In the winter cold, families live in mud-brick cottages with plastic roofs kept in place with wads of manure. There are no windows, and they have no running water. Fruits and vegetables vendors parade their not-so-fresh produce on donkey-drawn carts.
The residents of the camp survive on a paltry allowance provided by the KRG, and the yielding of their livestock. Oblivious to the hardships, toddlers dressed in rags scamper on the fields alongside the grazing cows. Their elders gaze forlornly at the misty horizon. "This is only temporary," they tell themselves.
For Kurds, Bin Slawa is not simply a vast clearing devoted to some 50,000 internally-displaced persons (IDP); it has become a catchword. It evokes memories of the sinister Anfal campaign of 1988-89, when over 200,000 men mysteriously disappeared at the hands of the Iraqi regime, leaving countless families destitute.
It is a testament to Iraqi President Saddam Hussain's ongoing ethnic cleansing policy to alter the demographics of key cities mainly populated by Kurds. It conjures up images of nearly 5,000 Kurdish villages, which have been razed to the ground in the course of the past decade. Finally, it stands as a reminder of the tragedy at Halabja, which was hit by chemical and biological weapons in 1988, leaving thousands dead and hundreds severely injured.
According to United Nations figures, there are more than 800,000 IDPs, mostly Kurds, who cling to the hope of one day returning to their homes in Kirkuk, Sinjar, Khanakin, Tallafir, or Mendeli.
"Some of the IDPs were forced out of the country into Iran during the Iran-Iraq war. Some were driven out even before that, in the 1970s," said Hanna Adwar, who heads the Al Amal Association in Arbil. "The Baghdad regime expelled these people claiming they were Iranian, and not Arabs. But they were Kurds."
The forced migrants are now returning and settling in various camps and collective villages in northern Iraq, notably Bin Slawa. These squalid accommodations are already cramped for space, and the numbers of refugees are growing daily.
"There are many buildings occupied by IDPs now," said Sami Abdurrahman, Deputy Prime Minister of the KRG, and a former Minister of Northern Affairs under the Iraqi regime. "It is a problem we are trying to deal with, but we cannot immediately hand them a set of keys, and say, 'here's a flat!'"
Khadija Hassan, a 50-year-old widow from Shorjah, fled her home after serving six months in prison. The Iraqi government had accused her of working for the Kurdish liberation movement. First, she went to Iran, and in 1996, she returned with her sons and daughters and settled in Bin Slawa.
"You can see the conditions for yourself; they are very bad," she said. "And it is worse because my sons cannot find jobs."
Khadija has three sons, two daughters and seven grandchildren. Her livestock includes three goats and three sheep. She receives a monthly allowance of 250 dinars ($35) from the Kurdistan Regional Government.
In spite of the circumstances, refugee families try to lead "normal" lives. There are marriages among the community, and many babies are born in the mud-brick cottages.
Shakhwan Ali Ahmed, a 28-year-old refugee from Kirkuk, is a math teacher for children in Bin Slawa. He receives a monthly salary of 500 dinars ($70) from the KRG. He is a university graduate who was accused of dodging the Iraqi military service.
Shakhwan follows current events through relatives and friends, who are either visiting or also expelled from Kirkuk. These days, however, it is next to impossible to receive visitors from Kirkuk. The regime does not allow it.
"The latest news is that Kurdish families in Kirkuk are forced to declare all visitors they receive to the security department," he said.
Kirkuk is an especially sore point for Kurds, who, for many years, have been asking the international community for help over the Iraqi regime's "Arabisation" programme. The programme is motivated by the fear that Kurds, who form a majority in the oil-rich city, would attempt to claim it one day.
Gulf News 2003
