{'fraction_non_alphanumeric': 0.028103752203475194, 'fraction_numerical': 0.015084361621757744, 'mean_word_length': 5.098126535626536, 'pattern_counts': {'":': 0, '<': 0, '<?xml version=': 0, '>': 0, 'https://': 0, 'lorem ipsum': 0, 'www.': 0, 'xml': 0}, 'pii_count': 0, 'substrings_counts': 0, 'word_list_counts': {'cursed_substrings.json': 1, 'profanity_word_list.json': 0, 'sexual_word_list.json': 0, 'zh_pornsignals.json': 0}}
‘The world we share’: everyday relations and the political consequences of refugee-refugee hosting in Amman, Jordan

ABSTRACT Male, Sudanese experiences of displacement in Amman, Jordan are characterised by the exclusions of state and international humanitarian response bureaucracies, and compounded by pervasive racial discrimination and violence. As part of their efforts to maintain their presence in the city, the men have created household-level hosting relationships, based on a situated ethics of care developed through shared understandings and experiences of displacement and a recognition of their interdependence. Through these personal relations, the men inhabit the city and offer one another some safety from the uncertain and hostile context of their displacement in Jordan. Hosting arrangements are not merely convenient or functionally necessary in the difficult circumstances of displacement, but produce new ways of being together and serve as sites for the enactment of social rights and claims to presence. As such, refugee-refugee hosting practices hold the potential for lived citizenship, enacted through everyday and ordinary acts of care.


Introduction
Through uncertainty, protracted displacement, and everyday emergency, refugees construct their lives, practices, and ways of being (Brun 2015;Brun and Fabos 2015;Dryden-Peterson 2006;Grabska 2006;Holzer 2014;Horst and Grabska 2015;Meeus, Beeckmans, Heur, & Arnaut, 2020). A growing body of literature positons and investigates asylum seekers and refugees as political subjects within the urban (Bauder 2016;Darling 2017;Landau 2014;Landau and Freemantle 2016), and shows how (often) small-scale and everyday acts may have substantial political consequences (Bauder 2016;Bayat 2013;Maestri and Hughes 2017;Staeheli et al. 2012). As argued by Maestri and Hughes (2017, 630) 'being at the margins of citizenship does not deny [migrants] political agency and the possibility to enact citizenship by constituting themselves as subjects entitled to certain rights'. While the formal relationship to the state continues to be foregrounded in forced migration studies (Gill 2010;Shacknove 1985), a body of work encourages us to see the political potential of everyday spaces and relations (Dickinson et al. 2008;Harker and Martin 2012;Staeheli et al. 2012). Lived citizenship shows us how citizenship is experienced and enacted in real-life contexts through acts that are 'formed in relation to matters politicized in their [people's] current life situations that unsettle fixed territorial spatial configurations' (Kallio, Wood, and Häkli 2020, 721). Building on this work, in this article, I argue for the value of personal relations of care in furthering political claims to presence and enacting lived citizenship for Sudanese refugee men living in group hosting arrangements in Amman, Jordan. The Sudanese refugee men I worked with in Amman did not seek to claim formal citizenship from the Jordanian state, nor did they articulate their claims to rights in Amman through the language of citizenship. Rather, they articulated their expectations and desired rights through their presence in the city, claims of refugeeness (Häkli, Pascucci, and Kallio 2017;Malkki 1992), and humanity. For example, Samir, a Sudanese man in his mid-20s, articulated his thoughts regarding his reception by Jordanian society, saying 'We are human. You can live in peace. I did not come from your country but you must respect me as a guest . . . I am not going to stay here a long time, but they do not understand this'. Continuing our conversation on a later date, he further explained his expectations when he arrived in Jordan, I expected that they would accept me as a person, they would not say bad things. That I could engage with them, my mind can engage with them, work with them, and deal with them. In Sudan you can go to the neighbour, say hi to the neighbour, here no . . . and I expected to study here.
