‘Absi does it’: Syrian refugee boy’s life takes turn for better

Absi, at the age of 10, is driven by destitution.

The boy resembles a Little League slugger more than a parking lot attendant, but here he is — working in the middle of a brown pit of grinding metal, rubber, and dirt, knocking out claim tickets. His shock of black hair reeks of gasoline and soot. Cars halt, screech, turn, and twist ever so close to the boy as they maneuver in and out of the narrow hollow carved out in the back-alley parking garage in Irbid, Jordan.

While most boys his age attend school, Absi is learning to earn a living.  

Across Jordan and Lebanon, a staggering number of Syrian refugee children — including Absi —are being forced out of school and pressed into service to provide for their households. Children as young as 7 work long hours for little pay, sometimes in dangerous and exploitative conditions, according to a United Nation's report.

“Child labor is directly linked to the basic survival of refugee families,” the report cites. “The savings, assets, and possessions of most Syrian refugees were lost or destroyed. Their livelihoods came to an abrupt end, and their lives were essentially frozen.”

‘You feel you have no choice but to work’

Absi, like many refugee children, is growing up in a fractured family. More than 70,000 Syrian refugee families live without fathers, and thousands of refugee children are separated from both parents, the report says.

The war tore Absi from his beloved father more than a year ago, forcing the child and the women of his family to escape fighting in their homeland. His father never made it out.

Now, Absi faces the daily hardship of refugee life in Jordan.

At Omerbenkhattab Street garage, Absi works with a team of drivers and attendants who valet vehicles for business owners and other people who need to stash their car away for the day or an hour. A rush of cars come and go, a non-stop symphony orchestrated by Absi’s flash of claim tickets. He’s working 10 to 12 hours a day, eking out two Jordanian diners ($2.80) — just enough to buy bread for his family.

“Absi feels he has no choice but to work for his family,” says Ahmad Abboura, the 30-year-old owner of the garage. “I know how he feels; I was a child laborer, too, and worked in a garage at the same age as Absi. You feel you have no choice.”

But there’s a better plan for the boy.

Absi just doesn’t know it yet.

‘Absi has not been in school, where is Absi?’

Before leaving Syria, Absi vowed to himself to care for his mother and sister once they reached Jordan, where the family settled in a small apartment on the sixth floor of an abandoned building. 

Stepping inside the dark tenement building, Leila al-Sakji, director of a World Vision-supported school for Syrian refugee children in Irbid, heads up to get the low down on Absi’s whereabouts.

In response to the immense need, World Vision facilitates the remedial classes in Irbid, allowing both Syrian and Jordanian children to access education — and make up for lost time. The aim is to equip them to return to school, reintegrating into the class levels appropriate to their ages.

Absi’s older sister greets Leila, wishes her peace, and shows her inside their home. The place where the three live is clean and bare, save for a few U.N.-issued cots on the floor. The scent of lemons and thyme linger in the air. 

Inside the kitchen, Absi’s mother, Mariam, stands with her hands extended, and a gentle smile flashes across her face worn down by worry and war back home. Her eyes are bloodshot. She has been crying. She places her hand on her lower back. The woman is in pain. She hasn’t slept in days. Her back injury forced her to stop working as a cleaning lady weeks ago.

Her son, Leila says, has not been in school for even longer.

“Absi has not been in school, where is Absi?” Leila asks as she glances to the open window.

Below the apartment window, the streets pulse with life in this ancient Middle Eastern city, where college students fulfill their dreams and Syrian refugee children chase a living. Children dot the busy streets peddling toys, flowers, or trinkets. 

“He is expected to return home any moment,” Mariam says.

Leila takes a seat on the cot on the floor. She will wait as the sun departs for the day.

“Our program is to prepare children to return to school, so we don’t lose our children to the streets,” she tells Mariam. “We don’t want children to drop out. They are little children. They need to be in school.”

Mariam agrees. “He says he has been going to school and working,” she says. “He wants to be the breadwinner, to pay for our bread. He doesn’t want to see me in pain. He’s my provider.” 

Minutes pass before Absi walks in; his chest swells with pride and excitement as he hands his mother two paper bills.

Then, he spots Leila. He is hot, flushed, and now busted. He is silent and sits down across from Leila. He’s prepared to catch whatever comes his way.

“I hear you are working,” Leila says.

Her tone is more nurturing than threatening when she delivers her message: “You need to be in school, not work, Absi. The classes are to make up for the year’s lost time. What future will you have if do not go to school? School is where you need to be, for your future. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

After a long pause, Absi says: “I want to grow up to be a teacher.”

‘I will make you a deal’

At the garage where he works, staff hovers over the child like doting older brothers, each passing by to pat the helmet of hair on Absi’s head. They make sure he’s out of harm’s way and has enough water to drink. They also encourage him to go to school once they learn of his situation. 

In a move that shocks Absi and his mother, Abboura, the garage owner, has an offer for the child: He’ll pay Absi his wages, plus a $1 raise, if he attends school. Absi accepts.

Absi returns to school on the same day World Vision is distributing backpacks filled with school supplies. He cannot believe his good fortune, teachers say.

“He’s our little brother and a boy who reminds me of the possibilities — that there is a future, a better life, and we can be part of that for our children,” Abboura says. “If Absi does it, other children can, too.”

Arabic-English translation during interviews provided by Maha Hawashin, a World Vision special projects coordinator based in Jordan.