Today, Thursday June 18, 2009, Secretary of State Clinton will be attending a special event for World Refugee Day in Washington D.C. with Angelina Jolie, Anderson Cooper, and the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees Anontio Guterres. i-ACT will be bringing our friend Rahma from Chad, through video, to meet Secretary of State Clinton. You too can be part of i-ACT by TEXTing Cinton at 90822. Send her this message:


Today you met refugees from Camp Djabal. What are you doing to help them return home to Darfur


Don’t forget to plan on checking in with our live video feed for Saturday June 20th, World Refugee Day, from Camp Djabal.

There’s a new kind of cool to me. It’s refugee cool. It’s not the type of cool you see in New York or LA night clubs, it’s not the attitude or the clothes or the accessories…it’s not having the new Wii game…it’s not the overly dressed yet laid back hipsters…it’s not even Wyclef or Lauryn Hill…it’s a moving target of X-factor’s.


In this case, it’s a teenager name Rahma whose mother is laying on a slab of concrete outside an old stone building, which serves as the hospital, sick from malaria; keeps on smiling and showing up for an on camera rehearsal for a live satellite feed to Washington DC. Rahma’s favorite thing in his world is school. That’s refugee cool.


Abdullaziz, rides a motorcycle, wears an Obama-USA belt, knows almost everyone in the camp, serves as a translator and good will ambassador to the i-ACT team, is the manager for the newly renamed Obama School Co -Education for Basic, and somehow knows how to control a crowd of over enthusiastic kids with a very subtle gesture or word, when no one else has the ability to do so. I call him the “Kid Whisperer.” What’s more, Abdullaziz will go on camera, anytime, anywhere, and call out Obama on his campaign promise to help the refugees of Darfur. His single largest trait is respect for his fellow citizens of Camp Djabal. That’s refugee cool.


The women that carry a heavy bucket of water on their head, and sometimes a sleeping baby on their back, two or three times a day, for their whole family…including the animals. Then a few kick in to shovel clay cement for the new shelter project for brick housing. That’s refugee cool.


A group of kids, that have probably never seen an iPhone, are game for a video gag to call President Obama, and pull if off as if they’ve all had iPhones. They’re ability to mimic the words and intention are unmatched, and their enthusiasm for trying something new is beyond belief. After the first few tries, I was no longer directing, the kids were directing each other. They knew what I was doing, and they were all pitching in their opinion on how to get the shot right. That’s refugee cool.


Nobody is complaining or saying they’re having a bad day, or getting depressed. They are producing and proactive about making their camp a better place to live.


So in the future, if you’re ever hanging out with me, and I say to you something is “Refugee cool,” I am paying someone or something the highest compliment possible.

Rahma!


Rahma is one special boy.  If you meet him once, you will remember him.  “He is clever,” the teachers tell us.  Rahma’s smile is what gets you first, but there is so much beyond that positive exterior.  He is very thoughtful.  He thinks about the outside world and wonders about his future in this big sphere he is so interested in knowing.


“I want to learn,” Rahma tells us.


Today, the Rahma smile was not always there.  After visiting his mother at the camp hospital where she has been for three days, sick with Malaria, he turned to me with a pained look in his face, one I had not seen before, and said, “I am angry today.”  I believe he meant sad, but angry is also very appropriate.


I just asked my teammates, “Who will be mentioning Rahma in your blog today?”  Everyone raised their hand.


Peace, G

When I was younger, and voicing my concerns about a situation, I would whine, “It’s not fair.” And my mother would simply state the truth, “life is not fair.” My complaints were trivial, but her answer could not have been more true.


All the paths of a refugee camp end up looking the same. Especially in Camp Djabal where high straw fences line the camp and section off compounds. We cannot find Rahma’s house on our own instinct, and we soon give up and ask a group of boys huddled under a tree.


They repeat Rahma’s full name, and begin walking. We follow. Gabriel finds a photo of Rahma on his camera and we are assured we are heading in the right direction. We pass through many alley ways and by tents, and straw tukuls, drying clothes flapping in the wind, and women conversing with one another in the shade.


“Rahma!”


“Gabriel”


“Rahma”


“Khadija”


I embrace him with friendship. Gabriel is smiling. Rahma is smiling. Eric and Ian are smiling. New friends and old reunited! The feeling seems mutual. Rahma talks with us for a moment and asks how are our families and the people in America. His English has approved so much.


Rahma is elated that we are here and we can see it dance in his eyes. But as Gabriel begins to ask about his life and family, sadness creeps in. A mixture of emotions. His eyes look down, and he points to the other side of the camp.


“My mother. She is sick. In the hospital.”


We begin to make our way towards the camp clinic. Rahma’s sister, Hawa, is near the entrance, and grandmother sits bedside. Hawa’s eyes are sad and her gaze serious. Their mother has been here for three days. Her aching body lies very still in bed.


“I am angry today,” Rahma shares with us. He doesn’t know what ails his mother.


We seek a doctor and meet with a very gracious and open man. The exchange is translated from French to Arabic to English. I can see the temperature chart. It was high, then down a bit, peaked, and has been going down, but still not stable. He reads off two types of medicine, one of which is the general antibiotic amoxicillin used for infections. Rahma’s mother’s suffers from a pelvic infection. The other medication is for malaria.


I am angry and very, very sad. Will the medicine work? How can her body, which most likely has a low immune system from dietary options, fight both at one time? I know these doctors, with so many patients and such few resources, are true heroes. But my heart reaches out to Rahma and his family. I wish she were some place else with more medical options.


It will be a short time before they know if the medications are working. If life appears to be coming back, she will go home in three days and continue the medication there. If she simply does not regain strength, then she will be transferred to the hospital in Goz Beida.


After many more hours in the camp and testing live video feed for both tomorrow’s event with Angelina Jolie and Secretary of State Clinton and Saturdays 4 1/2 hour live show, we return to our small compound for an hour to shower before heading to the UNHCR office to work, and sleep as we can. As the others shower, I sit, drink water and begin to cry as I think about Rahma and his mother.


I think of my own mother and the medical care she and I have access to. She is my only mother, and for so long, it was only her and I. I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be Rahma, or his sister, or grandmother. I cannot imagine my mother falling ill with such things that are easily cured and prevented, but could be life threatening here. All I can do is sit in the dark, watch the approaching lightning storm, wait for the rain, and cry.


Life is just not fair.