Samir's aspirations were not towards permanent inclusion within the Jordanian political body, but towards recognition of his right to be present, an openness to convivial neighbourly relationships, safety, and access to work and education. These social rights to a liveable life are at the core of the men's struggles in Amman. While access to such rights is often defined through formal citizenship, lived citizenship relates to 'how people understand and negotiate rights and responsibilities, belonging and participation' (Lister 2007, 55). In this article I pay attention to how the Sudanese men I worked with struggled for and claimed their presence in the city through their everyday caring relationships with one another, enacted through their hosting relationships at the household level. In doing so, the men positioned themselves as legitimate urban subjects and engaged in a political contestation of their rights and responsibilities vis-à-vis one-another, the city, and the state. In analysing such relations as a form of lived citizenship, I contribute to Kallio, Wood, and Häkli (2020) arguments for greater attention to the role of care in understanding intersubjective and affective dimensions of lived citizenship, as well as calls to actively explore small-scale spaces of citizenship (Staeheli et al. 2012), and the development and maintenance of communities of welcome for refugees (Fiddian-Qasmiyeh 2016).
Refugee-refugee hosting is a common practice in emergency and humanitarian settings across the world (Caron 2019;Davies 2012;Fiddian-Qasmiyeh 2016;Haver 2008), though has so far largely been overlooked in contexts of forced migration (Boano and Astolfo 2020;Caron 2019;Fiddian-Qasmiyeh 2016;Yassine, Al-Harithy, and Boano 2019). Hosting, in this context, refers to the sharing of accommodation with others who would not, in non-conflict or non-displacement settings, typically live together. Similar practices can be seen in various contexts around the world and are not necessarily unique to refugees (Kathiravelu 2012;Landau 2018). While hosting is often conceptualised through hospitality (Berg and Fiddian-Qasmiyeh 2018;Brun 2010;Caron 2019;Darling 2020;Merikoski 2021), hosting relationships between refugees do not always entail vertical host-guest relations. I have instead argued that sharing and an ethics of care that allows for the situated recognition of need and interdependence are important elements for understanding refugee-refugee hosting . Different types of refugee-hosting arrangements at the household level can be distinguished from oneanother, and from other forms of accommodation sharing between unrelated household members (such as student flatmates), through their position on a continuum of guesthood-tenancy, and independent-dependency . For the Sudanese men I worked with who lived in shared group hosting arrangements, the roles of host and guest were frequently rotated, and at times indistinguishable. 1 In the following sections, I first conceptualise the politics of the men's hosting arrangements through the consequences of everyday practices beyond (or 'below') the state, drawing on notions of presence and the value of care and personal relations in understandings of citizenship. I then describe my methodological approach, before outlining the context of life in urban Amman for the Sudanese men I worked with. In the empirical section, I trace the impact of men's hosting relationships on their presence and their responsibilities to one-another, demonstrating that their household-level hosting relationships have a deep impact on maintaining presence and enacting social rights while in displacement. However, while personal relations of care can have political consequences beyond the home, gains made through such practices in contexts of constrained rights are fragile. Bayat (2013, 5) argues that there has been scant attention to how the 'urban disenfranchised through daily quiet and unassuming struggles refigure new lives and communities for themselves and different urban realities on the ground in Middle Eastern cities'. He argues that the struggles of migrant poor in the Middle East go beyond coping strategies in their claims on the host state, yet are not organised social movements. Instead, he terms such practices as non-movements: action-oriented, quiet, and enacted by individuals rather than united groups, though they may be transformed into group action at moments of threat or opportunity. The practices of non-movements are not 'extraordinary deeds of mobilisation and protestation' (Bayat 2013, 20) but rather part of everyday life. Nonetheless, such practices remain distinct from regular life, in that they are contentious, often subvert governing norms and laws, and encroach on 'the propertied, powerful, or the public, in order to survive and improve their lives' (pg. 46). Such work has helped to visibilise claims to place that are based not on permanent residence or legal status, but rather, in Bayat's words, 'the "art of presence", the story of agency in times of constraint' (Bayat 2013, p. xi). Darling (2017) draws on Papadopoulos and Tsianos (2013) to argue that social transformations can be understood through the everyday experiences and actions of people. By focusing on how people maintain and expand their presence, the political nature of such quiet acts may be revealed. Informal practices question claims to authority and definitions of legitimacy, and thus, by paying attention to urban informality it is possible to appreciate the 'minor' political acts that suggest critiques of categories of citizenship: creating shelter, engaging in informal markets, organising against deportation (Darling 2017). Such acts may not be immediately activist in creating new scripts or ways of doing citizenship (Isin 2017), but they break with the established scripts of 'passive and grateful' refugeehood (Darling 2017, 189). As with Bayat's (2013) non-movements, the politics of presence reflects a concern with a mobile politics of quiet and individual everyday critique. Within a politics of presence, the freedom to live and the right to participate in local affairs relies on the 'temporary fixing of mobilities rather than their capture within a given spatial form' (Darling 2017, 190). One of the values of presence is in asserting the primacy of where you are in claiming rights to belong and to participate in public life. This is important in understanding the claims furthered by the refugee men I worked with who, in the majority, have a transitory relationship to their current locations.

