Let me change things up here. Lately, I keep thinking about the importance of fun. Yes, that’s right, fun. No, I am not going scuba diving in Aqaba, Jordan, on this three-day weekend. (Happy Independence Day, Jordan.) I am not furiously reading “The Fault in Our Stars” before the movie premieres on June 6. (I had to look up that date, by the way.) And I am certainly not in Lisbon counting down the hours until the European futbol championship is played on May 24. (I didn’t have to look that up that date, by the way.) I am talking about the sort of everyday things that bring many of us joy, often without even knowing it.
I’m thinking of the things that allow us to unwind and clear our minds at the end of each day: listening to music, spending time with friends, going for a drive or a walk, eating our favorite foods, or watching a movie. These little things matter because they are the stuff that routines are made of; they provide our lives with stability and structure.
But, what happens when you must abruptly leave your home, neighbors, community, or even your family? This is the life of many of the Syrian refuges, who now call Lebanon, Turkey, Iraq, and Jordan home.
How could fun possibly take hold in an environment where clean water must be trucked in, food is dispensed from designated distribution points, and electricity is siphoned off to meet a community’s power needs? Surely, one must be a bit clueless to even utter that three-letter “F” word in this sobering of circumstance.
And yet, the many humanitarian organizations working at the camp rightly provide many play outlets for children. Playgrounds, dance classes, and art programs abound. Activities are vital to the psychosocial development of any child. And, of course, we all know that children will also find ways—adult-approved or otherwise—to make fun in the least expected places and times. After a series of heavy rainfalls earlier his month, a water-filled ditch sprouted up near the entrance of the Za’atari refugee camp here in Jordan. The ditch was not more than a few feet off of the main road, where Syrians come and go using various forms of public transport. Dirt and dust own this corner of the world. It was not long before this not-so-shallow, water-filled ditch was filled with something else . . . yep, children (boys, more precisely).
Camp programs and non-adult approved ditches allow children to cling to what remains of childhood. These childhoods would undoubtedly give adulthood, as we know it, a run for its money.
This brings me to adults and that three-letter “F” word. At the camp it seems as if those things rarely mix. Again, this is a refugee camp, after all. We can’t expect adults to frolic in ditches.
But what of the routines, the little things that bring joy to those of us placed by Father Time into the category of “Responsible Adults?”
Inside a camp, simple joys are few and far for most adults. The sight of wedding dress shops and falafel stalls suggest, however, that even those beset by responsibility need joy to vaunt the good and vanquish the bad. And let us not forget that many of these adults are also caregivers—they lovingly care for children, the elderly, and the less able-bodied. This care comes in the face of daunting obstacles.
Recently, one hot spring morning, I walked through the camp with a Jordanian colleague heading to a kindergarten. As we walked, I saw very few adults out and about. The adults that I did see were mainly women caring for their children. I asked my colleague “what gives?” Many adults, it turns out, sleep well into the afternoon on such steamy days—there is little escape from the heat and even less to do to pass the time.
So, maybe there is a case to be made for fun for those with limited humanitarian programming options and not at all inclined to jump into ditches?
Lesson No. 7: Fun stabilizes households and communities. In a refugee camp, it does something more—it distracts.
The needs here, like the crisis itself, evolve. The most basic needs—shelter, health, water, and food, for example—are already high priorities, as they should be. The psychosocial needs of the children are also ostensibly being met. Now, at the start of the fourth year of this crisis, let’s add “diversion” to the list of needs requiring attention. Diversion would be the last thing on a priority list were it not for the fact that this crisis still seems to have life yet. To date, approximately “42 percent of all Syrians, more than New York City's population, have fled their homes.”
Diversion becomes imperative as time marches on. But, are the adults moving forward emotionally along with the hands of time? If these adults remain stressed and incessantly taxed emotionally, how can they reinforce the psychosocial development of their children?
At the same time, psychosocial development programming for adults is not likely a cause that makes donors part with gobs of cash. The point, though, is to allow simple joys the room to flourish—the sorts of joys that allow one to clear and distract their mind from reality, if only for a few moments. I am not suggesting it is the place or responsibility of humanitarian organizations to go and create these opportunities for fun. We can only do so much. Maybe the role here is merely to facilitate and foster. No more, no less.
