‘Where are we?’ I ask after waking up bleary eyed from a much-needed nap. ‘Fallujah,’ my colleague replied.

Another 6am start and another hot car journey had led us to the city 50km west of Baghdad. As with my first visit to Mosul it felt very surreal to suddenly be in a place that for so long only existed to me on news feeds.

Retaken from ISIS over a year ago destruction now sits alongside every day life. Houses pockmarked with bullet holes next to thriving businesses. Signs warn of the dangers of mines and booby traps — one includes a picture of a teddy bear. People rush past. The legacy ISIS left behind is a constant undertone, continuing to shape people’s day-to-day lives.

We cross the Euphrates — one of the great rivers of Iraq. Like ISIS, this river sees no geographical borders — upstream in the Syrian city of Raqqa ISIS remains in control, and the battle to retake it rages around the water. Many people fleeing rely on the river to make their escape. They load what little possessions they’ve managed to salvage into small fishing boats alongside their parents and children, hoping to evade capture, air strikes and snipers.

Jess Wanless on Twitter

Crossing the Euphrates - sign warns of unexploded mines & booby traps. The area has been clear of ISIS for a year but kids still in danger.

We continue on. The landscape here in Anbar is very different from the one I see day-to-day in northern Iraq. Gone are the mountains and the rolling fields of wheat. In eastern Anbar all is flat. Forests of palm trees are laden with ripening dates. The soil is a dusty yellow. It’s late July and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Temperatures hover around 50 degrees.

A lame donkey struggles past our car. Two boys push bicycles along the potholed road past remnants of a car — likely destroyed by fighting. A few meters down the road the overturned turret of a tank sits next to a barricade of soil. That this was once a battlefield is obvious. These barricades run across the roads too — and although now passable they still keep the traffic speed in check.

Passing checkpoint after checkpoint after checkpoint, we drive through a village with a high level of destruction — almost all the houses have been damaged by bombs and air strikes. My colleague tells me that only a few families remain — everyone else has fled and has still not returned despite the fact the village was retaken over a year ago. Like elsewhere in Iraq people still do not feel safe. Many families whose houses were destroyed are unable to afford to rebuild — and so remain stuck in limbo in camps.

The further we drive into Anbar the closer to a desert the landscape looks. Between towns there is nothing. The odd flattened house. A lonely tree. A deep trench. It’s easy to imagine how this landscape could be quickly overrun by ISIS.

The next village has a lot more life. We pass a common sight in Iraq — a row of workshops surrounded by tyres wrapped in metallic pink, blue, green. On the roof old car parts sit in the blistering sun. One shop is crowned by a whole rusted SUV — complete with bullet holes. I’m not sure what the message is meant to be for customers.

Today we are travelling to the camps near Amiriyat Fallujah. People here have been displaced for many months — most I met fled a district of Fallujah well over a year ago. They told me how their houses had been damaged and how their husbands had been killed. Without support and with nowhere to go the chances of being able to leave the camp and restart their lives anytime soon is slim.

The tents are weather worn. Stuck in the middle of the desert and lacking enough power for air coolers the heat is oppressive. A number of the water tanks have run dry as they wait to be refilled. Without the funding required to make the camp safe, the toilets are far from many tents, missing locks and unseparated between genders. The spaces for children and medical centres are far from homes meaning that many people can’t use them.

In two of the sections of the camp the International Rescue Committee runs women’s listening centres. Here women and girls gather to spend time together, taking part in activities and talking about the challenges they face. Without this space many wouldn’t have a chance to socialise with other women.

This morning women are making wedding decorations and doing each others make up. I ask the group: ‘Who is best at make up?’ One woman says: ‘I used to be — but it’s such a long time since I did it, I feel like I’ve forgotten how.’

Although these activities might seem trivial and fun, they help women to rebuild their identities and confidence after years living under ISIS, followed by many difficult months struggling to survive in the camp.

Despite their experiences the women are incredibly strong willed — ‘I want to send my daughter to school’; ‘I want to learn how to read and write my name’; ‘I want to work,’ they say.

They talk to me about the friendships they have built in the centre. Their bonds are obvious. As they tell me about the challenges they face many cry. They comfort each other the way only true friends can. Being able to share their problems not only helps lessen their own burden but also ensures that they don’t feel alone — they are not the only ones facing such hardship.

While NGOs are flocking to Mosul these families left behind after previous battles for Fallujah and Ramadi are still in need. Further west in Anbar thousands of families are still trapped under ISIS control. Their journey to safety has not yet begun.

Across Iraq over 2 million people have returned to their neighbourhoods since April 2015, including 1 million in Anbar. Returning home does not mean finding safety. Families around the country are struggling to access the support and services they need to survive, recover and gain control of their futures. Although in cities like Fallujah and Ramadi water and power supplies are slowly being restored, unexploded mines, damaged homes and lack of security continue to disrupt people’s lives.

Still — over 110,000 people from Anbar are currently displaced. As months pass many are no closer to being able to regain the life that they once lived, stuck in camps and unfinished buildings and far from their homes. Anbar provides a stark lesson for Mosul and other recently retaken places in Iraq. The reality in Anbar today demonstrates that long after ISIS are expelled from an area, support and funding is needed for months, if not years, before returnees can properly restart their lives.

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

Beyond ISIS: struggling to survive in eastern Anbar was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Life under ISIS in western Anbar

In the past year, ISIS has been driven out of Mosul and lost swathes of territory across Iraq. The armed group has yet to be fully defeated in Iraq but the battle to retake the final two areas under ISIS’ rule has finally begun.

