RefugePoint

November 25th is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, a day that is particularly relevant to RefugePoint’s mission to find lasting solutions for the world’s most vulnerable refugees. RefugePoint has increasingly focused on particularly vulnerable refugee women who are in perilous situations. Exposed to widespread sexual gender based violence (SGBV) and other forms of gender-based aggression, female refugees who flee commonly lose not only their homes, but also lose the protection of a developed community. This sudden lack of social supports means that refugee women are vulnerable to SGBV from the moment they flee their homes, and, whether in an urban area or a refugee camp, the threats they face continue unabated.

Set up as emergency responses to a large influx of refugees, refugee camps often lack essential policing institutions, and SGBV perpetrators go unpunished. In urban areas, many refugees do not have proper documentation and fear the police. Essentially, no matter where they end up, refugees cannot turn to legal institutions for help. RefugePoint has found that among those woman at particular risk are those on their own who do not have community support mechanisms, including single mothers, minor girls without family and those who have already experienced SGBV while escaping home and who carry the burden of violence. The prospect of safety, particularly for these most vulnerable, is shamefully slim.

Civil society can be a strong barrier to this kind of violence. Civil society is a broad term used to describe the way groups and individuals interact outside of government or business; it describes institutions such as religious organizations, political groups, NGOs, etc. Civil society promotes public interests by providing an outlet for group-based discourse and action. The existence of an active civil society is often considered a strong indicator of the well-being and freedom of a particular group. For refugee communities, however, there is often little civil society to speak of, and without protective institutions and networks the majority of refugee women are at risk, and SGBV can flourish. By promoting civil society in refugee communities as a vehicle for long-term change, refugees are involved in sustaining their own well-being. So then the question arises: how can civil society be enhanced to create an environment in which refugee women’s rights are discussed and protected?

RefugePoint’s work with urban refugees is a partial answer to this question. RefugePoint organizes group counseling sessions for victims and those at risk of SGBV. According to a woman who attends these sessions, “the group has given us a continuity of friendship and support for each other.” Empowered by the community they discovered in RefugePoint’s counseling sessions, a number of refugee women established their own support groups, which meet regularly to discuss community issues and lend a hand of support to its most vulnerable members. The establishment of such a community allows refugee women to disseminate information about available services, provide emergency support and further propagate the wellbeing of an otherwise displaced and forgotten community of women.

As refugee women and civil society organizations struggle to establish safe communities among refugee populations, RefugePoint and its partners offer immediate support for women who are most vulnerable through resettlement — which permanently withdraws individuals from immediate danger while fostering integration into their new home.

On this International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, we look at the larger issue of refugee women’s insecurity and honor the victims of SGBV who inspire our continued support.

Aliah, a 23-year-old refugee, has a bubbly demeanor that disguises the monumental obstacles she faces every day. As the guardian for her younger siblings as well as her own kids, she has to cover rising rent and food costs in an African city where refugees are rarely able to find steady work. Her neighborhood has recently been plagued by bombings and riots that make her fear for her safety. Worst of all, as a single parent, she faces these challenges alone.

Still, despite her struggles, Aliah radiates positive energy. Walking into a recent RefugePoint counseling meeting, she warmly clasps the other women’s hands and cheers a fussy baby by tickling her foot. But as the women settle into discussing the topic of the day—childcare—even Aliah grows a little dejected. “I love my kids,” she says. “But since I am on my own with them, I struggle. I need to look for jobs, but with no one at home to look after them, how can I leave?”

Having gone through conflict, famine, and disease in their home
countries, and facing continued struggles for sustenance and shelter in their new location, finding a babysitter might seem like the least of these refugee women’s worries. But in fact, access to childcare is a crucial step for refugees to move from dependent situations into self-sufficiency and stability. Women like Aliah long to pull their families out of poverty and make a better future for their children—but without access to reliable childcare, that may prove impossible.

