Not only have civil servants from Mosul not received any government wages for months, for some, UN food coupons were cut too.
"Just before Eid I finally received two months of my salary from Baghdad. Before that nothing for six months,” said Raed, a former policeman from Mosul. The 30-year-old now works as a barber. His shop in the Harsham refugee camp outside the Kurdistan region capital of Erbil is busy, even though it is Eid, one of the most important Islamic holidays.
His customers are mainly young men he attracted with his skills using the barber’s razor, as they are boasting partly shaved heads. They all originate from Iraq’s second city Mosul and the Shingal Region, both areas now in the hands of the Islamic State.
Not having regular incomes, none of the 271 Arabic families in Harsham camp have been able to buy a sheep and slaughter it, a common tradition during Eid. Aid organizations have given them meat instead, next to gifts of second-hand clothes.
The 1,500 inhabitants of Harsham Camp are part of over a million internally displaced persons (IDPs) who fled ISIS to the Kurdistan region from different parts of Iraq. Other than those who are housed in camps, many have been able to rent houses in Kurdish cities. Next to these IDPs the Kurdistan Region also houses hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees.
For many IDPs it is their second Eid in a camp, and this one shows the consequences of the fact that the government in Baghdad six months ago cut all wages to civil servants in the occupied Nineveh province, of which Mosul is part. IDPs were equally affected by the measure. The payments to them were only recently restarted.
“Who should I have protested to?” Raed asked, saying he can only hope that at least they will continue now. “We have a plastic government; I have no trust in them.”
Yet to return to Mosul is not an option, said one of his young clients. He asked for information about getting settled in Europe. “I don’t want to go back anymore. There is no hope there, or here.”
Most of those living here have no money to pay smugglers to get to Europe. The situation in the camp is bad, even though it has cabins instead of the usual tents. Water lines are leaking, causing a stench, muddy conditions and the risk of diseases like cholera. The inhabitants also suffer from mosquitoes and infections, said Dohha Abas, 29, standing next to the green puddles. “We don’t have fridges to keep the food. Doctors are refusing to treat us if the situation does not change.”
This is not a real Eid, says Ali Hussain, 27, from Mosul, because none of the traditions that are part of the feast are in place. “We haven’t been able to slaughter sheep, we don’t have new clothes and we cannot even visit our family in Kirkuk, as we do not have a residence permit and will not be able to get back into Kurdistan if we travel there,” he said.
Hussain complained about not having been able to work for 15 months for lack of a working permit. Yet others in the camp do find the occasional job, like in the case of 16-year-old Mahdi Hamid. He had been working for two days at a building site when an accident occurred with the concrete mixer, causing him to lose his left arm.
He leaned against the wall of a cabin and complained of pain. His father said that the wound was too dirty for his arm to be reattached, showing a letter of the hospital saying so, the X-rays and the medicines his son is taking.
The building firm has paid for all the medical costs, “and they have promised that after Eid they will take him abroad to give him an artificial arm,” the father said.
The situation in the camp is only getting worse, complained Saad Ghanim, a pensioned soldier from Shingal who sells the camp its fruit and food stuffs. Now the monthly food coupons of 19,000 Iraqi dinar per person (about $16) the UN-refugee organization (UNHCR) was providing have also stopped. The UNHCR has had to cut costs, as only 40 percent of the money needed has been donated by member countries.
Ghanim calls life with 14 mouths to feed “hard,” but considers himself lucky as he can do it thanks to his little shop and the irregular work of his only son.
In the more impoverished shop next to his, the 77-year-old Nawal chases noisy children away with a broom. “They are all thieves,” she complained. She lives here with her son and grandson, and is dependent mainly on what people give her. Eid has no real meaning for her today.
“Eid was better in Mosul, but they kill you there,” she said, making a sawing movement near her throat. “At least that is better here.”
.webp&w=3840&q=75)
