BASIRMA, Kurdistan Region – Syrian-Kurd refugees who have lived for years in the Kurdistan Region’s Basirma Camp are struggling to find employment and support their families because of the camp's distance from urban centres.
"The lack of job opportunities is the biggest challenge here. The reason is the long distance from big cities. We need more livelihood projects," said Botan Salahadin Ahmed, manager of the camp.
Basirma Camp, built by the United Nations refugee agency (UNHCR) in 2013 for Kurds from northern Syria, is currently home to about 2,300 individuals. It is located some 50 kilometres northeast of Erbil.
Though the World Food Program (WFP) supports the camp's residents, WFP funding has decreased since 2018, according to the camp manager. Out of 500 families, only 200 are supported by the organization, he said. With the Syrian conflict dragging into a tenth year, the work of international organizations has largely come to a standstill, Ahmed explained.
COVID-19 concerns have led various organizations responsible for providing critical goods and service to refugees and IDPs to slow down or completely halt their operations. Decreased funding from donors has led local and international organizations to dedicate their limited resources to dire humanitarian situations. As a result, those considered to be living in relatively stable conditions are receiving less assistance.
The Kurdistan Regional Government hosts an estimated 996,861 IDPs and refugees as of October 19, according to the Kurdistan Regional Government’s (KRG) Joint Crisis Coordination Centre (JCCC). Of these, an estimated 239,740 are Syrian refugees and 37% of the displaced live in camps.
In Basirma Camp, travelling to Erbil or the nearby town of Shaqlawa is difficult for many of the refugees as they lack access to affordable transportation. Refugees who work outside of the camp are required to return on a monthly basis to renew their status, creating another burdensome expense for the refugees, said Mohammed, 33, who moved to the camp from Derik, Syria in 2013.
"Every month, we have to return to renew our absence paperwork. A taxi from Basirma to Erbil can cost between 10 and 25 thousand dinars [$8.38 – $20.96]. For many, this is difficult to afford," he explained.
Employment opportunities within the camp are minimal. There are some 40 shops in the camp, Ahmed estimates.
"Business [in the shop] is ok, but there is not a lot," said Hamza, a shop owner in the camp who arrived from Qamishli in northeastern Syria in 2014. He estimated the number of shops in the camp to be around 50, but many were closed or empty.
The coronavirus pandemic has resulted in even less work than usual. “The camp is small. Most people go to Erbil or Shaqlawa for work. Things have changed since COVID-19 started. There aren't doctors and teachers. There is no work around here," said Hamza.
Sardan, 46, owns another small shop and arrived from Qamishli in 2013. He is struggling to support a family of nine, including a 20-year-old daughter who cannot speak.
"The biggest problem in the camp is that it is far from big cities. This is all we have and there is no work here. Some people leave and some people stay. The closest city is 60 kilometres away. We need support for older people over 60 who cannot work. There is little work and little money. I need an income to live and to support my family," he said.
Another one of his daughters requires specialized psychological treatment that the camp's mental health service is unable to provide. "We need to spend about 200 dollars on a psychological doctor every two months,” he said.
Aymad, who is also from Qamishli and arrived in 2015, makes falafel in the camp and finds it difficult to make ends meet.
"Look around and look up," he said, pointing to the mountains surrounding the camp and the sky above. "I have five children. How can I live like this? We have everything here; gas, bread, hummus, oil. But it's expensive. Everything is available but we don't have the money to buy it. We live in a camp far from the whole world. Far from Duhok, Erbil, markets, work. Of course, the administration wants to employ everybody. But there is no work."
Though there are various organizations operating in the camp that strive to employ residents, the supply of labor exceeds the demand, said camp manager Ahmed. "There are 10 NGOs working in the camp. We have 2,400 individuals. The organizations employ some people, but there just isn't enough work," he explained.
The camp's administration operates a cash-for-work program that pays refugees 25,000 IQD [$20.96] for eight hours of work. However, the amount of work available is limited, said Frishte, who runs the program.
"There are 614 people in our cash for work database now. We give workers’ names to the camp's hospital and the organizations working in the camp. If they need someone, they call them in for work. They work on plumbing, in the hospital, and on other jobs. But we can only employ people between the ages of 18 and 60. We can't help those over the age of 60. UN rules don't allow us to," she said.
Mahmood, from Kobane, is nearly 60 years old, and has an untreated medical condition. He has one son and takes care of his five grandchildren. His wife needs a wheelchair to move around. Under the cash-for-work program he works just a few days every month.
"There is no work! Come see what life is like for me with your own eyes," he said, starting to cry. In his home, he opened up his fridge and pointed to a bag of peppers, a chopped up cucumber, a can of Pepsi, and some yoghurt. "I have nothing but God," he said. He pulled out a bag of bread and threw it on the floor in frustration. "Help me with work. We need money," he said.