I recently spoke with Hamed*, who is from a town called Ana. He’s one of the more than 50,000 people who have risked their lives to flee ISIS-held western Anbar province since January. He shares his story:

“Life in Ana was very hard, and it became harder and harder each day. In the last few months, we couldn’t even reach the main door of our house because ISIS was watching us. They started to accuse people of anything they could think of as revenge because they were suffering from air strikes.

One day I was out and heard air strikes close by to my house. I rushed home to look for my family — I couldn’t find them inside our house. But I couldn’t ask anyone where they were because no one would answer.

Everyone was afraid of everyone.

When the air strikes finished I finally found my family in my neighbor’s house. We left to go home, and ISIS showed up and asked us what we were doing outside our house. They questioned us, and questioned us, and questioned us. We were terrified.

Even after the air strike, we could not escape Ana because ISIS forbid anyone to leave.

My mum is sick with diabetes and she needs insulin injections. In Ana, it was almost impossible for us to get the injections for her. They need to be transported cold. Even when we did manage to find them, most of the time they were already expired; you can only keep the insulin for a short period of time.

Her health became a lot worse. The psychological impact of everything that has happened to us also took its toll.

You can only imagine what it is like to hear air strikes on a daily basis — a lot of bombs, a lot of sounds you don’t want to hear. When we heard the aircrafts, that was when the horror really began.

You can only imagine what it is like to hear air strikes on a daily basis.

When the children heard the planes, they put their hands over their ears. Every night they slept in fear with their hands over their ears. Even today when they hear a strange noise or a car in the street they run to me, worried about what is happening.

The children spent more than a year without ever getting out of the house. We were afraid to let them leave because ISIS would catch them and try to get information out of them. They would ask, “Does your father call someone in Baghdad? Does he call someone outside? Does he have a mobile?”

Charges were everywhere. Executions everywhere. To be honest I reached the point when I couldn’t even trust my brother.

No one had any jobs or cash under ISIS. Before ISIS my brother was a daily laborer; he worked in the ceramic works. I was a daily laborer building water pipes. After ISIS came everything stopped. Our wives saved some money. We sold our clothes and jewelry. I borrowed some money from my uncle. We gathered all this money together and we paid the smugglers to get us out.

We finally decided we had to flee Ana because heavy bombing took place, and air strikes hit just 20 meters from our house. ISIS brought their anti-air-strike guns and put them between houses. ISIS doesn’t bring their weapons to open areas. When the planes saw them, they just bombed them. ISIS put their guns between houses to use us as human shields.

ISIS put their guns between houses to use us as human shields.

We could not speak to ISIS. We could not say, “Don’t do this.” If we did we would be kidnapped or killed.”

Hamed and his family escaped in the middle of the night to Ramadi, a city in central Iraq which was retaken from ISIS last year. They left with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and their IDs.

“We felt like we were going to nowhere — we were not expecting to survive. So many families were caught by ISIS or killed by snipers.”

In Ramadi, the International Rescue Committee provided cash relief to help Hamed provide for his family and to pay rent.

“With the cash the IRC gave us we bought medication for my diabetic mother,” Hamed said. “We also bought other things we needed — for my children, for rent, for food. I can spend the money according to what I need. I can use it on to what is important for me.”

Jess Wanless on Twitter

In Ramadi, Iraq @theIRC / @IRCEurope, supported by @eu_echo, are providing 100s of displaced families from Anbar with cash relief.

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

*Name changed to protect identity

“Everyone was afraid of everyone”: Life under ISIS in western Anbar was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

As we drive into Mosul for the first time, I am filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. For three years this city has dominated news headlines and although I have spent countless hours reading about Mosul and met dozens of people who fled the city I’m not exactly sure what to expect.

The city offers a mixed reception: crowded markets, busier checkpoints, damaged buildings. It’s not the first time I have visited an area retaken from ISIS but I still don’t think I will ever be able to look at a destroyed house without imagining the life of the family that once lived there. Outside one empty home we drive past, blankets are still hanging on the washing line, untouched for more the five months than have elapsed since the neighbourhood was retaken.

Three quarters of people that fled east Mosul have now returned home, but many families may never return, unable to afford to rebuild or unwilling to return to a place where they have experienced such horror.

Today the city is thronging with people. Thousands in east Mosul remained in their homes and many of the 300,000 people from west Mosul who have not gone to camps have found safety in the neighbourhoods of the east of the city. “Since people from the west starting coming here the price of rent has risen very quickly,” one man told me. If Mosul follows the patterns of other areas in Iraq it’s likely many of those that fled to the east of the city may choose to never return as they begin to build a new life for themselves.

I still don’t think I will ever be able to look at a destroyed house without imagining the life of the family that once lived there.

After a while it becomes easy to forget we are in Mosul, which despite seven months of fighting is still terrorized by ISIS forces entrenched in the densely populated old city.

Streets are busy with people going about their daily routine. Boys and girls walk in groups on the way home from school. Women buy groceries from shops, which after years of restrictions now sell everything you could want for (including the kitchen sink). Beauty salons, forbidden under ISIS, display images of unveiled women and grinning cartoons dance on building walls.

I am reminded where I am when we pass two images of Mickey Mouse with their faces spray painted out. ISIS banned any depiction of faces in the city. Taking a closer look around east Mosul there is a consistent low level of destruction — smashed windows here and there, a row of shops that has not yet reopened, playgrounds with the swings missing.

Suddenly the noise of an airstrike destroys the peace … but the children next to me continue to play…

As we turn a corner onto a bustling street suddenly the noise of an airstrike destroys the peace — a sound that chills me to the bone. But the children next to me continue to play, for them the sound goes unnoticed. This shouldn’t really be a surprise though with the battle for the remaining neighbourhoods only a few miles away, the threat of mortars means civilians in east Mosul are still at risk.

