Teacher for 3 months?

Teaching in the refugee camp is awarding, the students are inspiring and and the teacher role has given us the possibility to get to know people we elsewhere wouldn't have met. However, being a teacher in the refugee camp has also proven to be very challenging and sometimes on the brink to frustrating. I keep reminding myself that I don't have gone though the same teacher education as others, in order to justify all my wrong-doings. I spend hours trying to explain a rule, only to find the students making the same mistakes the next day, leading me to question the sanity of my old teachers... There are days where I simply wish I didn't have to make my way down to the community centre, and lack of motivation, freezing classrooms, or a badly planned lessons have all been contributing reasons. Nevertheless, most days are excellent, and my little classroom has turned into a little sauna in the hot sun. On good days I have up to four people per desk, twelve women in total in addition to one one man. Add all the smell and you have a room filled of cooking oil, chalk and sweat.

I was surprised to find dictation the class' favorite activity, in addition to tests and competitions. I have some very competitive students, however they might have misunderstood the concept as they believe it is all about being the loudest.. Yet, when Bruno Mars, Michael Jackson or Tom Gee are played the class turn quiet. After all, it is important to understand the lyrics of 'when you smile, the whole world stops for a while' or 'heal the world, make it a better place'.

The end of this week was celebrated with homemade cake made by two of my students. It is strange to imagine that we only have one full week on teaching left and that my students will be left to themselves after that. Perhaps some of them will be picked up by the next years Norwegian volunteers. Others will perhaps start their studies in Algeria, the not so lucky ones (depending on how you look at it) might spend more time in the kitchen. The only thing I know is that I for sure will miss every individual student that I have spent three hours with, every day, for the last three months.

What is a place without its people?

Now as our stay is coming to an end I am thinking more and more about the people and the place where we are. This is not a permanent home. Not for me, not for them. Still when I look around, this has really felt like a home the last few months.

My uncle and my cousin left a few days ago. And I miss them very much, I always had interesting discussions with one of them, and the other taught me how to drive a motorbike in the desert. When they left it made me think about this place without these people. What makes an area and a territory to a place? If it is just the people couldn't you then make a home out of anything? How different would this territory be if someone else lived here?

People all around the world create places by building a life around the resources available. Sometimes there are more and sometimes there are less. People use what they have, and after a while the stories and the memories will be attached to a piece of land. Still this place in the desert isn't any ones home. I hope that the Saharawis' will get their country back. At the same time I must say how much I admire them and their accomplishments in making these refugee camps a home. When we leave in two weeks I will not only miss the people, and my family but I will miss my home. 

Women rights in Islam

I have had the great opportunity to learn a lot about Islam since I got here. At least, some Saharwis view om their own religion. This week I asked our Arabic teacher to write about her perspective. She works in the the women's union. I wanted her to write with her own words how she sees the women's rights in Islam. Women in the camps are in charge of many important institutions and many Saharawi women are involved in both politics and in family life. However most women in Sahara just make food and stay home with their children. But that is because the want to. It is not better or worse. Just different. And in the end women who choose a different path are not looked down on, as long as a warm lunch and dinner is prepared for the family.

Do women long for more rights? I asked my students why a man could marry a non Muslim while a women could not. And both the girls and the boys in my class explained to me that men are more reasonable and more responsible then women. Women are controlled by their feelings. One of the girls in my class admitted that she didn't like this. She added that even though she didn't like it, she respected the it since it is the words from the Quran. It is the words from Allah.

Lehedie's perspective:

Islam is based on the fact that the men and the women complete each other and their relationship should be based on cooperation and not on fighting and conflict. In Islam women are not treated differently in general believing, reward and punishment. However the two genders are different physical and psychological so it is normal to have different responsibilities and roles in the society.

The family in Islam is the foundation to build the society on and the strength of this family create a good and strong society. The women have a huge role in this family. The women have a right to marriage, motherhood and to have a house. In Islam the woman has the right to choose her husband and also she has the right to divorce if life is not good enough to stay together.

The man in Islam is financially responsible for the woman. It is his obligation to do this. This right for women doesn't mean that she can't own her money and spend it as she likes. She has the same financial independence as the man. The woman has the right to work, if she needs or wants to. But what she earn is her own property and she can spend it as she likes. The man doesn't have any right to ask questions, and he still have the responsibility to support the family without her money.

