Do we risk it or not? Is the coast clear? Are they still shooting? Have the tanks finally rolled away? Are we out of reach of their airplanes and their bombs? For two years, Zainab and Farsidheh had to ask themselves these kinds of questions every day before they went to school. “Most of the time we stayed at home. It was simply too dangerous,” the two cousins, today 15 years old, explain. When their house in Daraa in the Southwestern part of Syria was burnt to the ground, staying home was no longer an option. Together with their families they fled the war in Syria into neighbouring Jordan.
For almost a year Zainab and Farsidheh did not go to school. “In the beginning we did not even think about going to school here. We were persuaded that we would be able to go back home soon, go back to our old school,” Farsidheh says. Her gentle face and hazel eyes are encircled by a white head-scarf. “But the war did not stop. It got worse and worse. We wanted our daughters to live in freedom and have all the opportunities that life can possibly offer,“ Zainab’s stepmother Siham explains.
The girls were rejected by seven schools. “We either did not have the right documents or the schools did not have any space for them. Even the waiting lists were full,” Siham explains. Finally, a school did accept them. However, it was more than an hour by foot from where they had settled. “I did not want my daughter to walk this far by herself. I am afraid that something could happen to her. We don’t know our way around here.” Siham’s strong presence seems like it could easily scare people away. A family in Jordan has to spend approximately 30 Euro per month to send a child to school, pay for public transport as well as school books and supplies. After being refugees for more than one year, Siham’s family could not afford these expenses anymore. But Zainab and Farsidheh, who shared a desk in their school in Syria, did not want to give up. They met with other Syrian refugee girls and their mothers in their neighbourhood and came up with an idea. They rented their own small bus. A bus their mothers could afford, when sharing the costs amongst a total of 20 girls.
Today, after almost three years, Farsidheh and Zainab have been back to school for a few weeks. They have to repeat an entire year. “I don’t care that everyone else is younger than me,” Zainab says. “I want to graduate.“ The past few weeks were difficult for the two girls. To catch up on the subject matter they have missed, every day they study until midnight and get up at six o’clock in the morning to do their homework before the school starts. “The subjects here are different. I did not know anything about Jordanian history or geography before,” Zainab explains. “Sometimes going to school hurts,” Farsidheh says. “It reminds me of my friends in Syria, my teachers, my old route to school.” These cheerful times are nothing but fading memories now. They have not received any news whatsoever from any of their friends in Syria over the past year. “At least Zainab and I are still in the same class. But in our classroom here I can only see Zainab’s back, because she is way taller than I am.” As in many Jordanian class rooms, Zainab and Farsidheh share their teacher with almost 50 other students. Many of them are Syrian refugee girls like them. In order for all of them to be able to see the blackboard, tall students have to sit in the back, shorter ones in the front.
Zainab wants to become a pharmacist, Farsidheh a doctor. “I have seen so many people suffer. I want to come up with solutions; I want to help. I don’t want to feel powerless,” Farsidheh explains her career aspirations. “I want to invent a medication that helps against sadness,” says Zainab.
Zainab’s brothers have stopped dreaming about further education. While they were studying civil engineering and law in Syria they are now pushing wheelbarrows and carrying stones on construction sites in order to feed their families. “They have lost their future. How can one lose something that is supposed to lie ahead of you?” Siham says and silently begins to cry.
It remains uncertain how long Zainab and Farsidheh’s families can still afford to send them to school. Winter is coming and the family needs to spend money on warm blankets and heaters. Their brothers will not be able to work on the construction sites during the off-season. A few weeks ago, Zainab and Farsidheh’s families registered in CARE’s urban centre to receive financial support so their girls do not have to leave school. “We have to pay around 200 euros a months for rent. In addition we have to pay for water, food and medication. One does not die from not going to school, like one dies from hunger, thirst or cold. But in the long run, there is hardly anything as important as education.”
Media Contacts:
Johanna Mitscherlich (Amman), [email protected], +962 779967772
Please click here to read more about CARE's work with Syrian refugees in Jordan