In the towns of northern Jordan, the effects of displacement are easy to miss if you only look at national figures. They appear instead in smaller ways. A landlord raising the rent without warning. A school adding a second shift. A clinic turning people away before noon. The pressure facing northern Jordan did not begin with a single arrival or policy shift. It built quietly, year by year.
Jordan today hosts over 1.3 million refugees within a population of around 11 million, the second highest share of refugees per capita in the world. Although most arrived after 2011, many have settled for the long term. In towns once sustained by agriculture and small-scale commerce, this permanence changes how livelihoods function and how resources are stretched.
Before the Syrian war, these communities depended on land, mobility and small markets. Farming was difficult but familiar. Trade supplemented incomes. Social life was tight. According to Ms. Nour-Lyna Boulgamh, an architect and a doctoral candidate focused on urban economics and housing affordability at Harvard University, many Jordanian families, particularly Bedouin groups, hold a deep attachment to land. That relationship now sits under strain. Refugees often come from similar rural backgrounds, but Jordan’s land is limited. Housing has become one of the few assets that can generate income, and competition over it is intense.
Rent is the clearest flashpoint. What began as short-term accommodation has become long-term tenancy. Refugees and Jordanians now compete in the same housing market, especially in the north and around Amman, where communities are deeply mixed. CARE surveys show that 73% of Syrians arriving in Jordan are worried about their housing situation. For host households, rising rents cut into already fragile incomes. Overcrowding has become normal. Privacy is rare. Security is uneven.
Housing conditions in refugee communities are often poor. Many settlements lack proper infrastructure. Homes are exposed to extreme heat and cold. Streets are narrow and unfinished. In some camps, emergency services struggle to reach residents. Ms. Boulgamh describes cases where fire brigades could not access homes because heavy equipment simply could not get through. These are not planning oversights. They are everyday risks.
Economic pressure runs through everything. Livelihoods in northern Jordan operate under constant pressure. National poverty sits at 24.1%, but among refugees it rises sharply, to roughly 67%. Unemployment reached 21.4% in early 2024, and refugees are often confined to unstable, informal work. For longer-term displaced Syrians, access to employment is the top concern for 57%. When income is uncertain, families patch together survival through borrowing, aid, and fragile support networks.
Public services carry the weight of these economic gaps. Education feels it first. Refugee children and youth make up 53% of the displaced population, crowding schools already short on space and staff. Double-shift systems are common. Exam-based pathways funnel students into limited university places, most of which are reserved for Jordanians. Refugee students are not absent from classrooms; they are filtered out later.
Healthcare tells the same story in quieter ways. Clinics see more patients but rarely more funding. Preventive care slips out of reach. In camps, poor infrastructure turns small crises into major emergencies. Underneath it all lies inequality in assets. Land remains one of Jordan’s strongest sources of security, and refugees, without land, absorb every shock more deeply.
Understanding these pressures is not straightforward. Spatial data could help identify where population density exceeds service capacity, but access is uneven. Ms. Boulgamh explains that in many areas, formal mapping is difficult or impossible. Researchers rely instead on interviews, photography, and on-the-ground observation to document what official spatial data misses.
Despite hardship, community resilience persists. In refugee camps, shared identity fosters strong networks. Celebrations are collective. Support is informal but constant. Women residents of the camp often describe feeling safer in camps than in fragmented urban neighbourhoods. These tight social bonds help families find housing, share resources, and manage daily life with very little.
Policy has lagged behind reality. Since 2011, Jordan has received close to €3.5 billion in EU assistance, including €14 million in 2024 for refugee health and education. Yet in 2023, available funding met just 29.2% of identified needs. At the same time, 97% of refugees say they do not plan to return. Long-term settlement is no longer hypothetical.
The challenge is not whether refugees belong in Jordan’s towns, but whether planning will acknowledge that fact. Ms. Boulgamh argues that urban policy must respond to lived conditions rather than legal status. Refugees already shape local economies, schools, and neighbourhoods. Treating them as temporary continues to lock inequality in place.
Northern Jordan’s towns reveal what prolonged displacement really looks like. Not chaos, but compression. Not collapse, but exhaustion. Poverty rises quietly. Services stretch thin. Communities adapt, until adaptation itself becomes a burden.
Further information and opportunities to engage with organisations working in this area are listed below:
https://www.anera.org/where-we-work/jordan/
https://www.rescue.org/uk/country/jordan
https://www.collateralrepairproject.org/poverty-in-jordan-and-how-community-based-programs-can-help/
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