One woman I speak to describes Mosul as ‘a city of horrors’ under ISIS. She describes how bodies were hung from lampposts for days, and beheadings were shown on large screens in the street. Everyone was forced to watch, even children. She says her daughter in west Mosul has already had to flee three times, and how she is terrified that her grandson may get hurt by an airstrike or get caught up in the fighting. She talks about how mothers had to watch their sons being executed and how they weren’t able to give them a funeral.

The damage to Mosul is much greater than destroyed houses or missing swing-sets. For the 1.5 million people that spent nearly three years living under ISIS, the psychological impact is almost immeasurable.

Each time I meet someone from Mosul they tell me an equally horrifying story. Everyone has lost somebody, everyone has seen terrible sights. Many children have missed three years of schooling. Only with significant support will people be able to process what has happened in this once great city and begin to truly rebuild their lives.

As we head out of the city I hang onto a feeling of hope. Houses in every neighbourhood are being rebuilt. Bullet holes are being filled. Routes have been rebuilt around a destroyed bridge allowing traffic to flow. Newly planted trees line the road. I hope we are seeing signs of resilience, that coupled with government support and international aid, will make Mosul a great city once again.

The International Rescue Committee is currently responding to the ongoing crisis in and around Mosul, supporting both those forced to flee their homes and those that remained. In Hammam al-Alil, south of Mosul, IRC has provided some 15,000 people with vital cash relief and is also providing people in the town with legal aid so they are able to access the services they need. Elsewhere the IRC is providing people from Mosul with specialist services for women and children to help them to overcome the trauma they have experienced.

Mosul was a ‘city of horrors’ — now it’s a scene of hope was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

There are moments when fear saves you and moments when fear kills you. At this moment in time, a deadly mix of fear and false information is risking people’s lives.

Early last month, I returned to Europe with the International Rescue Committee to raise awareness of the refugee crisis — now a completely different story from when I visited Greece more than a year ago. Tens of thousands are stranded indefinitely across Greece and the Balkans, with limited legal options to continue their journey to a new life.

I was traveling with my wife, Kathryn. We wanted to listen to these brave people, to hear their stories. These are families like ours, and they are hurting. But they are fighters — and true teachers of how we are supposed to be as human beings.

I saw my sons in the faces of these boys

We revisited Kara Tepe refugee camp on the Greek island of Lesbos. The camp had dirty roads and flimsy tents in November 2015; now it’s equipped with clean living spaces for over 800 refugees, most of them from Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq. It’s a decent environment, but hardly a home.

One of our most moving visits was with a group of young men and boys traveling alone. They ranged in age from nine to 18. And they opened up in the most memorable ways, telling us details of their life-threatening journey.

Three of the boys invited us to their art class. The program is run by Ilias, a doctor of political sociology from Thessaloniki. He’s a beam of light, a master of listening, a gift to them at this moment in their fragile lives.

I saw my sons in the faces of these young boys. I was overcome with emotion and couldn’t speak. Why should these beautiful young men be caught in limbo? It was hard to say goodbye as we made our way to Serbia.

The most vilified of the most vulnerable

There’s no compassion for single young men in Serbia. No sympathy. They’re escaping a horrible war themselves, trying to continue their education, simply trying to stay alive.

They are perhaps the most vilified of the most vulnerable — their only crimes are that they did not want to fight and kill in the wars back home.

They believe that they’ll never have the opportunity through legal means to cross borders and continue their journey to safety.

Borders are essentially closed until the European Union states can come together to create a humane system to rescue these vulnerable souls.

So they give themselves up to smugglers, risking their limited financial resources and in some cases their lives. And they wait…and wait…some in dilapidated, rundown warehouses unfit for human beings.

Most of these young men had been students and were deeply grateful that we were willing to listen to their stories, their deep frustrations at having their educations so dramatically interrupted. As one of them said, “I wasn’t even allowed to play cricket on the street without fear of losing my life.”

The graffiti on the wall summed up their feelings: “With guns you can kill terrorists, with education you can kill terrorism … We need education. No more war.”

Never apologize when expressing how you feel

We met an extraordinary man from Afghanistan who was open and friendly and spoke incredible English. He talked about a difficult journey and then he got very upset: “Your country forced us to be here,” he said to me. He blamed the United States for the death of his parents. There was great silence and pain.

But I had to say something; silence wasn’t acceptable. I found him later that day after visiting other wonderful families. He apologized and I quickly told him never to apologize when expressing how you feel; your anger is a gift.

I told him if I had one thing to give him, it would to be to bring his family back. He wisely said, “We can’t change the past, but we can change the future.”

“Kindness…we need kindness”

Farhad Nouri is a 10-year-old artist from Afghanistan currently stranded in Serbia. His dream is to get to Switzerland or the United States, where he can have a life free from war and study his craft.

His gift is obvious. He shared his drawings with us. They were exquisite, the product of no training whatsoever.

His favorite artist is Picasso. He plays with the style of Jackson Pollock and showed me his sketch of Angelina Jolie.

“She rescues children,” he said.

I asked him if he had bad dreams from the war.

“Sometimes,” he responded.

He began to tell me about a recurring dream of his father outside their house where he heard gunshots. He then broke down in tears, remembering how terrified he was that his father might not come home.

Later we sat on a bench and talked more about his art. My wife and I are one of the lucky recipients of an original Farhad Nouri that will hang proudly on our living room wall.

I explained to him that I would be sharing our visit and asked if there was anything he wanted to say to the people of the world. He grew quiet, thinking, and then said: “Kindness. We need kindness. Not just for me, but for all refugees.”