Relational claims and a politics of presence
The focus on the politics of presence within everyday urban life is not to ignore the nation-state, nor its embeddedness in multiple scales and domains of life (Bayat 2013;Darling 2017;Harker and Martin 2012;Kallio, Wood, and Häkli 2020;Staeheli et al. 2012). Rather it is to look at how exclusion from the rights associated with statedominated formal citizenship is critiqued through acts at alternative levels. Political acts of citizenship, such as voting and political representation, have often been associated with the public sphere. However, such associations overlook the informal and private spaces of participation, spaces that are more typically the realm of women, children, and marginalised groups (Lister 2007) A focus on everyday lived citizenship challenges the public-private dichotomy, in which citizenship is associated with the public sphere (Dickinson et al. 2008;Lister 2007). It is this emphasis on the informal and private spaces of everyday lives that I follow in my work in this paper. Using these multiple sites of citizenship can clarify the importance of host relationships for refugees in creating space to enact their claims. In addition, while work has often focused on the use of space and street politics (Bayat 2013;Secor 2004), Sudanese refugees have often been excluded from such visibility due to the racial harassment that they face while using public spaces. While there are several examples of Sudanese refugees in Amman claiming public space, including during the 2015 protest and, more happily, through organised activities and outings to local parks, it nonetheless remains a risky strategy. It is therefore valuable to look at the role of personal relations in furthering political claims for such groups (Harker and Martin 2012).
As argued by Kallio, Wood, and Häkli (2020), there is scope for a deeper engagement with the work of care associated with acts of citizenship. Tronto and Fisher define care as 'everything that we do to maintain, continue and repair our "world" so that we can live in it as well as possible . . . which we seek to interweave in a complex, life sustaining web ' (1990, 40). A tradition of work informed by feminist thought argues for the extension of the values of care from the private domestic sphere to the public arena, bringing care ethics into our understandings of citizenship, and recognising the potential of mutual obligation, interdependence, and reciprocity beyond the domestic sphere (Bubeck 1998;Sevenhuijsen 1998;Staeheli et al. 2012;Yuval-Davis 2013, and see also Bloch in this issue). Further, Hanrahan and Smith (2018, 233) interrogate the 'political question of who decides what is cared for in our becoming world', a concern that extends beyond the bounds of the private or domestic. Yet, others have written about care as citizenship. Lister (2007) delineates three ways in which care may constitute citizenship: as an expression of the social responsibilities of citizens; as a form of participatory citizenship with civic benefits beyond the immediate care-dyad; and as resistance that contributes to broader community development. While Lister does not fully embrace the third argument, which is developed in the work of Paul Kershaw (2005), she nonetheless recognises that 'the key determinant of whether or not an action constitutes citizenship should be what a person does and with what public consequences, rather than where they do it'. (Lister 2007, 57). She also recognises that the act of care may provide a resource for political citizenship, even if it is not itself considered an act of citizenship. I find this to be a vital consideration in the context of political acts of those marginalised from the public sphere. While care has often been associated with women and people of colour (Lawson 2007;Milligan and Wiles 2010), there is also a growing body of work that looks at care in male migration contexts (Arber and Gilbert 1989;Fisher 1994;Locke 2017;McKay 2007;Serra Mingot 2019;Sinatti 2014, and see also Palmberger in this issue on men's digital caring practices). Similarly, in this paper I trace acts of care among refugee men. Following a brief presentation of my methodology and the context of Sudanese men's displacement in Amman, I discuss how the men's acts of care enabled their presence in the city of Amman, and the political consequences of these acts.