Hijab in Islam is one of the main things that achieve integrity, shelter from lustful looks, and modesty in the society and it stops public indecency. This hijab clothing is something Muslims are proud of, and it discourages premarital sexual relationships.

What do I want to change?

Many people have asked me if I now appreciate what I have in Norway more, after I have experienced the refugee camp in Sahara. But the truth is that there are few things I really miss from my good life in Norway. Some nights when I wake up with back pain I miss my mattress at home, but I have never felt that my life in Norway is any better then life here. Saharawis have so much that I rarely experienced at home. For instance, in Norway I have a fantastic family but we live far away from each other and I don't see them very often. In stark contrast to this, life in Sahara is concentrated around the family and the extended family is a part of every moment of every day. They live together, they help their family and their neighbors to their very best and they always share what they have. I even got one of my family's two baby goats. As my project manager said; the family is the most important institution in the Saharawi society, and the loyalty a Saharawi has toward his/her family is absolute.

Now, this is not to say that I don't miss my family at home and that I don't struggle with parts of the culture here. For example when we got henna and we couldn't wash our hands for 4 days in order to preserve the marks. This would not be a problem had we eaten with cutlery and not with our hands. After going two days without my daily hand wash I felt I had two options. One, embrace the Saharawi culture and face whatever consequences the lack of hygiene would lead to. Or two, stick to my own habits and reason and wash my hands anyway. I must admit that I tried my very best to avoid water. However after having participated in the slaughtering of the camel I washed my hands.

How much should you care? How much should you try to change the society around you and how much should you adapt to their culture? Personally I want to adapt as much as possible. That is why I happily sleep on the floor, eat with my hands and wear the melheffa. The Saharawis inspire me in many ways, and one day I saw my father, Bishiri, brushing his teeth. Apparently I have some influence as well. But we all take one step at the time.

21 Days

Not counting today, that’s how much time we have left here in the camps. Because of previous problems with Algerian officials and the kidnapping last October, the local government in the camps does not allow any applications for visa extention. So we leave for Norway the 14th of April. This leaves us with about 500 hours left in Western Sahara, and they’re not exactly trickling away slower for our sake. In fact, right now it’s more like we’re moving towards a horrible, yet inevitable end, and it feels kind of like watching that ignorant guy in horror movies walk slowly into the darkest room of the evil lair. Pretty annoying really. And here I sit, behind this laptop, writing for a blog on the internet. I think I’ll just head outside for a while! See you next week enshallah!

Marriage

Marriage is a prominent part of the Saharawi culture, and it takes up a large chunk of people's time, whether it is participating in one or helping out with the preparations. It is celebrated for 2 to 3 days in a row and it often feeds over a hundred people. The picture is taken of Sunniva's uncle's wedding, which we all participated in, and you can 'see' the beautiful bride and and her proud husband.

We have spent a considerable time at different weddings, eaten lot of camel meat (some of us would even insist on' too much') and attempted to dance Saharawi dances.  As a result of our wedding- craziness I also started talking about marriage at home with my family. It turns out that my oldest sister who is a very conservative Muslim, only wants to see her husband after she is engaged. To me, it sounds like a silly idea, however she insists on the fact that beauty only comes from the inside. Before the engagement, they instead talk on the phone but only to discuss each others demands such as where they want to live and the type of house. I carefully asked how she could be so sure about her future husband's income, as her list over items includes a trip to Mecca and a house with a big bathroom, but it turned out to be a unnecessary question. To my sister, a man that is ready for marriage is also able to take care of his wife and all her needs. Whatever that must be.

I must say, I started questioning why people marry. Are we crazy in Europe to believe in 'love', whatever that is? How important is money? I constantly question why Saharawis marry when  contact between the couple before a wedding is so limited. Many couples don't even know each other before they move in together in their new home. On the other hand, Allah has told people to marry, and I know that is the reason my sister is looking for a husband.

All I am sure of is that marriage has a different meaning for the people here in the refugee camp in contrast to what we believe in Norway. And perhaps are Norwegians native when we believe in love. Or are we?

Lunch in a refugee camp?

