this life shares it. I love the camp. I feel like I am in Syria while I am in it.

When I look out the window now, I see my neighbours' caravans. We have become one family. My neighbours tell me: "We cannot live without you, Um Fouad." We have formed tight relationships. We compensate for not having our families around. But at the same time, it doesn't <em>really</em> compensate for not having your family around.

We were shocked when we came here because we didn't expect this level of services, the efficiency. I am head of the water, sanitation and hygiene committee in my area and twice a day I make a tour around the wash blocks, toilet and shower area. But it is very cold. There are no heaters here. The only way to keep warm is to cover ourselves with blankets. The children wear three to four sweaters or pairs of pyjamas. But we are safe here. It is home, because it is safe. In Syria we would carry our children and run with them to caves, caves that have been there from the beginning of life. We would sit with them and wait until the air strike was over.

I don't see myself leaving the camp. To be honest, I have grown attached to it. I don't think I will leave. Of course, I wish from the depth of my heart to go back, to see my family, to be with them, exactly as I have left them. But at the same time I love the camp.

Every minute of the day we speak about Syria. Every day I try calling my family. Every day my youngest child asks me: "When are we going to go back home?" I tell him: "We <em>are</em> home." He says: "No, I mean my other home. Our home over there." And I tell him: 'One day we will go back, when God has made everything calmer. We will go back – and we will go back to our home."

Of course, I cry here. When I listen to a song that talks about my homeland, when I see something on the TV of what is going on outside. When I speak to my family, my mother. The minute they ask: "How are you?" I start crying. If I see a boy passing in the street who is crying, I cry with him. I cry even when it is just between me and myself. I don't know why. I am just like that.

<em>• </em>You can donate to Oxfam's Syria appeal here or text SYRIA to 70066 to donate £5. A donation of £24 could buy four blankets for cold babies; £48 could buy winter clothing to keep three children warm; £93 could buy a stove and fuel to protect a family from the cold.

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