Methods
This article is informed by my doctoral research into hosting relationships in protracted urban displacement, conducted in 2017-2018. This paper builds from reflections and discussions about how hosting enabled refugee men to be in the urban environment, and deals with their relationships to one another and the city. The research was in two phases. In the first, I conducted thirty-seven semi-structured interviews with Sudanese, Somali, Syrian, and Iraqi refugees to capture a snapshot of the different forms of hosting among refugee groups in the city. 2 In the second phase, I worked with a group of nine men (living in six households) through multiple in-depth interviews and observations to understand the experience of living in shared group hosting arrangements among Sudanese refugee men. 3 I also regularly volunteered for a community-based nongovernmental organisation (NGO) working with Iraqi, Syrian, and Sudanese refugees, and attended Sudanese community events.
I worked with two experienced researchers with well-established connections to refugee communities in Amman -Dina Baslan and Israa Sadder. They identified initial participants through their networks, and we then pursued a purposive snowball approach to sampling. For the second phase, I initially worked with Elfatih, a Sudanese refugee, as a research assistant. Elfatih identified Sudanese men living in shared group hosting arrangements, and accompanied me to interpret during interviews. Additional participants in the second phase were met during social or community events or asked to be involved having heard about the research from their housemates or friends. This smallscale work is not representative but allowed for a deeper qualitative engagement with the men and their lives than would have been possible with a larger group.
Elfatih accompanied me to translate the first interviews with two of the men (living in two separate houses). However, later interviews were conducted in English, at the instigation of the participants. While I was keen to ensure translation was available to avoid excluding those who could not or did not want to communicate in English, speaking directly with participants had advantages in terms of the spontaneity of interactions, the men translating their own experiences in a language they spoke confidently, and avoiding some of the challenges of working through translators, particularly when exploring personal relationships within a close-knit community (Berman and Tyyskä 2011;Jacobsen and Landau 2003). All the quotes that appear in this article were communicated in English.
When deciding to work with young, single men who I did not already know, I was acutely aware of my gender, age, and marital status as potential 'risks' (Clark and Grant 2015;Gatter 2020). However, I was simultaneously aware of my privileged position concerning legal status, perceived 'race', economic situation, and educational status. These positions necessarily influenced the knowledge generated during interviews and conversations. Most evidently, in discussing their experiences of refugee-hood in Amman, the men prioritised explanations centred on gender and race, highlighting that as a white non-refugee woman, my experience of Amman was substantially different from theirs. Our genders, legal statuses, and racial identities structured how the men communicated their experiences of displacement to me and how I understood their words; and this analysis informs the arguments I present here.

Context: Sudanese refugees in Amman, Jordan
In early 2018, there were 4,058 Sudanese asylum-seekers and refugees registered with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) in Jordan. The number of Sudanese refugees increased steadily over the following year but has since remained at around 6,083 (UNHCR 2020). This is most likely due to the request from the Government of Jordan in 2019 that UNHCR halt the registration of asylum seekers who enter the country through certain routes, rather than reflecting actual figures. By comparison, there are 658,756 Syrian, 66,842 Iraqi, 14,691 Yemeni, and 747 Somali refugees and asylum seekers (UNHCR 2020). Non-Syrian refugees, therefore, make up a little over 10% of the refugee population in Jordan. An estimated 85% of Sudanese refugees live in Amman (Johnston, Baslan, and Kvittingen 2019). 4 Despite the large and long-term presence of refugees in the country, Jordan is not a signatory to the United Nations Convention on Refugees. As a non-signatory, Jordan maintains greater flexibility in its response to refugees in the country (El-Abed 2014; Lenner 2020) and asylum applications in the country are not recognised by the Government of Jordan, but rather through a memorandum of understanding (MoU) with UNHCR (Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan & UNHCR 1998). In this article, I use the term 'refugee' as this is how all participants referred to their status, although several were still waiting for their refugee status determination (RSD) interview. All participants stated that they were registered with UNHCR; however, I did not ask to see any documentation as part of the research.
The majority of Sudanese refugees in Jordan come from the Darfur region of Sudan, which continues to experience conflict (de Waal and Flint 2008;Jok 2015;Mamdani 2009). A large proportion of Sudanese refugees in Jordan are young men, fleeing conflict and conscription into armed groups, though the number of women and children also appears to have grown. Refugee recognition rates among Sudanese in Jordan are nearuniversal (MCC 2017). Despite this, in late 2015, an estimated 500-800 Sudanese nationals, including many holding UNHCR documentation were deported following protests towards the Jordanian state and UNHCR claiming -among other issues -their status and rights as refugees (Human Rights Watch 2015). For many of the men in my research, the deportation remains a pivotal moment in their experiences in Amman, with ongoing consequences for their hosting arrangements, and their relationship with UNHCR and Jordanian authorities.