I have yet to encounter a family who does not tell me- 'I want to make you fat'. Food is an important part of the culture in the camp and women ought to be big -it is seen as a sign of beauty and good health. Families get offended if you don't eat enough as a guest, and if there is a type of food you don't touch you can be certain they think you don't like it and not because you don't have room for another banana.

Last week I went over to Sunniva's house to pick up a book. Sunniva's mother Shidi noticed my arrival and without saying a word, she pured more food onto Sunniva's plate and told us both to come for lunch. Now, I had not told my family that I was eating out and I knew my family was waiting for me at home. After a little discussion, Sunniva and I came to an agreement we later regretted very much. In order to not offend any of our families I would first eat at Sunniva's place and then together walk over to to my family for our second lunch. Little did we know about the amount of food that we would have to force down.

Having eaten couscous, beans, bread, yogurt, soup and salad we could barely walk. Still, my family was quite offended as none of us ate very much and continuously asked why we didn't like the food. Report's from Sunniva's house were quite similar, and the half-finished plate at Shidi's house was the topic for many days after.

Now, I agree with you that this sounds like crazy Westerners eating all the food meant for the refugees. I must add that the project pays our host-families and thus there is always money enough for food. Secondly, Saharawi families don't cook less even though you insist on smaller portions. My sister Lala even said once when I asked her for less food 'I don't know how to cook little'. However, and perhaps more to the point, is the Saharawi generosity. They only want the very best for their guests and whether that means they have to eat dry bread the next day is not any problem. Whenever a family has money they share with everyone, and their sense of solidarity is greater than anywhere else I have seen.

Yet, as a result of their generous hospitality, we are simply gaining weight in the Saharawi refugee camp.

What's up?

So what’s hip and what’s happening with the current participants at the moment? What’s hot and what’s not? Keep reading and get the truth about the marathon, the Germans, the visa dilemma and their epic journeys to places with strange names like Dakhla and Smara. In the first episode of this new series, the truth about the marathon is revealed:

The marathon
The Sahara Marathon is an annual happening here in the camps, where participants from all over the world come to run a distance to show solidarity with and experience some of the life in the camps. It is organized by Saharawis and a Spanish NGO. They also collect a fee from the runners that goes to sponsoring selected projects like a center for youth in Smara which offers jobs and education for youth in the area. Here they have a.o. a bakery where the popular French loafs are baked, welding and carpenting workshops and a high speed public internet connection.

The distances offered are 5, 10, 21 and 42 kilometers. When our three Norwegians happened to chance by the organizers’ office on a trip to Rabouni, the executive camp, they boldly signed up for the marathon. Sunniva and Marianne for the 10 k and Eivind for the full marathon. At the time they had 10 days to prepare for the race, and it didn’t take long for that feeling of being damned, that is reserved for those who are soon about to die, kicked in.

It wasn’t easy for them to prepare when the rules for foreigners denied them to run alone, but they did their best and found running mates in children on bikes, elderly standing on hills watching them and young people in cars. Eivind even found a cousin of his who liked to run and did a few trips with him. Like one epic journey all around the camp, from his house to the Saharawi control post at the exit of the camp and from here through the camp to the Norwegian Church Aid’s failed water treatment plant on top a hill. At this point the cousin, Omar, wanted to turn back, but Eivind pushed onwards and they continued to the other end of the camp where they encountered an Algerian border patrol. Thankfully they seemed content by explanation about crazy foreigners just wanting to run the marathon. Omar and Eivind continued along the border, climbed a hill, and just as the sun was setting they stopped for some time while Omar prayed his afternoon prayer. From here they traveled homewards in dusk, and by the time they made it home it was pitch black. Needless to say, they were not too popular with the elders of the family, despite their apologies. Because of their long absence, the alarm had sounded and lots of people were worrying and phoning each other and more people to figure out what had happened to Eivind.

The Norwegians, too resilient to give up because of some minor scandal like this, kept preparing for the soon approaching marathon. Edmund and Henrik, their bosses who came to stay for a week to check on their work and the project in general, encouraged them and Henrik even told them that he would be disappointed if they did not run. So, all charged up, our heroes went into the last few days of preparation.