Then I became a grandpa…

We visited an asylum center in Šid, a town in Serbia near the Croatian border, opposite the train station. It was here that I met an eight-year old young boy named Abid who also spoke excellent English, introduced me to his family, and informed me he would one day become a doctor to help all the beautiful people who were hurt from war. Then he called me grandpa.

In the midst of the sadness, the helplessness, the loss of hope; I was made a grandfather.

We all need to stop being afraid

One of the most emotional days for me was reuniting with the Alassy family, whom I had originally met more than a year ago on Lesbos. They had lost everything during their journey to Greece, and after I gave them some travel money, they were able to make their way into Germany. I had stayed in touch with the father, Koder, on WhatsApp.

I told them that we saw so many families just like theirs, all looking to find a home and start a new life. Seeing the Alassys had achieved this was so wonderful—I was overcome with emotion. The whole world should make sure that every family has this.

We — Americans as well as Europeans — must show solidarity with refugees. We need to find a way to lift these bans all over the world to welcome people into our countries and our neighborhoods and our homes, our mosques, our synagogues, our churches. We need to stop being afraid.

These refugees are living my grandparents’ lives. I would not be alive today if the United States had not offered them sanctuary.

Now is the time to act

Some of you have asked what you can do to help refugees. My view is that we cannot stay silent. Now more than ever, you can help share their stories, be their voice.

You can write or pick up your phone and call your Members of Congress, representatives or local politicians to make sure they know you stand with refugees. You can have a conversation with a refugee family, find an IRC office near you and volunteer, help to teach them English.

You can spread the truth.

Whatever you can do, please do — but now is the time to act.

All photos taken by Tara Todras-Whitehill for the IRC

Refugee crisis in Europe and Middle East: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

We need to stop being afraid of refugees—help me spread the truth was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Forcibly uprooted from their homes, millions of Syrian children are growing up knowing nothing but war and terror. Though many families remain trapped in Syria’s war zones, others have been forced to make tough decisions to save themselves and their children.

Nearly one million refugees and migrants from Syria, Afghanistan and other nations experiencing conflict have risked the sea journey to Europe this year, with 800,000 coming through the Greek islands. More than half of those have landed on Lesbos, the main gateway to Europe.

It’s not an easy task to console children who have had to say goodbye to their homes, witness violence and become hardened by loss, especially when parents themselves have lost control of their own lives. While working with the International Rescue Committee’s emergency team in Greece last month, I spoke with six families on Lesbos about the difficult questions their children ask about their escape to Europe.

Mama, are we going to die today?

Name: Mubarak
Age: 7
From: Aleppo, Syria

Mubarak and her family nearly died making the treacherous voyage on a rubber raft from Turkey to Lesbos. She remembers every terrifying detail as the tides took control of their flimsy craft.

“First, there was a little fear, but my mama told me we’re going on the boat for a better life,” she says. “I can’t swim, but I was learning at my grandparents’ house. The waves were too big and then the boat was full of water. We lost everything — our money and clothes. I asked God to let me die on land and not in the sea. I asked my mama if we are going to die today.”

Mubarak’s mother, enveloped in grief, is stung by her daughter’s words.

“What mother wants her child to speak like this?” she asks. “But, what else can we do? They’ve seen the reality of war and it’s difficult to hide it…the children were aware of everything that was going on. We tell our children we’re going to a place where there is no sound of war, no need to be afraid of death. They will have a new home and a good life.”

Will the helicopters hurt us?

Name: Yusef
Age: 7
From: Aleppo, Syria

As Yusef squeezed out from the crush of passengers on a tiny boat that had just landed on Lesbos, he froze in fear as a whirring helicopter hovered over the rocky beach. He clutched his sister Rama’s hand and pointed skyward: “Will it hurt us?”

Yusef has found it hard to cope with the sound of planes and helicopters, explains 20-year-old Rama. Back in Syria, her little brother witnessed a constant rain of rockets over Aleppo.

“The war has absolutely changed Yusef. My little brother’s childhood has been replaced with destruction,” she says. “He knows too well the sounds of a bomb and the voices of the Free Syrian Army and Daesh (the Arabic name for ISIS). He can also tell who is who by how they look.”

“He just wants to run away from Syria — he wants to be able to play in the streets again with friends,” she continues. “We say they won’t hurt us in Germany. Nothing will hurt us there. He can finally play outside with kind, friendly people. His response: ‘Yes, I’m ready, let’s go.’”

Where is my grandfather?

Name: Adnan*
Age: 5
From: Damascus, Syria

Abdullah tried to wait out the war with his wife and their two young boys — until their home in Damascus was turned to dust by bombs. He packed a bag with the barest essentials and forced a smile to reassure his family, knowing too well they could die during their escape.

The family trekked from Damascus to Turkey in ten days, sleeping in the forest to evade the police. Adnan and his little brother weren’t afraid. Their father told them it was part of an adventure to visit their grandfather, who had resettled in Germany a few months earlier.

“My son used to sleep at his grandparents’ house and he’s not able to do that anymore. Every day he asks when he will see his grandfather — why we live so far away from him,” he says.

In Turkey, Abdullah managed to find a dinghy to take the family to Greece, but it started to sink halfway into the voyage. He prepared the boys for the plunge into the open sea.

“I told them we are going swimming,” he says. “They love to swim. I held them both and we swam for almost a mile to get to the shore. I saw death for me and my children. But my sons could only think of their grandfather in Germany.”

Why do I have to leave my home?

Name: Saif
Age: 7
From: Al-Hasakah, Syria

Fatima* could never find the right words to explain to her children why they had to leave their home for Germany. Her three children didn’t ask much about the war or the journey to Europe. She tried to shield them from the worst, even when a rocket struck her house early one morning. Luckily the children were not there, but how could she explain to them why they couldn’t go home, and why they were being smuggled into Turkey?

