Ali loved his music shop. He had been running it for the past 6 months, half of the time that he had been resident in Amman. The flutes, violins, keyboard and ouds that he had in his shop were beautiful and sounded even more beautiful. What a feeling to walk into the shop in the morning and to look at all these beautiful creations.
Ali had spoken to his aunt the night before. She was still in Baghdad, from where Ali had left one year ago, as a result of intensified conflict and fearing for his life. Some of his family was still there, fearing for their lives day after day. His brother was in Denmark with his family and his sister was in the UK. The other brother had died in a bomb blast the year before. Sometimes at night, Ali could still hear the sires, the gun fire and the sound of the military planes circling above Baghdad.
Ali’s aunt had sounded gloomy and desperate. There had been another raid at the houses on their street. The raids were carried out by the Iraqi military officials. They were looking for money and other goods that they could sell to the American and British troops. People were afraid to open their doors, as loud knocks usually meant that someone was going to take your last possessions and you were left with next to nothing. Some people had even been forced to leave their houses and they faced danger on the restless streets that were clouded by violence. Too many women and children had been raped that way, too many men killed and too many individuals been taking captive and forced to carry out suicide attacks.
Ali sat down on his desk and poured himself a cup of strong Arabic tea. He had been a professor of Physics at the University of Baghdad for the past fifteen years. He had throughly enjoyed teaching his students and missed being in the lecture hall. He missed the intellectual stimulation and the feeling of helping others, above all.
What a different lifestyle that had been! Not that he had anything to complain about. Here in Amman, he had security, he was safe; he had some students and his shop. He had a lovely house with his children. He wished that his wife was here to see it; see how far they had come to build a peaceful and wonderful life. He wished more than anything that his wife would not have been killed in one of the many attacks targeted at the parliamentary buildings in Baghdad. Oh, how he wishes that.
When they arrive in Amman, things had been a little tricky. It took time to sort out housing, enroll the children at school, find work. They had initially stayed with friends who had been so kind and understanding. Ali prayed for them every day. Him and his family had been lucky to have these friends here, otherwise everything would have been much harder and they would have had to stay a a refugee camp. Conflict and difficulties did indeed bring people together.
The bell at the door rang. Ali looked up and saw a smily face behind the glass door. It was his first customer for the day. Ali smiled back, got up and opened the door.
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For more information on Iraqi refugees in Amman, Jordan:
http://www.theirc.org/news/iraqi-refugees-jordan-slate-4210
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