Three stories

TRYING TO PLAN MY FUTURE AS A REFUGEE

It was nearly ten years ago that I was sitting in my family’s tent trying to figure out how to get the highest grade for my last year of high school. Achieving the highest grade would help me to go to an Algerian medical school, and become the first Saharawi woman to get an Algerian degree in that field. Now, here I am, a Master’s student getting accustomed to the cultural and intellectual diversity of the University of Oslo, and not even certain about my post-Master’s plans. It is interesting to sit and think of my status now and what I occupied just less than a decade ago. I always compare myself now to what I used to be then. At times, I think that I got all of these opportunities because I worked hard, but now when I think about it, I realize that there are macro-factors that were crucial in this journey as well. My cultural, religious, economic and political backgrounds were particularly important in shaping my present status as a Saharawi student abroad.

I was born and grew up in one of the biggest refugee camps in the world near the western corner of the Algerian desert. I lived my whole life as a refugee, and I was very dependent on the outside world. I got my food, health care and shelter from humanitarian aid organizations. Nevertheless, I never saw or thought of my life as a strange way of living. It was simply because I got used to that way of life and was never exposed to any other lifestyles. My parents fled to Algeria thirty-eight years ago along with tens of thousands of people. They belong to the Saharawi people, the natives of Western Sahara. Western Sahara was a Spanish colony for more than a century. A few months after Western Sahara was about to get its independence from Spain in 1974, the neighboring country, Morocco, saw it as its own. Since then Morocco still occupies a large portion of my homeland. More than 200,000 people are still waiting in the western corner of the Algerian desert for the United Nations to determine their future. This is basically why I had to live as a refugee for my entire life. Now after experiencing many cultures and seeing other parts of the world, if I had to choose, I would not have chosen to live as a refugee. Nevertheless, I do not think I would have been as strong and responsible a person as I am today.

In the refugee camps where I grew up, primary education and higher education are provided for free. Most of the scholarships are given by the host country Algeria, but some students go to Libya and Cuba. When I was eight, I had to leave my family to attend boarding school in northern Algeria, thousands of kilometers away. I went for the whole academic year and came back to see my family only in the summer. I was lucky that I did not have to worry about any school fees. My mother is a teacher; therefore, she would have been able to pay for my school fees if she was able to work in another country. However, in the refugee camps she and others work voluntarily for no pay. If I was not a refugee and did not get the opportunity to study for free, I cannot imagine where I would be at this moment. In the summer of 2003, after a very hot day, I was sitting in the shade of my tent when suddenly two women, who did not look like Saharawis, came and asked whether this was Senia’s family’s tent. They told me that I was one of the thirty best students in the camps and that they were offering a scholarship to finish high school with the United World Colleges. It sounded challenging, and I was certain that I would not be the one selected. But I decided to give it a shot and see what happens. A week later, they came back and told me that I was the only one selected to attend the United World College in Norway for two years under a full scholarship.

The United World College was my transition point. Being chosen as a woman made such opportunity even more significant in my life. In my society, many girls want to get an education, but because of the social expectations and lack of educational facilities, they have to drop out at certain stage. Traditionally, the women in the Saharawi culture are to stay at home and be homemakers. While, men are the head of the family and they are the financially responsible ones. Although the refugee camps are practically in the hands of women, traditional ideologies still prevail among some of the families. During the war, the women had to set-up and organize the camps, and be the responsible ones because men were fighting the enemy in the frontlines. For this, the Saharawi women have gained important status in the camps, unlike women in many other Arab and Muslim societies. I know of many girls who were hard-working and could have had a bright future, but they dropped out because their families decided not to send them to school. This is mostly because families are worried about the safety of their daughters, when they go to boarding schools for nine months and have no contact with their families. I remember how hard it was to leave my family at such a young age.

I was lucky in the sense that education has always been given priority in my household, and the fact that both my parents are well-educated encouraged me to learn. For instance, when I had to leave to go to boarding school at the age of eight, my grandmother refused to let me go because I was too young. However, I am happy that my mother insisted in sending me despite the disagreement with her mother. I was constantly encouraged to go further in my studies, and the Master’s degree was just one step higher especially at a university abroad. I am the only daughter in a family of five boys; this made me more unique and different from the boys in the family. Hence, my mother paid more attention to my studies. I have studied only in co-ed schools and I know how it feels when you are in a male-dominant environment. I was privileged to attend an all-women’s college for my undergraduate studies. It made me learn more about my skills as a woman and that my social destiny can also be decided by myself.

Before coming here to Oslo, my name and tribe were my introduction, but now I somehow seem to present myself first with my nationality – it is I guess what everyone is more interested in here. I mean, my status at this university is that of an international student, so it is natural for people to ask about my nation and background. But, it also gave me the opportunity to share my people’s story and plight for freedom and independence. Essentially, every new person I meet would ask me ‘so, is Western Sahara a country?’ Being an international student has served as one of the gateways to teaching people about my homeland and the oppression my people experience under the Moroccan occupation.