“We left because of the war and death, but I didn’t want to say that to my children,” she explains. “So, I told them this was just temporary. But Saif wouldn’t stop asking. He still asks why we’re here in the camp, why we can’t go back to Syria.”

“Children do not deserve to live a life full of fear. Saif started to become quiet and reserved when he stopped going to school, stopped playing with his friends outside. Thank God he didn’t see our house destroyed. Saif doesn’t know why people are fighting…and I didn’t want him to find out.”

When can we go home?

Name: Laylan* and her brother Ahmed*
Ages: 5 and 4
From: Aleppo, Syria

These cheerful siblings were too young during the early years of the war to harbor bad memories, but their mother knew from the beginning that they would be robbed of the joys of a typical childhood. Now Hayat* worries how she will help her children lead normal lives without a home.

The family left Aleppo to escape the shellings, frequent kidnappings and arbitrary arrests that plagued the city.

“We took a bus to Turkey and in the middle were forced to get off and walk to the border,” Hayat recalls. “There were crowds of people and the sun had just set. My daughter saw a line of police officers at the border and she put both hands on her chest and started to have a panic attack. She kept screaming ‘I want to go home, I want to go home.’ I haven’t been able to tell her we won’t be able to go back home. We’ve been telling them we are going on a trip and at the end of this trip, you will have a school to go to and can play outside with friends.”

When will we go back to school?

Name: Yaza
Age: 15
From: Idlib, Syria

Yaza has been out of school for nearly four years. His family had fled their home in the countryside near Idlib to a makeshift camp in Lebanon. Living conditions were difficult and his parents struggled to find work. So at the tender age of 12, Yaza decided to provide for his family by working for a tailor in Beirut.

“I would rather go to school,” he says, now 15. “I always asked my parents, ‘when we can finally go back to school?’ I miss my friends, my classes. English was my favorite and I could speak quite well, but I’ve forgotten. I know the reason for this war. I know why we have to leave our country. I just don’t know when we will go back. My mother tried to help us forget about the bullets and bombings. She told us not to be afraid, that we’re together and have each other.”

“I hope we get treatment in Germany for my brother who has asthma and two holes in his heart. Germany is new so I don’t know what it will be like. I just hope I’m treated like a human being. I do know it will be a hundred times better than Lebanon; a thousand times safer than Syria. We no longer need to be afraid.”

*Some names were changed and last names omitted to protect the privacy of the families.

Story by Kulsoom Rizvi

Refugee Crisis: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee is providing relief to millions of uprooted people inside Syria; in neighboring Iraq, Lebanon, Turkey and Jordan; in Afghanistan; on the shores of Greece; and in our 26 resettlement offices in the United States. Help us reach our goal. Donate now. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Nearly 60 million people have been forced to flee their homes by war, conflict and persecution — more lives uprooted than at any time since World War II. Produced by the International Rescue Committee, “Uprooted” keeps the spotlight on the individual human beings behind the tragic numbers in this global refugee crisis.

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“Are we going to die today?” was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

March 20, 2017; one year later

“In Kabul every moment it’s like your life is in danger. Every moment was dangerous. If I go in the morning to work I couldn’t know if I would be alive or not. The work I did was in the city. Every bomb explosion was in the city. We were afraid every day. It was every day. It was daily life. If you go out you never know if you will be back or not.”

These are the words of Taer, a man who worked as a street peddler in Kabul, Afghanistan, and who has been waiting at Kara Tepe, on the Greek island of Lesbos, since March 20, 2016 — the day the EU-Turkey deal was implemented — to know whether or not he will be able to win asylum in Greece for himself and for his family: his wife, his mother, and his three small children, Attife, Hanife and Ali.

It was an unsettling encounter for me.

He was a street peddler after all. I had just spent time with another Afghan family, Aref & Zahraa and their son Daniel. Aref worked for NATO. He was a mechanical engineer. He was involved in building NATO bases for forces fighting the Taliban. The Taliban had tried to kidnap his son and, but for the extraordinary bravery of his wife, Zahraa, they would have succeeded.

Of course he and his family were at risk. But… a street peddler? What chance would he have of winning asylum?

Taer sensed my skepticism, and gestured to Hanife who jumped up from where she was kneeling, rummaged in the corner of the prefab container they now call home and returned with a beat-up looking tablet. She started to swipe through some photos and then stopped to show me one.

A sweet smile and a shy hello

Hanife is 9 years old. She speaks impressive English, a language she has learned since being here. She also speaks Greek. She was the one to greet me at the door with a sweet, sweet smile and a shy hello. She was also the one to busy herself offering me and my colleague, Aziz Soltani, one of the International Rescue Committee’s cultural mediators who works at Kara Tepe, tea from a flask, and biscuits which she had evenly divided so we both got the same offering. She later said that she wants to be an English teacher.

The photo Hanife showed me, at first glance, looked like a row of men, dressed in white robes, lying side by side, almost as if they were sleeping. But then I noticed the unmistakable red of blood and realized that, of course, they were dead. “This man,” and Hanife used her 9-year-old fingers to zoom in to one of the men lying there, “this man was my father’s cousin.” She swiped on some more to another photo, this time a gruesome headshot of a man, possibly her father’s cousin, a bloody white rag gagging his mouth, face bloodied and some kind of bandage on his head. Dead. It was a disturbing juxtaposition: this young, sweet, shy girl holding up a photo of this horrific image. Trying to make a point.

Taer and his family are Hazara — a politically persecuted minority in Afghanistan. Taer, with his wife Belgis by his side, asked me if I knew about the explosion at a demonstration in Kabul that killed 100 Hazaras. I did not. Belgis echoed her husband’s words:

“The whole day it was the fear of losing family.”

