A Space of Refuge

Growing up, I took my house, my home, for granted. It was a space to play, to eat, and to sleep, but I rarely thought about it as an object of significance. But after speaking with a Bhutanese refugee named Sed, I was reminded that much of the world was not so lucky to be born into my situation. For Sed, a house meant everything.

For the first seven years of his life, Sed lived in impoverished, oppressive conditions as his family tried to flee from Bhutan. He described this period of his life as “very sad”, but didn’t elaborate. Things changed when he and his family became refugees in Nepal. The Bhutanese refugee camps in Nepal meant at least temporary safety and some stability for Sed and his family. 

Sed told me that he does not remember much about his early childhood, but he does remember clearly when his family built their first house Nepal. Being a young child, Sed did not help much with the process of building the house, but helped to carry materials to and from the site. In 1993, the WFP (World Food Program) began to provide food and land to the refugees from Bhutan, causing more and more families to come to the camps, Sed’s among them.  Sed and his family built their house with their own hands, working day and night, often with little food, to finish construction. All this hands-on work and craftsmanship made the house all the more significant to Sed, and rendered a sense of pride and connection to the dwelling.

The sides were made of tall bamboo stalks placed vertically close together, held in place with string and a tacky mud and clay mixture. Bamboo and roofing material were provided to the refugees, and then assembled by the family. Heavy rain and wind slowed the building process, but once the house was finished, young Sed was relieved and overjoyed. Although simple, the house offered welcome shelter, accomplishment, and security. It had space for a small cooking device, five beds, and even a modest altar to show the family’s dedication to their Hindu religion. There were no decorations, but when the walls leaked they were patched with paper and plaster, and Sed often drew pictures with charcoal on the paper to serve as “something special to help us be happier”. 

A Bhutanese refugee camp

The shelter was the center of livelihood for Sed and his family. Small and cozy, Sed’s house was situated between two other almost identical ones, as part of a long row of refugee homes. Being in such close proximity meant that the house became a way to connect and help other people in the same situation. “Good luck to me for being a refugee”, were Sed’s words when I asked if he ever was unhappy with his house, his situation. He assured me that the ten years he spent in that house his family built were difficult at times, but “happy and whole”. Having a house was less about the actual building and space inside (Sed told me he actually spent very little time inside his home), but more about the community and friends he had because of it. Building and living in the house meant that you shared a community. If you were sick, you could go to your neighbor’s home and they would give you whatever they had to give, be it extra food, water, or just care. When they were unwell they trusted you to do the same. The small house gave him a bigger family.

Now Sed owns a different sort of house: an American apartment. He says the community cannot compare to the one back in Nepal. He misses washing his clothes in the river with his mother, misses sharing rice with his neighbors at their rice shed, and misses the simplicity of his life when his happiness was defined by safety and food in his stomach. Sed was the first of his family to leave the Nepalese refugee camp, and he is grateful for his modern, technically “better” life here, but still remembers his first house, and how it became an important home. His experiences and view about happiness and necessity are humbling, and I felt fortunate to hear his story. Sed’s incredible strength and positivity inspired me to look at my own home in a different way, and broadened my view of what happiness can be.