In our first interview, conducted a week after we were first introduced by a mutual friend, Hillal (a Sudanese man in his 20s) told me: Life in Jordan is so difficult. I do not have the chance to work, and if I work and the police find me, that is something illegal. If you work, you are feeling afraid, you are not feeling free. There are other things that make life here so hard. The community looks at you, it is something like you're not a person. The men I worked with reported feeling trapped: their access to work was restricted and they risked detention and deportation if caught working. Yet simultaneously -as young non-disabled men -they were seen as capable of meeting their own needs and receive little humanitarian support. UNHCR and NGO funding is inadequate in the face of the scale of need, and the difficulties men faced were rarely taken into consideration in discussions of vulnerability (Turner 2019). Largely in response to the hostile circumstances of their displacement, single male Sudanese refugees living in the city have created shared group hosting arrangements. In Amman, such practices are recognised as being particularly prevalent among Sudanese men as compared to other refugee groups (Baslan, Kvittingen, and Perlmann 2017), though I rarely saw such arrangements between Sudanese refugee women.

Sticking together: enabling presence through care
Sitting with Ali one day, I asked him how he felt about his life in Jordan. He replied: Well it's kind of moody . . . .Sometimes I feel good, I'm with my friends, and I'm still alive and things are going well, I'm waiting. And sometimes, it turns around and I feel bad and like I'm away and restricted by rules, regulations, government, and stuff. And when I go to the street, Jordanian and other people, they do not look at me as a real human, like them.
As expressed by Ali, Sudanese refugee men in Jordan are caught by exclusionary restrictions and regulations and outright hostility that interact with nearly all domains of their everyday lives. Forced to wait in displacement by the limited access to desired resettlement, they are often subjected to prolonged waiting over several years for refugee status determination interviews by UNHCR Jordan, as seen in many other contexts around the world (Gil Everaert 2020). Living in host relationships is one response to these realities of their lives in displacement.
Sudanese hosting relationships in Amman take place between refugees, with little to no external support from humanitarian agencies or non-Sudanese host community members. These relationships are not organised by an NGO or another organisation but rather formed directly by the people involved. The shared group housing arrangements among Sudanese men which form the basis of this article are characterised by a relatively large number (3-10) of men sharing a house or, more typically, an apartment. In the homes I visited, two or three men shared each room, with a shared common living space and a kitchen. Each man is expected to contribute to rent, food, and other joint costs monthly, however, if he is not able to cover his share, his housemates will support him for as long as is required for him to find work. Although there are Sudanese households across the city, the men I worked with currently lived in the relatively central districts of Jabal Amman, Jabal Hussein and Weibdeh. From here, they could walk to some of the organisations offering services, or easily reach the downtown area, wasat albalad, to shop or spend time together. While these areas are more expensive, the men highlighted they are somewhat safer than other areas, with less harassment, although verbal abuse was still prevalent. Speaking to the men about their favourite places in the city, they identified the popular, multi-cultural and freely accessible areas of Rainbow Street, the Roman Theatre (downtown) and the Cultural Street in Shmeisani as places where they could see something new and escape their daily routines.

Enabling presence
One of the most immediate benefits of hosting is access to shelter. As recounted by Hillal: 'If you do not have work that means you will be outside the house, you will sleep in the street, and that is so hard for us. That is why we live together and help each other. That is why. This is our situation'. The high costs of living in urban Amman were frequently mentioned by the participants in my research, in conjunction with the uncertainty and informality of their employment. Thus, in a very direct way, hosting enables the men's presence in the city.
Another benefit of living in hosting arrangements is an increased sense of safety and protection. Ali explained: We all feel bad, and then things gradually change but we have to be stuck to each other because if you're away, or if you are alone, you might get attacked by somebody and when they kill you, life is done, nobody can bring it back to you . . . So we have to keep each other safe.