Would I have had all these experiences fifty years ago? I certainly doubt it. I would probably have been married to a man of my tribe at the age of fourteen or fifteen, and I would not even finish high school. I would have given birth to a couple of daughters and a couple of sons, with hopefully more sons than daughters i.e. a good woman would give birth to more sons than daughters because boys are preferred to girls. It would have been during the Spanish colonialism, when our people were nomads and had no access to education. Therefore, my chances of getting educated would have been very slim. (However, I do have to point out that my grandmother, who was my age about fifty years ago, did get the opportunity to go to an Islamic institute but could not finish because of the war. That was only because she had a visionary father and an understanding husband. Otherwise, her intellectual facility would have remained illiterate).

Under Spanish rule educational opportunities were better. I would have probably lived in the countryside and sent my sons and daughters to school in the city. However, they would not have been able to finish their studies because of the war with Morocco. Their chances and destinies would have been similar to that of my mother, and my status the same as that of my grandmother. Of course, I would then have been a homemaker and I would have involved myself in some sort of vocational work such as taking care of the livestock, cooking and sewing with my sisters-in-law, as I would naturally be living in a joint family. I would thus have been a devoted wife and doting mother, but I would not have been able to educate myself. However, if I had an understanding husband I would have been able to learn the Qur’an and hence able to at least read and write.

It is to rewind to what life could have been years ago and how life has turned out to be. This clearly demonstrates that my life to come is yet to be determined but will certainly be shaped by many personal, social, external and political circumstances. My hope and ideal view for the window of my future would be to work and make a difference in a free and independent Western Sahara. My dream is to live without having to always feel the obligation and the pressure to tell the world about my story and the story of my people. My image for my future is to experience a world that doesn’t accept colonialism and oppression of peoples and nations.

EL-MELHFA, A SYMBOL OF BEAUTY AND RESISTANCE

El-melhfa is a four-meter long by one-meter wide piece of fabric. It is not any ordinary piece of cloth; it is the symbol of the Saharawi heritage, beauty and resistance. El-melhfa has existed with the existence of the Saharawi culture. Many people may view it as a religious, specifically Muslim symbol. But El-melhfa, above all, is cultural and unique to the Saharawi people. It comes in variety of colors, patterns and materials. It can be one color, three or ten. It may be simple or with artistic shapes and patterns or even with the flag of the Saharawi Arab Democratic Republic. El-melhfa has different names depending on the colors and the material is made of. Sometimes, it gets its name from the age group of women.

El-melhfa – when you think about it – is very practical in the life of people like the Saharawis. A country like Western Sahara is mostly desert with a weather that is mostly dry, hot and characterized with sand-storms. And so, El-melhfa can serve as a means of protection from the harsh environmental and natural conditions of the desert. Not only that, but also El-melhfa makes the Saharawi women exceptional and different from the rest of women elsewhere in the world. For decades, El-melhfa has served as a symbol of national identity and struggle against colonial oppression. It is the mirror for strong, determined and revolutionary women who have combated the oppressive Moroccan regime to gain freedom and independence.

Usually, Lemlahef (the plural of El-melhfa) comes in light colors such as white, light green and blue are for young women. Whereas, the darker colors such as black, brown and dark navy are for older women. The thickness of the material can vary as well. ‘Etalab,’ which literarily means youth, is a thin and more transparent fabric. Etalab is mostly worn by young girls when they first start wearing El-melhfa. On the contrary, there is ‘el-galith’, which literarily means thick, which is for the elder women. In between etalab and e-galith, there is the ‘esheegaa.’ In addition, there is ‘swesra’ and ‘sarou,’ which are somewhat similar in material to that of the Indian Sari. The most important type is called ‘nilla’, and is the most traditional type of Lemlahef. It is made of a very thick material, and it releases a navy-blue paint also called ‘enilla.’ This paint is believed to be very good for the skin and helps against the sun radiation.

The most traditional way of wearing El-melhfa is called ‘etaglidee’; or ‘traditional’ in our language Hassaniya. It is basically part nilla and part white melhfa worn together. The woman would wear the nilla part on the upper body and the white piece, which is called ‘le-zaar,’ around the waist. Etaglidee is usually worn in special occasions and celebrations, but nowadays it is mostly worn for weddings. The bride would wear etaglidee on the first day of the wedding.

This special and unique display of culture has made the Saharawi woman both a source of beauty, admiration and a target of oppression. Today, many Saharawis still live under the repressive Moroccan regime in the occupied territories of our homeland. Since women are visibly distinguished as Saharawis, they are picked on during peaceful demonstrations. They experience daily and systematic discrimination for being proud and outspoken defenders of freedom for their homeland. It is not only Saharawi women living in the occupied territories who use El-melhfa as a method of resistance. Saharawis living abroad are always proud to share that symbol. Personally, I always wear my melhfa when I am giving a talk or a lecture about Western Sahara. A good example of such use abroad is that of one of our famous female human rights activists, Aminatou Haidar, who is sometimes called by the media ‘Saharawi Gandhi’. She always wears her melhfa in her efforts to share the peaceful voice of her people around the globe.