I cursed myself for allowing myself to fall prey to the cold and sterile way in which the powers that be deem who is vulnerable for protection and who is not.

The bar for asylum is high. For Afghans, even more so. They have always been third class citizens in this response, never eligible for relocation to another country in Europe to apply for asylum there, and in the current narrative increasingly referred to as economic migrants as opposed to the refugees most most likely are.

“A lot of people are getting their papers,” Taer says. “We have been here for one year. We are here trying to prove that we had a reason to fear.”

Taer is soft-spoken and patient but I get the sense that he can’t quite believe that here, in Europe, he has to continue to explain himself. You can be a street peddler in Kabul — and still your life will be at risk. If they had stayed, they could be dead by now.

Taer and his family had their interview for asylum in Greece one month ago, a full ten months after they arrived on Lesbos. Now they must wait some more and hope they have been able to convince the asylum judge that their lives are valuable too, that their lives are on the line, that every day in Kabul is, truly and actually, a day where every moment is dangerous, that to be sent back would be to perish.

Read part two of this family’s story

If you must leave you will leave

Refugee crisis in Europe and Middle East: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

How do you put value on a life? was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

This is the message that fourth-grader Zola Pierce Heartman of Boise wrote in her letter to Syrian children — kids whose childhoods have been spent searching for safety, shelter, food, and water.

Today marks six years of jarring violence and wasted life in Syria. Six years without school, work or access to the basic needs of human survival.

It’s children like Zola and students from the Sage International School who, when given a chance, show us that providing desperately-needed aid really doesn’t have to be complicated.

With the International Rescue Committee, which provides lifesaving care and support to millions of Syrians in the Middle East and in the United States, we asked American children what they’d want to say to Syrian children:

Mandela Hoffman, 8 years old

Dear Friend,

I hear from my parents that there is a big war in your country. A war that has been going on since you and I were two years old. It must be really scary. I know many refugee kids in Boise. I even played soccer with some kids from your country . I hope maybe one day soon you will be able to come to my school and play soccer with me and my friends. You would really like it here and I know my friends would like you too.

Love, Mandela

Zola Pierce Heartman, 9 years old

Hope is NOT for suckers. I hope you feel safe soon. If your family is not with you physically, know their hearts are with you. You are loved in a million places.

Soren Pierce Heartman, 12

Hello,

We hope you are safe. If you’re not I hope you are safe soon. We welcome you to Idaho and to everywhere that is safe for you. You will be safe soon and we hope it is sooner than you think. We want you to feel and loved everywhere you go. We hope we can help you get through this.

Love, a friend in Idaho

Damia Pierce-Murphy, 17 years old

Hello,

My name is Damia and I am an 11th grade student living in Idaho. I am writing this letter to you in response to the current refugee crisis in Syria. I want you to know that there are people out in the world who care about you.

Some people choose to ignore problems in other countries, but I am not one of those people; I will not sit idly by while you suffer, waiting for someone to come and help. I want to do my part in helping those in danger.

Unfortunately not everyone in America is so opened-minded, but fear not: we welcome you with open arms and open hearts into our country of refuge and opportunity.

I hope that you will maintain your faith in the chance for a better life—one in which you will not be afraid to cross the streets or leave your house.

Just know that there are many people who care about what happens to you. You deserve every opportunity; you deserve to grow up in a community in which you thrive. You deserve just as much as everyone else.

I know that things are difficult right now, but know that circumstances can improve…keep your head up high. You are not alone and you are deeply cared for by those not suffering from ignorance. Be brave and stay strong.

Sincerely, Damia

Jordyn Lowe, 12 years old

Hi,

My name is Jordyn. I am writing this so that you can get a message of hope, something that will help you pull through this siutation. Just be the strongest, most powerful person that you can be and you can and will pull through. I really hope that this message finds a place in your heart, and gives you the motivation to get through this.

You got this!

Dracyn Lowe, 8 years old

Hi,

My name is Dracyn. I am writing this letter because I want you to be strong. And hope you get through this all right. And I think it is wrong for our countries to be in war. You can get through this strongly.

Dracyn

William Green

Hello,

My name is William. What is your name? What town do you live in? Is it scary where you live? Do you like school?

I live in Boise, Idaho. Do you like playing any sports? I like to play basketball and football. I have sister named Olivia. Do you have any siblings?

Is it safe where you live? I hope you feel safe. How old are you? Do you live in a good house? I hope you live in a good house.

Do you want to come to America? I hope the best for you and your family.

From, William

Giada Ramos, 9 years old

Be safe, always know your family is with you. There’s always the beauty and bravery in you, always know that. Always go right because left is just the wrong way.

Alina Walsh, 13 years old

I recognize my privilege and I want to use it to help people in need. You deserve the right to a happy life.

All photos taken by Jonathan McBride for the IRC

Refugee crisis in Europe and Middle East: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

These letters from American children to Syrians show incredible humanity and love was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Over a million Iraqis living in Mosul have had their lives turned upside down since ISIS took control of the city in June 2014. Another 200,000 have fled their homes in the last four months as the battle to retake Mosul wages on. It is predicted that the fighting will continue well into 2017, but even when the last of ISIS is driven from the city, the crisis will be far from over.

Once home to over 2 million citizens, Mosul, as well as much of the surrounding area, has suffered under ISIS’s harsh rule. Men are forced to grow beards, women must be fully covered (including eyes), and mobile phones and non-ISIS radio and TV are banned. In East Mosul, children reportedly were taught maths by counting weapons.

There is almost nothing left in shops. Prices are skyrocketing.

