“Is it because we are Black that our lives are so dark?”
If you spoke to Ali over phone, you would never be able to guess that he is not Jordanian. The 42-year-old speaks Arabic with a perfect Jordanian accent and knows the local slang quite well. But his non-Jordanian features give it away as soon as you meet him. He is dark skinned, and that is the reason he feels he can never integrate in Jordan. As Sudanese, he faces double discrimination—both from the law that has forgotten him and from Jordanian people who will never accept him because of his color.
Ali comes from the Nuba mountains in Sudan. He was raised by his mother after his father went missing while he was still young. He did not study much and learned what writing and reading he knows much later in his life at illiteracy camps in Jordan. At a young age, he moved to Khartoum thinking that he might be able to find some work and earn a living. He stayed there for a few years but as security in the area worsened, his employer, a well-wisher, helped him flee Sudan.
He landed in Jordan with absolutely no clue about his future in this country. He found himself in a taxi outside the airport in Amman. The taxi driver dropped him off at the eighth circle and charged him $100. Only later did he realize how grossly overcharged he had been. At the time, that was all the money he had on him, which meant that he had to spend the night sleeping on the street in the unbearably cold weather. The next day some men on the street guided him to a café in the city center where he met other Sudanese men. As in the case of other Sudanese, he survived the initial months after his arrival thanks to the solidarity of the Sudanese community. The Sudanese men he met welcomed him to their shared apartment, hosted him for free for the first month, and helped him find his first job. He started working at a construction site, earning a daily wage. Like most other non-Syrian refugees, he worked without a permit putting him at the risk of being arrested. “We had a system. One of the men would always watch the street and warned us of inspection visits. If there was one, then we would all just run away,” he explained.
That’s how Ali’s journey in Jordan began. In the early years, from 2013 to 2015, he managed to find work on a regular basis. He used to get paid around 10 JOD (~$14) a day. He continued to live with other Sudanese men paying 60 JOD (~$84) as his share of the monthly rent. Later he worked as a guard at a second-hand car showroom for a few months. He slept at the showroom to save on rent expenses. He managed to save 2500 JOD (~3526 JOD) and could finally afford to bring his wife to Jordan. He had saved this money at home and once he had the whole amount, he sent it to his wife via a middleman. He was feeling more stable in his financial situation. When the borders with Iraq closed, however, the market for second-hand cars was severely restricted, and the showroom’s business went under. Ali had to go back to his previous daily wage jobs. This time around it was more difficult for him. Ali had a back injury from Sudan, and it had worsened due to the heavy lifting often required in his work. He started to work irregularly. “I used to work for a week, and then I had to rest for a week. I could not keep going on.”
Life became more challenging when his wife joined him. Their expenses increased as they had to move to an independent apartment. They kept moving houses each time they could not pay rent. Every move cost them money, and they lost the friendships they made in the neighborhood. One day when Ali was at the football field with other Sudanese men, one of them suggested they move to Marka and live near a Palestinian camp. They took his suggestion, now living far from the Sudanese community that had played an important role in his arrival phase.
It was during his initial days in Marka that Ali met his Egyptian friend who remained a constant support for the family. Through his new friend, Ali found a job washing cars where he earned regular monthly pay. He also found small jobs helping other residents move furniture or other heavy loads, paid in tips. “I know people take pity on me. They will pay me 20 JOD (~$28) for a small job because they know I will not take money without working first.” He used to make around 120 JOD (~$170) each month and paid 80 JOD (~$118) in rent. The money was enough to meet his small family’s needs. They accumulated debt but were able to repay with winter assistance.
He eventually had to stop working after he had a clash with another Egyptian worker in the area. There is a lot of competition in the kind of work Ali was doing, and it was mostly done by Egyptian workers. When this man threatened to call the police and complain that Ali worked without a permit, he had no choice but to stop working. This coincided with the birth of Ali and his wife’s baby. He was unable to pay for rent and was only able to buy food on credit. As more and more rent debt accumulated, they finally had to leave and were almost on the street. His Egyptian friend took them in and hosted them for more than a year. When we last met Ali, he was still living with his friend.
Living with his friend was not easy. They found it difficult to adjust with the friend’s family. “We have to ask for permission to use the washroom every time. I could not leave my wife alone at home when the friend’s wife was not around.” Without money for rent, however, they had no option but to share the apartment. When we met Ali for the third interview, they still had pending rent payments of 1100 JOD (~$1550) to their previous landlord.
They depended on credit from the neighborhood grocery store for food, which they could now only partially pay with their winter assistance. They had 500 JOD (~$705) outstanding to the pharmacy in addition to the 100 JOD (~$140) outstanding to the grocery store. The debts to the grocery store had once reached 170 JOD. When the shop owner complained to Ali in front of everyone, a man helped him pay it off by collecting money from his networks. Ali and his family could not have made it through this difficult phase without the financial support from the community. Ali said, “Nobody dies of starvation. We managed to eat and drink. The neighbors sometimes send meals to my wife. I pay part of the winter assistance to my friend as a way to pay for the accommodation, but he does not ask for it.”
Still, they were far from comfortable. Ali’s back pain continued to cause problems. Unable to afford medical care, he took herbal remedies to treat the pain. He showed his report to humanitarian NGOs, but they refused to cover it. He also suffered from irritable bowel syndrome due to his poor diet and financial stress. “The doctor asked me to not eat bread and legumes. What else should I eat then? Shrimp?” How could Ali stop eating the only food he could afford? His wife and son also needed medical attention, but they could not afford it. They had their second baby during the course of our research and his wife had not been well since then.
When we met Ali in June 2020, he recounted his fruitless calls for assistance. “I went to UNHCR at least 20 times, asking them to give me the aid just to pay the rent for two months, so that I move on. Or pay for my medical treatment and I promise I will never ask for assistance again. But it was for nothing, I got no response.” Finally, by the end of 2020 he started receiving monthly cash assistance. He was still living with the Egyptian family when we last met him. He was planning to stay until he had paid off all his debts.
Things seemed more promising for Ali and his family as they started receiving cash assistance. At least they could secure their bare minimum needs. But they still did not see any future for themselves in Jordan. Even if they committed to staying, he would not be allowed to work to provide for his family. He spoke to us about how Syrian refugees can get work permits, a right not afforded to Sudanese. He wondered, “Is it because we are Black that our lives are so dark?”
Ali had grown strong networks with Jordanians and Egyptians in his neighborhood. Even with his perfect Jordanian accent, he was not accepted. “As long as you are Black, you can never fully integrate. Some people deal with us in an ugly way. They would call to us with words like ‘Hey, piece of coal.’ We have received a lot of help from the community, but honestly such words cause a lot of suffering.” Such experiences had scarred Ali’s perception of life in Jordan. Despite his best efforts he could never fit in. There was a lot of anger built up inside Ali. He felt he could not make any decisions about his family’s life. He could not go back to Sudan and staying in Jordan was difficult. When we asked him about his future, he said, “Future is a very big word! I cannot think of or see a future. I am just thinking about how to get food for the kids.”
This got better as they started receiving assistance that provided some relief in their financial struggles. The only escape from his struggles, according to him, would be resettlement to a country where he would have rights to move and work. But he has been waiting for eight years now and there was still no hope in the near future. He had no way to speed up the process or prepare for it. He wanted to learn English or some other skill that could be useful in a third country. But without a clear idea about when he could be resettled, there is little rationale to invest. “I have a lot of free time. I like to learn. But there is no money or opportunities.”
Like other participants in our research, Ali continues to wait in a limbo. In the meantime, he believes he is just running in circles, stuck in a cycle of debt as he tries to meet his family’s basic needs.