“What kills you is that you cannot do anything legally here.”
Khalil, a 40-year-old Syrian man, was one among the most entrepreneurial participants that we met during this research. A husband of two and a father of twelve, he is fondly known as Abu Samer, named after his eldest son Samer (“abu” means father). He is responsible for a big family. All his children were still school-going age when we met him. They all lived in Irbid, a northern governorate of Jordan which hosts nearly twenty percent of refugees of the country.
Despite feeling integrated socially, Abu Samer was not optimistic about his family’s future in Jordan. His business was not legal; he had already lost quite a bit of savings due to this informal status and had even been deported to a camp once after law enforcement learned about his business. He was worried about his children not being able to work due to labor market restrictions for refugees. And he was tired of not being able to own assets and build a stable life, always being limited by this refugeehood. “What kills you is that you cannot do anything legally here,” he said.
When we met him last in 2020, he had already been approved for resettlement to Canada, a country where he thought he could make best use of his skills. But his resettlement was on hold due to the pandemic, putting his family’s life on hold as well, once again. The pandemic derailed the family far from the path of progression they were on.
Coming to terms with life as a refugee
Discussing the timeline of events between 2013 when the family arrived in Jordan and 2019 when we met him for the first time was like a puzzle. Abu Samer struggled to put together the chronology of events and was often befogged by the intensity of the experience and the impact it had on him. This difficulty was likely compounded by the fact that he was juggling multiple businesses and side jobs, navigating a restrictive legal and bureaucratic environment. He was focused on making ends meet and growing his businesses, hoping to reach the same standard of living they enjoyed back in Syria.
Abu Samer was always in the transportation business. In Syria, he owned a 50-seat bus which he drove for government officials. He also owned two cars that he rented out to other drivers. He enjoyed several perks working for the government, which, supplemented by income from his other work and car rental, allowed his family to afford what he described as a “lavish” lifestyle. He was even able to lend money to his family members free of interest. He never depended on anyone financially and said proudly, “People needed me, but I never needed them [for money].”
All of this changed when the political situation began to deteriorate in Syria. He and his family first moved from Damascus to Dara’a. Then, when bombings started in Dara’a, he decided to put his family in a car and head to the Jordanian border. As they crossed the military checkpoints on what he called the “road of terror,” he only prayed for his family to reach safety.
They stayed at the Zaatari camp for three months where they survived with the bare minimum provided as humanitarian aid. Eventually, he found a Jordanian sponsor to bail his family out of the camp. At that time, rents were skyrocketing, and his family struggled to find housing in the city.
Abu Samer had not imagined their life would turn out this way. Coming to Jordan, he had different expectations. But here, he found himself initially in a tent in Zaatari, then in a house that was in such a bad condition it “made [him] wish to go back to living in a tent.” He recalled how he could not afford to buy groceries for his family. He suffered from depression. However, he managed to come to terms with the fact that this was now their reality. He stopped reading the news from Syria and let go of the thought of going back. “I even forgot that there was a country called Syria,” he said during his first interview with us. This might sound like progress, but beneath this perspective was a feeling of distrust and disillusion as we uncovered over the next two interviews with him.
Rise and fall of a refugee entrepreneur
Abu Samer used the bus to ferry Syrian children to and from school in the evening and also rented it out to a school for the morning shift. He started to save and put aside money, spending wisely, and managing the money prudently. The owner of the bus agreed to sell him the mini bus for 2000 JOD (~$2,820) to be paid in monthly instalments. Abu Samer took the opportunity to save on the rental expense and build his assets. He wanted to reinvest the profits back into the business like any smart businessman.
However, he never could own the bus legally. Refugees are not allowed to own assets in their name. So, this agreement of sale between Abu Samer and the Jordanian seller was informal. He placed his trust in this Jordanian man and several other business partners moving forward. This was key to his ability to grow his business very quickly over the next few years. He bought a pick-up van later on, and rented it out, earning an additional 300 JOD (~$423) per month. He also invested in a school, which again, due to legal restrictions on refugees, remained under a Jordanian partner’s name.
Despite his entrepreneurial progress, Abu Samer suffered financial setbacks because of his refugee status and his dependence on his Jordanian partners. He was once involved in an accident while driving and, because he did not have a Jordanian license (refugees are not allowed to), he had to pay a substantial fine of 1000 JOD (~$1,410). His trust was violated, not once, but several times. The Jordanian partner who was the legal owner of the bus sold it without giving Abu Samer his share. His Jordanian partners and co-owners of the school he invested in reported his illegal involvement to the police after a disagreement. As a result, Abu Samer and his family were deported to a camp. They managed to return using some of their contacts, but these setbacks scarred their ability to trust. Still, he had no option but to start from scratch each time, heavily relying on the unwavering support from his family.
His entire family worked together as a unit. For instance, his wives ran a small canteen at the school and all of them worked on a farm during summer months. They lived in a simple house with minimal furnishings. The family saved diligently and invested a portion of their earnings back into their businesses or into furthering their education and skill development.
When we met with Abu Samer during our second interview, he said that things had been improving for him before the COVID-19 virus outbreak resulted in a strict, two-month lockdown. At the time, he had just finished paying off the last instalment on his pick-up van loan. The lockdowns and continued closure of schools severely affected his income. With the consequent economic crisis and the limiting environment for refugees, he has been losing hope about his family’s future in Jordan. He is now waiting for updates on their possible travel to Canada, where he hopes for a better future for his children.
Refugees’ stories of resilience often highlight their courage, self-confidence, and entrepreneurship. Abu Samer had plenty of that as we saw. He strived to do everything to provide for his family, yet he remained limited in his prospects for a better life in displacement. He wished that he could pursue his entrepreneurial activities legally, but this remained a distant dream given the current restrictions on Syrian refugees in Jordan.