![]() ![]() This uncertainty clearly weighs on Abu Kareem’s mind. ![]() “In the rush to provide lifesaving services to refugees fleeing the border ten years ago, I’m not sure that any of our UNICEF colleagues could have imagined that we would be here a decade later,” she says. “We’re dealing with young people who have grown up amidst the trauma of war and are now transitioning to adulthood at a very uncertain time when opportunities can seem limited,” Tanya Chapuisat, UNICEF’s Representative in Jordan, tells me. This has been critical as funding has decreased in the wake of multiple global crises that are vying for the world’s attention. The services on offer for children and young people, from learning support to vocational training and sports, are today largely managed by Syrians themselves, providing much-needed income and ensuring a more sustainable, community-owned operation. Now, water flows from a tap into Abu Kareem’s kitchen. Instead, an innovative and environmentally-friendly water and sanitation system has fully replaced the need for the water trucks that used to stir up dust storms as they navigated narrow desert paths across the camp. Gone are the queues at water points, from which women and children once lugged heavy jerrycans in the extreme heat of the day. The camp looks much as it did during that first year, when families moved out of tents into large containers, and school compounds sprang up, run by the Ministry of Education with UNICEF support. There’s little shade from the brutal midday sun as we approach the home of Abu Kareem, Hanadi’s father. That hasn’t happened, and her own children have never lived in a house, let alone set foot in the family home. “My hope is to get back ,” Hanadi told me in 2013, tears in her eyes. Still, fleeing war and a decade of life in a refugee camp for 80,000 people inevitably takes a toll. Now she’s married to Tariq, is bringing up two delightful children and is encouraging young Syrians to develop the practical skills needed to help them achieve their full potential. Unlike many young people in the camp who struggle to find meaningful opportunities as they leave high school, Hanadi completed her education, went to university and earned a degree. But despite the immense challenges, she persevered and now dedicates her life to creating a better future for the next generation. ![]() Like so many of her peers, Hanadi has experienced things in her young life that no one should. Back then, she told me about her relief that she could return to school and the desire to keep learning.įast forward almost a decade, and it’s inspiring to see how Hanadi has gone from student to teacher. She had arrived at Za’atari three months before, having fled with her family and whatever they could carry from their home near Damascus. She was 17 years-old and attending a similar vocational training centre in the camp, which is supported by UNICEF. I first met Hanadi in 2013 – eight months after Za’atari camp opened in response to the huge refugee influx from across the border in Syria. “I teach them enough to get a start,” she says. The students are animated and engaged by Hanadi’s lesson as she walks them through some basics. She is teaching computer skills to a class of Syrian children aged 11 to 16. I’m really helping,” Hanadi tells me, as she reflects on her work in the Za’atari refugee camp in Jordan. ZA’ATARI REFUGEE CAMP, Jordan – “I think I’m making a difference. ![]()
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