Cooking, kindness among Iraqi refugees

Khalida Safi Salesh, a refugee from Iraq, takes out a tray of king kebab
in her apartment in Cairo. (Photo by Lily Sussman)

By Lily Sussman

CAIRO -- I arrive at Khalida Safi Salesh’s flat around 1 p.m.

Plenty of time, I think, to prepare for a party scheduled for 6 p.m. but destined to start over an hour late, as most things in Cairo do.

Upon knocking, Khalida greets me. Wearing makeup and a colorful dress, she looks ready for the evening’s festivities.

After sitting for a drink, a ritual of entrance she never skips, she leads me into her kitchen and opens the small oven, revealing a impossible plethora of simmering dishes. King kebab and dolma, which is vegetables and vines stuffed with rice, meat and nuts, are favorites.

After a full tour of her oven and fridge, delectable nibbles included, I ask my pressing question. So...what is left for me to help with? Salads, she says, carrying strainers of greens, veggies, tahini, chickpeas, and eggplants to the living room table.

The tie that binds Khalida and me is Resettlement Legal Aid Project, a nonprofit that provides legal, psychosocial, informational, and cultural advice to refugees in Cairo.

Originally a client, Khalida has progressed to friend, teacher, and quasi-mother. Because on previous occasions I asked her endless questions about her tantalizing food, she invited me early to cook. The occasion is a party for the resettlement project’s departing director, Jeffrey Hancuff.

When I began working for the project over two months ago I wondered if our Iraqi clients would resent or distrust me because of my American nationality. Instead I constantly encounter kindness, acceptance, and perseverance in the face of tragedy. Khalida, my co-workers, and other clients have also vastly altered my perception of what it means to be a refugee and how refugees' needs can be met.

Aos Ameen, a 28-year-old Iraqi who works as a psychosocial adviser in our office, explained the situation well.

Many people picture refugees as desperate, requiring the bare minimum. For example, Sudanese and Somali refugees often travel to Egypt by land with little money for nourishment or a place to sleep.

In contrast, Iraqis purchase plane tickets, rent flats, and are often highly educated. A surgeon in Iraq, Aos graduated at the top of his class and worked with the Red Crescent in Baghdad after the 2003 American invasion. In 2006 he came to Egypt with his mother, two sisters, and mentally disabled aunt, after being targeted by militia.

He inhales his cigarette, surveying the crowded street. A woman sits on the ground nearby, peddling tissues. Young men compete to sell cheap sunglasses, clothes, old books, and gadgets. A man grills corn ears and another lies on a pile of dirty rags near the metro entrance. In the road people, buses, microbuses, taxis, and dilapidated cars fight past one another, sending out warnings with a constant chorus yells and honks.

Though Aos has found a calling counseling other refugees at RLAP, he is still pained by what he cannot have. Earlier this year his application to practice as a surgeon in Egypt was rejected. We do not need the same material aid as past refugees, he elaborates. We want a better life. Opportunity, choice, and freedom.

Back in Khalida’s kitchen we chop vegetables and she talks about opening a restaurant or maybe a fashion business in Missouri.

A government surveyor in Iraq, she divided unrecognized land into legal units, supervised teams laying pipelines in rural villages and challenged gender barriers. She recounts experiences as the sole woman in rooms traditionally reserved for men.They respected me, she says of the men. They knew I was a professional and could help them.

After quitting her government job in 2000 over pressure to join the ruling Ba’ath Party – Saddam Hussein’s party -- she developed a fashion and marketing business, supervised food suppliers, and then worked with a project to rebuild south Baghdad. She came to Egypt in 2006 when threats from unknown militia, in part because of her cooperation with Americans, became unbearable.

With no job in Egypt, Khalida spends her days practicing English in preparation for her upcoming life in Missouri, where her 24-year-old daughter, Marwa, is already resettled.

Though I want to assure Khalida her skills will lead her to success in the United States. That wherever she goes people will recognize her talents, experience, and diligence. Instead I think about challenges she will face and quiz her on the names of each vegetable and herb we dice.

A multicultural group enjoyed the food at Khalida Safi Salesh’s flat.
(Photo by Lily Sussman)

Within a few hours our diverse crew of Iraqis, Americans, Australians, and Canadians fill her house. Food relished, we push the tables aside to create a dance floor.

The young Iraqi men begin, kicking, stomping, smiling, and laughing through traditional dubka. Soon our legal director, Stephanie Bierdmann, and a couple of the Iraqi women join in, inspiring the rest of us with their joy and grace.

After a while we switch the language.

Yelling lyrics to the Backstreet Boys and dancing around the living room to Gwen Stefani and the Beach Boys, it’s easy to forget I’m in Cairo and not Boston, among college friends.

We take pictures, laugh, and dance. Tomorrow will be another day in our hectic office, making the best of what never should have happened. Doing serious work and enjoying one another’s company and the reality we have found.

If we do our work well, I think, by the time I return to the US. I’ll have Iraqi friends in every state ready to greet me.

To learn how you can blog for Passport, e-mail Lydia Rebac at lrebac@com