The next day, Mahmood brought his desperation to the cash-for-work office where he loudly proclaimed that he wanted work. As staff members tried to calm him down, his frustration became more pronounced.
"I need to support my family. What should I do?" he asked, agitated, placing his hands around his neck and standing on his toes.
Given the camp's distance from other cities, it is important that international organizations focus more on bringing work to the refugees in the camp and surrounding areas, said Bokan Salar, the deputy camp manager.
"Our distance from big cities is our biggest problem. Organizations already give money. Why spend money on temporary things? Why not spend money on building a factory or something that creates work opportunities for the refugees here? I have suggested this to many of the organizations that come here. We have a large area. It should be easy.They can do anything. But nobody thinks like this. I don't know why,"she said.
As she spoke, a man entered her office requesting to have his absence paperwork approved. He spends 2 or 3 days in the camp every month and the rest of his time in Erbil where he is paid 25,000 IQD for 8 hours of work per day. He has lived in the camp for six years after fleeing Islamic State (ISIS) in Kobane.
The lack of employment opportunities affects those living in local communities outside of the camp as well, according to the camp manager. "We have raised the issue with the mayor of Basirma but nothing has been done. We need money, a larger budget to solve this issue," he said.
The mayor of Basirma was not available for comment at time of writing.
Ahmad, 20, moved to the camp from Qamishli over seven years ago. He travels to other towns for work three days a week. "Life isn't that good in the camp. Since there isn't much work in the camp, people go to Erbil, Shaqlawa, and Harir. They return once a week or once a month. They do manual labour, and many work in local hotels and companies. The best thing we can do for them is give them training," he said.
Sherif, from Qamishli, goes to Erbil to work on a farm for $300 each month. "I have been married for seven years, and have lived in the camp for nine. I can't go back because of war. I must register with the army if I return," he explained. "Work is good. We have adapted to this lifestyle. We don't have a car. We live on the farm that I work on in Erbil. My family comes with me."
Salah, 47, has lived in the camp for eight years and is from Hasaka. He gestured for me to follow him away from the rest of the men who were waiting eagerly to share their stories and then started speaking in English.
"I was a petrol engineer. I have a big family. I am married with four children. Bring us work opportunities. My kids are working outside of the camp. Why don't we employ more refugees in the camp? My father is 78 years old and he still works during the month."
"Look at all of these people" he said. "Each of them has a similar story to tell."
"The lack of job opportunities is the biggest challenge here. The reason is the long distance from big cities. We need more livelihood projects," said Botan Salahadin Ahmed, manager of the camp.
Basirma Camp, built by the United Nations refugee agency (UNHCR) in 2013 for Kurds from northern Syria, is currently home to about 2,300 individuals. It is located some 50 kilometres northeast of Erbil.
Though the World Food Program (WFP) supports the camp's residents, WFP funding has decreased since 2018, according to the camp manager. Out of 500 families, only 200 are supported by the organization, he said. With the Syrian conflict dragging into a tenth year, the work of international organizations has largely come to a standstill, Ahmed explained.
COVID-19 concerns have led various organizations responsible for providing critical goods and service to refugees and IDPs to slow down or completely halt their operations. Decreased funding from donors has led local and international organizations to dedicate their limited resources to dire humanitarian situations. As a result, those considered to be living in relatively stable conditions are receiving less assistance.
The Kurdistan Regional Government hosts an estimated 996,861 IDPs and refugees as of October 19, according to the Kurdistan Regional Government’s (KRG) Joint Crisis Coordination Centre (JCCC). Of these, an estimated 239,740 are Syrian refugees and 37% of the displaced live in camps.
In Basirma Camp, travelling to Erbil or the nearby town of Shaqlawa is difficult for many of the refugees as they lack access to affordable transportation. Refugees who work outside of the camp are required to return on a monthly basis to renew their status, creating another burdensome expense for the refugees, said Mohammed, 33, who moved to the camp from Derik, Syria in 2013.
"Every month, we have to return to renew our absence paperwork. A taxi from Basirma to Erbil can cost between 10 and 25 thousand dinars [$8.38 – $20.96]. For many, this is difficult to afford," he explained.
Employment opportunities within the camp are minimal. There are some 40 shops in the camp, Ahmed estimates.
"Business [in the shop] is ok, but there is not a lot," said Hamza, a shop owner in the camp who arrived from Qamishli in northeastern Syria in 2014. He estimated the number of shops in the camp to be around 50, but many were closed or empty.
The coronavirus pandemic has resulted in even less work than usual. “The camp is small. Most people go to Erbil or Shaqlawa for work. Things have changed since COVID-19 started. There aren't doctors and teachers. There is no work around here," said Hamza.