After all, employment—which for most urban refugee women means cleaning houses or selling tea from a roadside stand—requires time away from home, and women are generally unable to bring their children with them to work. In unique cases, a refugee woman will resort to tying her children to the bed when she leaves —a terrible prospect, but better than returning to find a child seriously injured, or worse. One woman in the group recalled the terror of coming home from work to find her children missing. After searching frantically for close to an hour, she finally found them playing in an alley nearby. “I felt terrible,” she says, shaking her head. “But what can I do? I have to support them.”

Childcare is as much an obstacle in the job search process as on the job. A refugee woman cannot even scour her neighborhood for a dollar-a-day maid position or a job sweeping up at a hairdressing shack without someone to watch her children. For both employed and unemployed women, the unavailability of childcare puts them in a terrible dilemma: go to work and endanger the kids left home alone, or stay behind and risk not being able to provide essential food or medical care.

These problems are compounded for single mothers like Aliah who lack a partner in raising their families and are isolated from other relatives. As the sole breadwinners and the only caretakers, they face double the pressure compared with refugee women with broader connections in the community. Still, as the meeting wraps up, Aliah seems to recover her indomitable optimism. “Looking for work is very hard,” she says. “But we keep trying—for our children.”

*For our clients’ safety, names have been changed and/or omitted; however, the stories are true.

Since January 2011, the political uprising in Egypt has dominated the international news. The fall of President Hosni Mubarak has led to the formidable task of implementing a new democracy, which has seldom been smooth. Just this week, Egypt’s highest court dissolved the parliament and called for a new constitution, leaving the country’s leadership under military rule and inciting renewed protests in the capital.
Unfortunately, one important story has been overshadowed among the protests and recent elections, which is the plight of the nearly 60,0000 refugees and asylum seekers Egypt hosts. The political unrest in Egypt and throughout the Arab Spring has introduced new challenges for this already vulnerable population. Visibly distinct from the local population and lacking their familiar support networks, refugees are marginalized and often harassed in Egypt. They have little access to services or hope for their future.

In April 2011, RefugePoint deployed our first staff to Cairo to identify vulnerable refugees for resettlement. Since this time, our team has interviewed and counseled hundreds of people who have fled torture in Ethiopia, indiscriminate violence in Somalia, the conflict in Darfur and religious persecution in Eritrea and Iraq. Although diverse in nationalities, the refugee population shares one commonality among them; everyone wants to be in a place where they no longer worry each day about their safety and that of their children.

 

Recently during an interview with one family, our RefugePoint officer invited a young boy to draw pictures while she interviewed his mother. When the boy finished, he held up his artwork and a sea of stick figures appeared across the page. Asked about his drawing, the boy responded, “My mother and I went to an office downtown to get medical help. We had to pass through Tahrir Square. She held my hand tightly. Men with beards were yelling and pushing. They stared at me and I was scared. I never want to go to that office again.”
The boy then added that his mother cries a lot in Cairo and that he misses home.

Sadly, returning home is not an option for this young boy or the thousands of other refugee children like him. In fact, RefugePoint deliberately expanded our team in Cairo in March to assist the UNHCR with a special child protection project. Our team is currently conducting Best Interest Assessments for vulnerable refugee minors separated from their parents to identify appropriate services and long-term solutions. And while we join the world in observing Egypt during this important moment in the country’s history, we also call on the international community to remember the refugees who traveled to Cairo in search of safety, but once again find themselves in an unsafe place.

Imagine growing up in a small village where your family herds goats and sheep. One morning while reading under a tree, you suddenly see your neighbors running in every different direction. Dust swirls around them and you smell smoke. In the distance, there are men with large guns in trucks and you see that your house is on fire. Out of nowhere, your older brother grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet. Women and children run past and you join the crowd as they rush from the chaos and fear. For days, you follow your brother’s lead, hungry and cold, until you reach Dadaab – the world’s largest refugee camp in Northeast Kenya.

This account is a familiar story told by many refugees that fled Somalia in the early 1990’s – with one exception. In this scene, you are deaf. You couldn’t hear the warning screams or gunshots. You couldn’t hear your mother’s cry or your neighbors deliberate over where to find safety. You couldn’t hear your older brother try to comfort you while you walked together.

