Day 3 - Monday and let the battle begin - November 16th 2015

On Saturday, the day we met, I used my social network and, with the consent of the family, posted about them and their situation in the hopes of finding an apartment and a translator. As Shamse's asylum was already granted she was eligible to a minimum income of roughly 800 Euros. As father and children had just arrived 2 days ago, that income was all they had. Nonetheless I was certain I could find an apartment that would match their current income. So I started looking for small, cheap apartments.

Sunday can't be considered part of the week in Austria as Sunday is the dies dominica, the day of the Lord. The clock was ticking: I had 4 weekdays to find a solution and had to pick them up on the 5th day by noon latest.
 
My network on Facebook shared my posts. I reached out to close friends and family and spread the word. I placed an unknown number of phone calls, sent out emails as if my last name would be Spam to many real estate agents who had available apartments. Even though It felt good to know that I have resources, I realized within a day that getting an apartment would be very difficult. I received negative answers from all of them. No one wanted to rent out an apartment to a refugee family and they didn't shy away from telling me. I firmly believed that all I needed to do is to reach out as far as possible and hope for one positive response. 

I visited the Rasoul's on Monday, November 16th 2015 at the Diakonie Shelter close to Schoenbrunn together with a wonderful soul called Mohammad. Mohammad is Syrian/Austrian and we didn't see each other for probably 15 years or so. Mohammad currently lives in Jordan and he was in Vienna for vacation. He saw my post on Facebook and contacted me offering his help as a translator. 

It was thanks to his generous help and time that I was able to have my very first conversation with the family and to find out more about them. The Rasoul's are from Aleppo, the largest city in Syria. The Syrian civil war and the battle of Aleppo resulted in grave destruction. The family moved several times within Syria in the hopes of finding a peaceful place to resettle but the war spread and the family had to split. The mother fled by herself to Austria a year ago and her request for asylum was granted. The father stayed in Syria together with the children to hide them and to protect them from being recruited.

The Rasoul's have three children: the eldest is a girl Helz, who turns 18 years old, a beautiful young, smart woman, then there's Mohamad-in-the-middle, who is 14 years old and really cool, and last but not least Diar, an 11 year old boy equipped with the charm of Marlon Brando. Diar wouldn't talk to me at first. He would nod and give me a half smile. I was a bit worried but hoped that in time he would speak to me too. 

During our first meeting with the translator I made it clear that I would stay by their side and help, that they could count on me like family. Looking back I think that it must be hard to believe a complete stranger something as big as a promise to be there like family, but I never thought of it back then as to me it was clear from the moment I took them to the coffee shop on the day we met. I had made my decision and I wanted to give my best. I knew I might fail but I was willing to take the risk. I believed and I still do believe that by being a guardian to a refugee family who has lost their homes and hometowns, one can make a positive change in their lives as well as in all our lives.

I made a little to do list for us, collected pictures of documents in order to be able to move on with Austrian paperwork. I had already prepared a letter of full power. Mohammad, the translator, explained to them what it is and I told them that it would be crucial for further actions I might need to take in their names.I also limited the date of the full power to the end of December and mentioned that if they would be happy with my services we could always extend. We shared a good laugh. 

Number one on my to do list was to find them a steady home, number two was to send the children to school as soon as possible. 

Even though the Shelter had tons of clothes and shoes from donations, they gracefully declined. Their humbleness stroke me. 

Shamse is a young, caring, strong lioness of a mother. She is courageous beyond words and I can't wait until the day I will be able to sit and chat with her about what she went through. That very same night she invited Mohammad, the translator, and me to stay over for dinner at the shelter. I have no idea how or where she was able to shop for food. But she did it somehow. To me, it is really one of the great mysteries of middle eastern hospitality that I, who is middle eastern herself, have not been able to solve to this day. 



From left to right: Shamse, Abdelaziz, Diar, Mohamad, Helz and my humble self. 



 Our first dinner, prepared by the wonderful Shamse.