Organizing fun for camp residents is by no means new. A U.S.-based non-profit, FilmAid, does movie screenings in refugee camps; another, Magicians Without Borders, aims to feed the minds and imaginations of refugees through magic.
Fun can be elusive in a camp setting. But, the importance of it is likely not lost on someone who finds themselves calling this new place home.
I’m thinking of the things that allow us to unwind and clear our minds at the end of each day: listening to music, spending time with friends, going for a drive or a walk, eating our favorite foods, or watching a movie. These little things matter because they are the stuff that routines are made of; they provide our lives with stability and structure.
But, what happens when you must abruptly leave your home, neighbors, community, or even your family? This is the life of many of the Syrian refuges, who now call Lebanon, Turkey, Iraq, and Jordan home.
How could fun possibly take hold in an environment where clean water must be trucked in, food is dispensed from designated distribution points, and electricity is siphoned off to meet a community’s power needs? Surely, one must be a bit clueless to even utter that three-letter “F” word in this sobering of circumstance.
And yet, the many humanitarian organizations working at the camp rightly provide many play outlets for children. Playgrounds, dance classes, and art programs abound. Activities are vital to the psychosocial development of any child. And, of course, we all know that children will also find ways—adult-approved or otherwise—to make fun in the least expected places and times. After a series of heavy rainfalls earlier his month, a water-filled ditch sprouted up near the entrance of the Za’atari refugee camp here in Jordan. The ditch was not more than a few feet off of the main road, where Syrians come and go using various forms of public transport. Dirt and dust own this corner of the world. It was not long before this not-so-shallow, water-filled ditch was filled with something else . . . yep, children (boys, more precisely).
Camp programs and non-adult approved ditches allow children to cling to what remains of childhood. These childhoods would undoubtedly give adulthood, as we know it, a run for its money.
This brings me to adults and that three-letter “F” word. At the camp it seems as if those things rarely mix. Again, this is a refugee camp, after all. We can’t expect adults to frolic in ditches.
But what of the routines, the little things that bring joy to those of us placed by Father Time into the category of “Responsible Adults?”
Inside a camp, simple joys are few and far for most adults. The sight of wedding dress shops and falafel stalls suggest, however, that even those beset by responsibility need joy to vaunt the good and vanquish the bad. And let us not forget that many of these adults are also caregivers—they lovingly care for children, the elderly, and the less able-bodied. This care comes in the face of daunting obstacles.
Recently, one hot spring morning, I walked through the camp with a Jordanian colleague heading to a kindergarten. As we walked, I saw very few adults out and about. The adults that I did see were mainly women caring for their children. I asked my colleague “what gives?” Many adults, it turns out, sleep well into the afternoon on such steamy days—there is little escape from the heat and even less to do to pass the time.
So, maybe there is a case to be made for fun for those with limited humanitarian programming options and not at all inclined to jump into ditches?
Lesson No. 7: Fun stabilizes households and communities. In a refugee camp, it does something more—it distracts.
The needs here, like the crisis itself, evolve. The most basic needs—shelter, health, water, and food, for example—are already high priorities, as they should be. The psychosocial needs of the children are also ostensibly being met. Now, at the start of the fourth year of this crisis, let’s add “diversion” to the list of needs requiring attention. Diversion would be the last thing on a priority list were it not for the fact that this crisis still seems to have life yet. To date, approximately “42 percent of all Syrians, more than New York City's population, have fled their homes.”
Diversion becomes imperative as time marches on. But, are the adults moving forward emotionally along with the hands of time? If these adults remain stressed and incessantly taxed emotionally, how can they reinforce the psychosocial development of their children?
At the same time, psychosocial development programming for adults is not likely a cause that makes donors part with gobs of cash. The point, though, is to allow simple joys the room to flourish—the sorts of joys that allow one to clear and distract their mind from reality, if only for a few moments. I am not suggesting it is the place or responsibility of humanitarian organizations to go and create these opportunities for fun. We can only do so much. Maybe the role here is merely to facilitate and foster. No more, no less.
Organizing fun for camp residents is by no means new. A U.S.-based non-profit, FilmAid, does movie screenings in refugee camps; another, Magicians Without Borders, aims to feed the minds and imaginations of refugees through magic.
Fun can be elusive in a camp setting. But, the importance of it is likely not lost on someone who finds themselves calling this new place home.