Although East Mosul has been retaken, some 750,000 people remain trapped in the west of the city with almost no communication with the world outside. Aid organizations lack full information about conditions there, but one thing is clear: the needs of those who remain are immediate and great.

Residents have no access to aid, an estimated 40 percent lack clean drinking water, and with supply routes cut, food and fuel prices are escalating. No one knows how long they will have to endure these conditions.

We spoke to Ali*, who lives in East Mosul but has family and friends in West Mosul. “They do not have money to buy what they need,” he told us. “There is almost nothing left in shops. Prices are skyrocketing. ISIS has kicked some people out of their homes, especially those living near the [Tigris] river. ISIS are still executing people in the street.”

Ongoing dangers

While East Mosul no longer has to live under ISIS control, the challenges for the half a million residents remain vast. “I felt like a bird escaping from its cage,” Ali said, “like we have been born again.” But “the destruction is huge,” he added. Although people are beginning to leave camps and return to their homes and neighbourhoods, life in retaken areas is full of dangers.

The IRC has received reports of a family living in a building with a live mine — they simply avoid that room — and a first-aid kit was found to be booby-trapped by ISIS with explosives. In the retaken village of Khorsebat, to the north of Mosul, IRC teams were warned not to leave the road, as the village remained contaminated with explosives.

ISIS are still executing people in the street.

“Water is very limited and people are relying on wells that they dug during ISIS time,” says Ali. “There is no national electricity and people are relying on generators.” But without fuel for the generators, or electricity for heaters, families are forced to endure sub-freezing temperatures with no warmth. Many children don’t have winter coats.

Access to food and supplies are limited. “Most of the basic items are available now, but people do not have money to buy them,” said Ali. “Salaries stopped for over a year now and there is no work.”

Rebuilding trust

With time and effort, mines will be cleared. Power and clean water will be restored. Markets will open and jobs will be created. But rebuilding trust among the Mosul community will take years.

Mosul was once a diverse city, home to numerous ethnic minorities including Armenians, Yazidis and Turkmen, all of whom lived alongside the Sunni majority. “Before, we lived together — Christians, Yazidis, Muslims, everyone — but then ISIS came and they separated us,” explained Nasim*, a Mosul resident now living in the Khazir camp. ISIS sowed suspicion between peoples; that ditrust lingers. Many people are afraid that ISIS’s ideology will continue to influence some of their neighbors even as the city recovers.

Everyone suffered under ISIS rule. For the city to rebuild, the people of Mosul must be willing, and be supported, to live side-by-side again. Re-establishment of rule of law, as well as a concerted effort toward social cohesion and reconciliation will be critical to allow them to feel safe, but currently, the future is unclear. As Ali put it, “We are afraid that the city will not be back as it was.”

*Names changed to protect identities

This story first appeared on Rescue.org on Feb. 11, 2017

Refugee crisis in Europe and Middle East: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

Urgent needs meet long-term challenges in embattled Mosul was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

One frigid afternoon at the Info Park refugee information hub in Belgrade, Serbia, the door opened and two young boys walked in, their demeanour a mixture of relief and great fatigue. On this extremely cold day with temperatures dropping below freezing, one of them was wearing only a thin sweatshirt. They had just arrived that morning from Bulgaria.

Their names are Zahel and Abubeidullah. They are both from Negrahar, Afghanistan and they are both fourteen years old. They came to Info Park, a local humanitarian organization supported by the International Rescue Committee, with Zahel’s cousin, Suhail, who they had started out with from Afghanistan, but got separated from in Bulgaria. In a moment of pure coincidence, they had bumped into each other that morning, in the park beside Belgrade’s bus station.

Suhail is 13 years old. He has brought them to Info Park’s information hub so that they can get some warm clothes and a cup of hot tea before they head back out into the Belgrade night to find themselves a spot to sleep at the warehouse.

Far too much is unknown about the children who are traveling alone and trying to make their way from countries like Afghanistan to Western Europe. The numbers available are estimates only. However it is very clear that they are here. The warehouse behind the Belgrade bus station is stark proof of that, as it is where many of these young boys stay while they try to find a way out of Serbia and onwards with their journey.

One boy describes the warehouse as “heaven” compared to Afghanistan, but if this is heaven I would hate to see hell. Set on bleak industrial land the warehouse has become the makeshift refugee site of Belgrade. On any one night there are an estimated one thousand people staying there, a significant number of whom are children travelling by themselves.

One boy describes the warehouse as “heaven” compared to Afghanistan, but if this is heaven I would hate to see hell.

The warehouse is dirty, dark, cold, drafty, and pest-infested. Refugees do what they can to light fires to keep themselves warm, but the materials they are able to find to burn are often toxic and the smoke will catch you at the back of your throat. While some children do choose to stay at one of the three official shelters that have been set up for them in Serbia, many would rather stay here. They don’t trust anyone. They have heard that if they go to one of the government-run shelters they will be deported, and they have come too far now to turn around.

The stories these boys tell are similar. They are stories of great courage but immense cruelty. They talk about being beaten at the hands of both smugglers and border guards along the route. They talk about border guards either asking them their ages or not bothering to ask. Either way it doesn’t seem to make a difference.

They describe long journeys in overcrowded cars with barely air to breathe. One boy talked about being put in a box and forced to stay there, for eight hours, before being pulled out, having a hood put on his head and then being bundled into the trunk of another car and dumped at the Turkish border. He is only sixteen. They talk about harrowing treks through the forests of Bulgaria in the middle of the night with smugglers ordering them to move faster and beating them, in order to try and make them do so.

“We call [our parents] and say we are safe,” one boy staying at the warehouse says. “They will get really upset if they see where we are living.”