When Abba, the Saharawi boss and the Norwegians’ best friend, came to collect the 20 euros for the run three days before the run, he expressed some concerns regarding the Spanish NGO and an unexpected increase in the price, to 50 euros for Eivind and 30 for Sunniva and Marianne. He told them that if he was not able to get the price lowered to the previously agreed upon 20, he would not let them run. The mood was low as he left our dear vikings not knowing if their hard won exercise was for naught.

A day later he called them back with good news, the Saharawi organizer promised that the price would be lowered. The run was back on!

But the happiness didn’t last long. A few hours before Sunniva and Marianne should have been picked up for their starting point 10 km from the finish, Abba called again. When the officials had arrived to pick up their money, and drop off the start numbers and complementary t-shirts, they had asked for 50 and 2x30 euros. No run. No fun.

As a conciliation Abba brought our friends to Smara for a day and a night. Here they experienced dead animal water containers, and got to see really sweaty Spanish people. But this story will have to wait until next week.

Mehebbes!

Why we wear melheffas

Why do you wear the melhefa?’ asked my aunt me a couple of days ago. Before I managed to come up with a sensible answer in Hassaneya my sister extensively explained my desire to become a Saharawi and thus also my stubborn attitude to eat with my hands, cover my face and sleep on the floor. Indeed I want to experience the Saharawi culture yet the reason for my perhaps determined behaviour is closer related to my own notion of respect. If someone visits my family I would expect them to eat with cutlery, and consequently when all women cover their body why should I be an exception?

Now when this is said, and as previous participants have noted, every day is not  ‘melhefa-day’. There are days when I wake up and simply wish I could use my time-worn jeans and a big jumper, however as soon as I go outside I’m happy I’m wrapped in my meter long, colourful piece of fabric. In the melhefa I am able to disappear in the mass of women, people don’t stir because I’m a foreigner and I am sometimes mistakenly taken for being a Saharawi. Indeed, having worn the melhefa every day since our arrival, both Sunniva and I feel naked without it.I’m not comfortable walking outside showing the contours of my body and Sunnva even covered her hair with her hands once when she lost the head piece while a car passed by once.

Sunniva and I have obviously our favourite melhefas and consequently also some not so nice ones. My pink gown look more like a brides mate outfit from the 80s than anything else and we all had a good laugh first time Sunniva entered the room looking like an Easter bunny in her yellow outfit.Yet, nothing beats the white malhefa I was given the other day. Firstly, the fabric in itself is considered very nice, where the textile is so stiff that is ‘stands out’ from my body. Yes, I do look like a balloon. Secondly, the white see-through fabric is decorated with yellow, blue and yes, pink dots, exactly like the stereotypical clown outfit from any European circus group.

In order to prove my point, Sunniva and I descided to take pictures of

our wonderful melhefa collection. The picture might be a bit small,

but you do at least get a sense of our colourful outfits all in one.

Written by Marianne 

A home or a refugeecamp?

A refugee camp is a place where a people, who have fled from their country, live until their return. It is a people waiting to return to their home land and their own territory. But if you can’t return, and have waited for change for 37 years, how do you adjust? How are a people shaped by the long wait?

Many people in the Sahara refugee camp have never experienced their home country and have never been on the run. How long can a people wait before they choose to make the refugee camp their home? They live their lives in insecurity about the future, and Inshallah (if God wants to) they will return. For that reason people don’t build beautiful houses to live in. And why should they? If they do settle down, wouldn’t that be the same as giving up?

An individual have to do make the best out of it. Live every day as best as he/she can, but at the same time never give up hope to return to their real home. My uncle says that this is how it is supposed to be right now. That this is Gods will, and that they will get their award in heaven. Nevertheless many young people grow more and more impatient. They want change.

My father here is one of the few people who have spent all his money, and some of his neighbors’ money, on a solid house. And when I asked him why, he answered that he wanted to see his son grow up with shelter from the harsh weather and a nice place to come home to. He has spent his whole life here in the refugee camp and he is now 36 years old. He was born here right after his family fled from the occupied territory. My father has never seen Western Sahara, but that does not mean that he feels that he belongs here. He is born with the stories, the longing and the waiting.

I don’t know what the long hours, days, months, years, and decades of waiting will do to a people, but I am sure the waiting will not make them less eager to get back to their real homes in Western-Sahara.