I would say if there is anything that Saharawi women should be proud of, it is the El-melhfa. I must admit that it is not very easy to learn how to wear it and even more difficult to do certain daily activities while wearing it for those who are not used to it. However, this beautiful fabric and cultural creation is a great symbol of the Saharawi identity, and most importantly a testament to our struggle for independence.

MY CUBARAUI FATHER

Due to unavailability of educational facilities and opportunities in the refugee camps, Saharawi children go to school in foreign countries, such as Libya and Cuba but the majority attend Algerian schools. When I was nine years old, I had to leave my family to attend a boarding school in northern Algeria, thousands of kilometers away from the camps. I would come back only for the summer break to see my family. I was luckier than my father, however. Bachir left to study in Cuba at the age of eight in 1977; just a few months after fleeing his homeland and arriving at the refugee camps in southwest Algeria. He returned as a twenty-four-year old doctor. Cuba used to offer more than 600 scholarships every second year to Saharawi students, both males and females. The travel and accommodation is covered by the UNHCR, whereas the Cuban government provides academic assistance for free. Students get degrees in different fields, however, health professions are particularly popular. This is explained by the fact that Cuba has one of the best medical professionals in the world.

As a young boy, my father Bachir and his family had to cross the desert to a safe haven in the form of refugee camps in Algeria. The Moroccan planes were dropping bombs, so they had to hide behind rocks and trees. In his journey, Bachir saw the victims of military invasion; people injured and others dying because there was no medical care. There were few nurses, and nearly no doctors. When he made it to the Algerian desert, he decided to study medicine and become a doctor. He saw it as his calling since there was a great need for doctors in the refugee camps. It was his destiny to be selected to study in Cuba together with hundreds of young boys and girls. This meant that he would spend his full adult life away from home and family; a foreigner in a different universe. The Saharawi students at that time would stay in Cuba until they finish their full education. This is to say that most of them would spend ten or fifteen years living and studying in Cuba.

While living in Cuba, Bachir, like the other Saharawi students, had to adapt to many things. He had to learn a new language, figure out the weather and most importantly understand the culture. However, experiencing a new culture proved to be not as hard for an eight-year old as it was for a twenty-four-year-old to readapt to his culture of origin. When he came back, Bachir had to learn Hassaniya, which is our native dialect of the Saharawi people and which we all speak. Obviously, the Saharawi costumes and beliefs are very different from that of the Cuban. So, he had to adjust to the costumes fairly quickly. He had to re-accustom himself to the heat and the desert life style. After many years of sending female students, most of the families decided to stop sending their daughters to attend Cuban schools a few years ago. There were many reasons but evidently, the main reason was a fear that women would ‘lose’ their cultural rooting. Still, there are Saharawi women who continue to graduate from Cuban schools, and are now mostly doctors and nurses.

When my father came back, his family immediately wanted him to get married. I remember very well as a child how my father would constantly switch to speaking Spanish in certain settings and circumstances. It seemed like it was his safe zone when he couldn’t communicate his feelings in Hassaniya to my mother or even his own family. He spent weekdays at the hospital and we would only see him during the weekends. As a small girl, I visited his work several times and I could see that he had his own niche at the hospital with his fellow ‘Cubarauis’ and Cuban medical doctors. The term ‘Cubaraui’ is used to refer to Saharawi students who have studied in Cuba. It is a very charged term. It means that these boys and girls, now women and men, are different from the rest of the Saharawis. It means that their understanding and experience of Saharawi culture has been somewhat tainted by a foreign world.

Yes, the life of current Saharawi students in Cuba has improved compared to that of my father’s generation. They can visit home a few times during their studies there. Now, they have phone contact with their families throughout the year. During my father’s time, his only contact with his family was a recorded tape sent to him every few years. But, it doesn’t mean that the life of Saharawi students returning from Cuba has become any better perceived at home. They are still alienated and are expected to fully readapt to the Saharawi culture.

The truth of the matter is that Cubarauis are the lifeline of our society. They are the doctors, the nurses and the medical personal in the refugee camps. They brought diversity and new perspectives to what it means to be an exiled Saharawi. People like my father have transformed aspects of our society that we have long taken for granted. They also served as crucial voices in part of the world that now fully supports our plight and just cause. I only hope that sooner rather than later, my society will acknowledge this influence on our continued struggle for freedom and independence. But, most importantly, I hope my father and other Cubarauis never lose that part of their identity and embrace it to be so.

Extra links: forthcoming documentary on Saharawi women http://vimeo.com/36762764
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyMNZC1xWRk

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* Senia Bachir Abderahman is a young female Saharawi Master’s student in International Community Health at the University of Oslo, Norway