Like with any population of half a million people, there is a large deaf community in Dadaab. Some refugees were born unable to hear while others become deaf from illnesses they contracted from a lack of proper vaccinations and medications. Ridiculed by their peers for being different, deaf refugees endure a high level of harassment in Dadaab and other refugee camps worldwide. The hearing community treats refugees who are deaf as inferior. It is not uncommon for people to throw stones at someone who is deaf either as a joke or to get his or her attention. Adults are overlooked for employment inside the camps and children are unable to communicate with their loved ones. Some residents even suggest that a refugee with any disability, including being deaf, must have done something wrong to deserve their ‘punishment.’

Unfortunately, people in the camp, including many aid workers, rarely make the attempt to communicate with the deaf community despite their high level of vulnerability. In fact, it is the deaf community itself that is making some of the greatest strides against the discrimination and inequality. Many youth in the deaf community become teachers within the schools and help other students learn how to sign. They also act as role models for the peers who cannot communicate with their relatives. For some students, their teachers are the only people they can communicate with in their lives.

For the past year, RefugePoint has also been actively engaged with the deaf community thanks to one of our Protection Officers who is fluent in Kenyan Sign Language (KSL). While working in the camp, Officer Megan DaPisa reached out to the Deaf population to learn more about their plight and how she could be helpful. Megan entered the camps often to work as an interpreter and co-advocate for their rights. She organized focus groups and communicated with NGO partners about the needs of the population. In her words, “It has been a privilege to get to know the deaf community and work with these individuals. They are some of the most resilient, positive people I know and I just wish more attention was focused on their needs.”

Megan’s last day with RefugePoint was June 6th. She is entering graduate school in the fall to pursue a master’s degree in social work; however, RefugePoint will continue to advocate for the deaf community in Dadaab and throughout Africa.

Mako, a young 23-year-old Ethiopian refugee, begins to tell her story. Her back is straight, her hands are folded in her lap, and she looks directly at our RefugePoint Protection Officer. Her voice is strong. She doesn’t shake or pause like others in the past. In fact, Mako draws her chair closer to the desk, as if trying to add weight to her already remarkable story.

Mako is here for a protection interview. This is a process thousands of other refugees in Kakuma camp experience. Held at the UNHCR compound, refugees like Mako share their stories and officers complete assessments based on their vulnerability, and when appropriate, recommend resettlement as a durable solution. It’s been almost an hour and Mako seldom hesitates to answer any of our officer’s questions. This might be the first time anyone has listened to her story, her worries and her fears.

Born in Ethiopia, Mako was persecuted for participating in the student movement in her home country as a 16-year-old teenager. During one demonstration, soldiers arrested Mako and detained her for three months where she was repeatedly raped, beaten and tortured. One rape resulted in a child whom she named after her father.
After Mako was released from detention, she could not continue her education and care for her newborn son at the same time. Instead, she started working as a house servant. In the months following, soldiers continued to threaten her and she was forced to flee to Kenya where she arrived in Kakuma with her child and eventually here in front of our RefugePoint officer.

Mako pauses for a long moment as she begins to talk about her life in the camp. It’s hard not to wonder whether she is safe. She says she isn’t.

Mako says she is alone and she fears she will be forced to marry against her will. An older man in the camp had promised her protection earlier, but when she became pregnant with his child, he abandoned her. Although she is thankful for UNHCR’s shelter and the food rations she receives from the World Food Program, it doesn’t go far and her children are constantly sick. She doesn’t know what will happen to her small family and she is scared.
Near the end of the interview, our officer asks Mako whether she wants to get married some day.

“This is the last thing on my mind,” Mako responds defiantly. “I want to focus my time and energy on my children, and if possible, on my own education.” Despite her hardships, Mako is determined to be independent. She enrolled in adult education classes in the camp where she studies English with other refugees.

When the interview concludes and Mako heads back out into the uncertainty that surrounds her family’s future, our officer makes her recommendation to UNHCR: eligible for and in need of resettlement.

* For the safety of both Mako and our staff, names have been changed and/or omitted; however, the stories are true.