By Fouad Foure

Post Office Box 28

Magles El Shaab

Cairo, Egypt

“This would probably one day become the richest experience in your life”. People usually tell me that They are, of course, referring to my being a refugee. Unless depending on others is considered as a something rich, I don't understand what is so rich about being a refugee. I will be willing to give it away for free if anyone is willing to share this rich experience of mine. I would even throw in some of my possessions.

Except for the few people who directly deal with us, most people's knowledge about a refugee is probably from a distance or merely from a dictionary. But before anyone decides that refugeehood is so nice, let him think about the following. How does it feel to depend on others for all your basic requirements? Has it occurred to you what you would have done if when you, your wife or child is sick, you have to obtain a reference letter prior to taking them to the hospital? Or what would you do when you cannot, for some reason, meet the doctor you are referred to? I will tell you what you will have to do. You would have to return the next day, because you cannot afford to see another doctor. Or how would you feel when the nearest place for your pregnant wife to deliver is more than 50km away? You will always pray that her labor starts during daylight Or when you don't know where your brothers and sisters are? Or you don't know the number of nephews and nieces you have? Or, even worse, how does it feel to hear about the death of either your mother or father only a month after the funeral? It happened to me. Or even if you hear while they are sick there is nothing you can do apart from sending a letter. Or when somebody asks you, 'When did you last see your father/ mother?'. Your answer starts with, 'Let me see, was it 77? 78?'. The list may just go on till you run out of energy or run out of refugees, whichever comes first But if anyone is still interested in tasting the sweet experience of a refugee, it is there just for the asking. All he has to do is call me on oh, I almost forgot I am a refugee and don't have a phone. Call it sour grapes if you wish, but who needs telephones anyway?

Strange, though it may seem, it is only non-refugees that tell us that being a refugee is so nice. We refugees know otherwise. Well, it is always the rich who claim that money is not everything. The poor know money is everything. The rich man further complains that if only the poor man knew about his worries... Granted, the rich man worries, but where to spend the next vakation (you are right, I even forgot how to spell the word) may be included in his worries. If he would only imagine the worries of a refugee. At the top of the list would probably be where to get dinner and where to get soap to wash himself and his clothes would be at the bottom. In between, name any problem, and it is certain that at least one refugee has got it.

We have not always been refugees. There was a time when we all had been living normal lives. Personally there was a time when I was happily living with my parents, (they are both dead now), two brothers and three sisters. We all went to private schools, owned our own house, even owned bicycles like normal teenagers. None of my children has touched a bicycle so far. Would you believe that there was a time when I used to go to Saturday Matinees? And lick ice cream after the show? (Now I have forgotten the taste of ice cream). I myself sometimes wonder if that was not a dream

Why become a refugee then, you may wonder. People must also wonder why we flee our countries if we have not been personally threatened. They can never understand that we have come, from a country where a crime committed by a friend is enough to send you to prison. If the crime is committed by a relative, then you may even be killed. So when a close friend is arrested, you can either wait and get ready to go to prison (sometimes even be killed) or you can flee the country. Any normal person usually chooses the latter. If for nothing else than just because it is the lesser of two evils.

You can even get killed if the wrong person comes to you at the wrong time. I remember during the '77-'78 Somali-Ethiopian War, two Somali Mig-Fighters came over my town. I am not sure what their intentions were, because they were too far in the sky to inflict any harm. Then there was this soldier in the middle of the street, shooting into the air trying to shoot down the planes with his automatic rifle. A bystander told the soldier it was useless to try to shoot the planes with a weapon from such a distance. Everybody could see that the bullets could not reach the planes. Too late, the bystander learned that keeping your big mouth shut was usually golden. The soldier leveled his gun down and shot at the man. He missed. The man dashed into a nearby barbershop. Minutes later, he was dragged out of the shop and accused of being a Sarko-Gab (literally meaning illegal entry; Sarko-Gab was a termed used to describe people taking advantage of the war and moving from Somalia into Ethiopia). This was a lie, of course. I had known the man since my childhood. Perhaps he had taken advantage of other wars but definitely not this war. Almost everybody standing there knew him. Ironically the barber was arrested along with the man and accused of collaborating with the enemy. Of all the buildings in the area, why would the man dash into his shop if he was not sure that he would get assistance there? Both men were executed. Westerners cannot understand this, of course They come from a society where a father, for instance, can be arrested for espionage and the rest of the family can go around unharmed. Where I come from, such a family would cease to exist.

In my post-refugee era, many of the things that are taken for granted in life became unreachable for me. As a refugee, you are supposed to eat, dress and sleep (I am not even sure whether you are supposed to sleep; nobody asks where you sleep, anyway); not to give up hope no matter what happens; never to lose your temper no matter how hard you are pushed or shoved; and above all, to smile. For if you don't, somebody is sure to comment, "Why are you so gloomy today? Life is not so bad, you know". Probably for him, life is so good that he assumes that it is equally good for me.

How can I avoid being so gloomy when everything from drinking tea to going to a movie (and whatever is in between) is an unreachable luxury to me? When I don't know whether soap is a luxury or a necessity? How about toothpaste? Baby soup? Baby powder? How about milk for your children? How about your watch? A few weeks ago when my watch ran out of battery, my wife and I argued for days as to what we should do about it. At the end, we decided that a watch was a luxury item and we stored it away for future reference. Then there are those who, when they meet us, tell us that living here (wherever here is) is very difficult. Except for their intention which is to show us kindness, the statement is meaningless if not awkward. It is not living here that is difficult. What is difficult is living anywhere as a refugee.

So the next time you encounter a refugee, think twice before you tell him that he is full of rich experiences. All he is experiencing may probably be bitterness and sorrow. But if you really have to say something to him, tell him that you will remember him in your prayers. Or, at least that you are trying to understand how he survives. Or, you can do something more constructive. You can offer him something (as little as soap) he can use. It may mean nothing to you, but for a refugee, a piece of soap will ensure a month's washing.

I don't know whether it is a rich or a poor experience, but during my refugeehood I learned why you cant look in the mouth of a gifted horse and why beggars cannot be choosers. And in conclusion, may God bless the refugees and those who are helping them, wherever they are.