Sardan, 46, owns another small shop and arrived from Qamishli in 2013. He is struggling to support a family of nine, including a 20-year-old daughter who cannot speak.
"The biggest problem in the camp is that it is far from big cities. This is all we have and there is no work here. Some people leave and some people stay. The closest city is 60 kilometres away. We need support for older people over 60 who cannot work. There is little work and little money. I need an income to live and to support my family," he said.
Another one of his daughters requires specialized psychological treatment that the camp's mental health service is unable to provide. "We need to spend about 200 dollars on a psychological doctor every two months,” he said.
Aymad, who is also from Qamishli and arrived in 2015, makes falafel in the camp and finds it difficult to make ends meet.
"Look around and look up," he said, pointing to the mountains surrounding the camp and the sky above. "I have five children. How can I live like this? We have everything here; gas, bread, hummus, oil. But it's expensive. Everything is available but we don't have the money to buy it. We live in a camp far from the whole world. Far from Duhok, Erbil, markets, work. Of course, the administration wants to employ everybody. But there is no work."
Though there are various organizations operating in the camp that strive to employ residents, the supply of labor exceeds the demand, said camp manager Ahmed. "There are 10 NGOs working in the camp. We have 2,400 individuals. The organizations employ some people, but there just isn't enough work," he explained.
The camp's administration operates a cash-for-work program that pays refugees 25,000 IQD [$20.96] for eight hours of work. However, the amount of work available is limited, said Frishte, who runs the program.
"There are 614 people in our cash for work database now. We give workers’ names to the camp's hospital and the organizations working in the camp. If they need someone, they call them in for work. They work on plumbing, in the hospital, and on other jobs. But we can only employ people between the ages of 18 and 60. We can't help those over the age of 60. UN rules don't allow us to," she said.
Mahmood, from Kobane, is nearly 60 years old, and has an untreated medical condition. He has one son and takes care of his five grandchildren. His wife needs a wheelchair to move around. Under the cash-for-work program he works just a few days every month.
"There is no work! Come see what life is like for me with your own eyes," he said, starting to cry. In his home, he opened up his fridge and pointed to a bag of peppers, a chopped up cucumber, a can of Pepsi, and some yoghurt. "I have nothing but God," he said. He pulled out a bag of bread and threw it on the floor in frustration. "Help me with work. We need money," he said.
The next day, Mahmood brought his desperation to the cash-for-work office where he loudly proclaimed that he wanted work. As staff members tried to calm him down, his frustration became more pronounced.
"I need to support my family. What should I do?" he asked, agitated, placing his hands around his neck and standing on his toes.
Given the camp's distance from other cities, it is important that international organizations focus more on bringing work to the refugees in the camp and surrounding areas, said Bokan Salar, the deputy camp manager.
"Our distance from big cities is our biggest problem. Organizations already give money. Why spend money on temporary things? Why not spend money on building a factory or something that creates work opportunities for the refugees here? I have suggested this to many of the organizations that come here. We have a large area. It should be easy.They can do anything. But nobody thinks like this. I don't know why,"she said.
As she spoke, a man entered her office requesting to have his absence paperwork approved. He spends 2 or 3 days in the camp every month and the rest of his time in Erbil where he is paid 25,000 IQD for 8 hours of work per day. He has lived in the camp for six years after fleeing Islamic State (ISIS) in Kobane.
The lack of employment opportunities affects those living in local communities outside of the camp as well, according to the camp manager. "We have raised the issue with the mayor of Basirma but nothing has been done. We need money, a larger budget to solve this issue," he said.
The mayor of Basirma was not available for comment at time of writing.
Ahmad, 20, moved to the camp from Qamishli over seven years ago. He travels to other towns for work three days a week. "Life isn't that good in the camp. Since there isn't much work in the camp, people go to Erbil, Shaqlawa, and Harir. They return once a week or once a month. They do manual labour, and many work in local hotels and companies. The best thing we can do for them is give them training," he said.
Sherif, from Qamishli, goes to Erbil to work on a farm for $300 each month. "I have been married for seven years, and have lived in the camp for nine. I can't go back because of war. I must register with the army if I return," he explained. "Work is good. We have adapted to this lifestyle. We don't have a car. We live on the farm that I work on in Erbil. My family comes with me."
Salah, 47, has lived in the camp for eight years and is from Hasaka. He gestured for me to follow him away from the rest of the men who were waiting eagerly to share their stories and then started speaking in English.
"I was a petrol engineer. I have a big family. I am married with four children. Bring us work opportunities. My kids are working outside of the camp. Why don't we employ more refugees in the camp? My father is 78 years old and he still works during the month."
"Look at all of these people" he said. "Each of them has a similar story to tell."
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