I think a lot about home. My work requires that I travel frequently and I have lived in various places. I try to create a sense of community in every space that I inhabit but as I have gotten older, I am aware of the fact that for me, home is where my heart is and my heart is with my family of origin. Even as I have friends who have become like family and who I carry in my heart no matter where I go, I long to be reunited with my flesh and blood.
Yesterday, we had a very unique opportunity to visit Zaatari Refugee Camp, which is located in Jordan approximately 8 miles from the Syrian border. Zaatari is home to more than 150,000 Syrian refugees, making it the second largest refugee camp in the world. It’s a city, a tent city to be exact, one with limited resources, traumatized people and service providers trying desperately to keep up with the demands caused by war and conflict that has left millions displaced. Some come with their families, some have lost loved ones and others left family members behind. Regardless of how they got to Zaatari, one thing became very clear to me as we met with our brothers and sisters – home is where the heart is. Continue reading