All of them have been sent to Europe by their parents. None of them want to let their parents down and are steadfast in their determination to make it to their “destination country,” be that Germany, France, England, Italy. Most have fled because of the Taliban — they were perceived as a threat for the very ordinary reason that they wanted to study. Their schools were burnt down. Their parents were afraid for their children’s lives.

Do they ever describe to their parents the conditions in which they live now, or the duress they have been through? No. “We call and say we are safe,” one boy staying at the warehouse says. “They will get really upset if they see where we are living. They have their own problems.”

These are all kids with ambition. One wants to be president of Afghanistan one day. Another just wants to be known. He’s not quite sure what for — but he thinks maybe it will revolve around computer science.

“We want to be useful people in the world,” said Haroon, a nineteen year old from Afghanistan, now staying at the warehouse. “We are already exhausted from the war. We want to go on with our lives based on the pencil, based on education, not based on fighting.” Haroon lost his cousin in the war. His friend lost his brother. “We ran away from the war,” Haroon continued. “We hope that Afghanistan will be peaceful one day.”

These are the faces of boys who have lived so much in their very young years that they hardly look young anymore.

At Info Park’s refugee information hub, a former cafe on a derelict street in Belgrade, Zahel and Abubeidullah finish their tea and head out into the night, fortified in some way for their first night’s stay at the warehouse.

Abubeidullah is determined to find a way to London. Italy is the destination country for Zahel and his cousin. They plan to find a way through Croatia, on to Slovenia, and then to Italy.

“It’s our last border,” they say, “but it’s very difficult.”

Refugee crisis in Europe and Middle East: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

Children, alone and at risk on the refugee route was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Born in Greece to Afghan parents fleeing the Taliban, baby Yassna now lives in limbo in a refugee camp.

In November, I visited Serbia with the International Rescue Committee to meet refugee families who have found themselves in purgatory, trapped in camps that have become a home for thousands who only wanted a safer life for their children.

One of our first stops in Serbia was in Krnjaca, at one of the 13 formal refugee camps run by the government. It is the camp of choice for refugees as it is close to Belgrade, the capital, where they feel more connected and better able to access information, services and transport.

The structures at Krnjaca are simple barrack-like buildings that used to house factory workers and refugees from other parts of the former Yugoslavia — very functional, in rows, without atmosphere. The site can accommodate 700 people, but currently holds 1,200, most from Afghanistan.

Parents share beds with their children, siblings with each other. And still there’s no room. The day I visited, a family of eight was turned away.

A family like so many others

I am smitten with an adorable baby girl, Yassna*, whose mother arrived at the camp with the infant after a journey of months.

Their story starts years ago when Yassna’s parents ran away from their village in Afghanistan because their family forbade them to marry. They spent years travelling from one town to the next to evade their relatives, who caught them a couple of times, beating them and even attacking them with knives.

Eventually they settled in a place where no one knew them. Over time they built up a small auto mechanic business and they had a son, who is now eight years old.

When the Taliban arrived in their village, they would bring their vehicles to the couple’s garage for repair. More and more Taliban came to use the shop, but none ever paid.

The couple tried to reason with them, but the Taliban only abused them further, eventually attacking the garage and burning it to the ground. The couple decided it was time to leave their country — even though they were expecting a second child.

First they went to Iran, but were deported back to Afghanistan. They tried again through a smuggler, walking with a group of refugees for 10 hours at a time, through 15 inches of snow.

One day, they walked for 18 hours straight, their son in tow. I asked how the traffickers had treated them. Yassna’s mother said that sometimes the smugglers would strike them if they walked too slowly.

The journey was rough and the couple frequently fell behind because of their son’s asthma. They took short breaks, sleeping in the forest and in caves. It was freezing cold and sometimes they had to burn clothing to fuel a fire.

Soon after they arrived in Turkey, they piled into a boat for Greece. But the boat sank within minutes, forcing them to swim back to shore. They made it to Greece on another boat, but the trip had cost them 6,000 euros.

Yassna was born in Greece … just before the family pushed on north into the Balkans. It’s not clear how long they will be stalled in Serbia.

A safe space

One of the problems of being stuck in a refugee camp for weeks, sometimes months, is that there is nothing to do. And no space to do it in.

So the IRC, with local partner the Divac Foundation, opened a warm and lively café where women like Yassna’s mother can chat among themselves. With support from Atina — a local organisation that specialises in working with survivors of violence and human trafficking — women and girls can join therapeutic art activities to help them recover from trauma, and learn how to cope with the day-to-day stress of life as a refugee.

A waiting game

Families like Yassna’s are now stuck in a refugee camp in Serbia, a stone’s throw from the Croatian border. Where are they heading? Nowhere specific, as far as their money will take them — somewhere that is safe, far from the Taliban and, sadly, their own families. They long for a safe place where their children can get an education and have a better life.

Considering the European Union’s attitude to Afghans seeking asylum, and the huge backlog of people hoping to find a home in the West, it is unclear when, or if, they will be able to go any further. They are in limbo.

Of course, Yassna doesn’t know any of this yet. Soon enough, she will. Until then, she and the other children will rely on organisations like the IRC and its local partners to look after them, and keep their spirits up.

Some names omitted for privacy reasons

Refugee crisis in Europe and Middle East: How the IRC helps

The International Rescue Committee responds to the world’s worst humanitarian crises, helping people to survive, recover and reclaim control of their future. Founded in 1933 at the request of Albert Einstein, the IRC has works in over 40 countries and in 28 resettlement offices across the United States. Learn more about the IRC’s response to the refugee crisis and how you can help.

Find more refugee voices in the IRC’s Uprooted publication on Medium.

Follow the IRC on Twitter and Facebook and Medium

One family’s journey to freedom stalls in Serbia was originally published in Uprooted on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.