The men explicitly identified living together as a way to cope with the physical, structural and normative violence they frequently experienced, through physically protecting one another, sharing information, witnessing attacks, and providing support to discuss and share such experiences. Returning to Ali, when I asked how he tried to manage his situation, he told me: Well the only thing that we're doing, we just gather together. We go to our cafe, and then we talk. We talk it out, they say that I am feeling in the same situation. The guys will talk and find a way to share.
When Ali refers to 'our café' he is speaking about a particular café downtown where the men feel more welcome than in other spaces. The café is a further vital resource for the sharing of information and making connections, and one of the few physical spaces in Amman with a Sudanese identity -at the time of our interview, Ali identified only two 'Sudanese cafes'. While other spaces may emerge at certain times, such as during skateboarding sessions at 7hills skate park -a community-based non-profit that aims to create safe public spaces for youth in Jordan, these are more transitory and impermanent places (see also El-Abed, Jordan, & Shahzadeh, Forthcoming).
As well as providing a mechanism for pooling costs and providing safety nets in times of unemployment, hosting relationships provide a network through which employment opportunities are found: men who lived together often helped each other to find work, and men who worked together often lived together. Similarly, some hosting arrangements are formed around participants' dedication to studying and the support they offer to each other. Hosting relationships and education and employment activities should not, therefore, be considered as distinct spheres of activity. Rather, hosting enables men's participation in these economic activities and is influenced by them. For these men, their dedicated efforts to participate in education and employment in displacement are simultaneously a way to improve their circumstances within their current displacement and to potentially improve chances for resettlement and 'success' once resettled.
Across multiple domains (material, economic, social), hosting provided a mechanism for people to be able to remain in the city, a practice through which Sudanese refugees in Amman create the social and physical fact of their presence in an otherwise largely hostile city. However, despite the positive aspects of living in hosting arrangements, hosting can also be dangerous -overcrowded, stressful, with poor living conditions, and a lack of privacy. In the most extreme cases, participants may be vulnerable to exploitation and abuse. For the people I worked with, hosting was typically not a preference, but rather a way to confront the realities of day-to-day uncertainty during their displacement in urban contexts.

Engendering responsibilities
The men's hosting relationships enable and create their spaces within Amman and are founded on a shared experience of displacement and marginalisation and a recognition of their interdependence. As stated by Ali, 'You know, us together we go, us together we work, the world we share, the places and histories . . . so we have to manage, we have to be stuck together'. Participants also spoke of hosting as contributing to a sense of belonging, maintaining a sense of identity and connection to the community, and making a positive contribution to society. For example, Ibrahim, who lives with his brother and an unrelated man, Adam, explained how he began living together with Adam: I'm sure with him you have to come with us. Firstly, because you live alone, and secondly your home is not allowed or unacceptable to us because you are a member. Yes, he told us ok no problem and he came.
While there are multiple layers to Ibrahim's reasoning for insisting that Adam moved in with him, the quote above shows the importance of the sense of membership and in being together, not alone.
Such arrangements took on a form of diffused reciprocity. Ali told me 'Yeah, this is the same situation that one day you're going to get the same thing, so I have to help you'. Though an individual was not expected to pay back any support directly, hosting was enmeshed in relations of diffused reciprocity, and supporting others when needed had become an important part of being an upstanding member of the Sudanese refugee society in Amman. Othman, a young man living with four other unrelated men, explained 'We care about one another, and we support one another. So that is one of the good things, that we understand one another, and we support one another'. As such, hosting does not only rely on care but also creates it. Prolonged and repeated interactions can enmesh people in relationships of care (Kathiravelu 2012), although such entanglements are not always desirable (Landau 2018, and see also Alkan in this issue for a discussion of gendered experiences of care). In the case of Sudanese refugees in Amman, these entanglements and relations of care cumulate in, reinforce and are generated by hosting relationships.
As with the direct provision of shelter, the exchange of care through immaterial exchange enables the men to maintain their presence in the city. Beyond this, in creating new ways of being together that rely on claims towards one another, hosting also works to articulate mutual responsibilities for one another and creates alternate scripts (Isin 2017) of how to be a good member of the Sudanese refugee community that relies on the everyday exchange of care.

The consequences of care
An ethics of care depends on a recognised interdependence with others (Held 2006), and in the case of the men I worked with, recognition of these independencies stemmed in part from a sense of shared identity and experience as young, black, Sudanese, refugee men living in Amman. Caring practices may be altered through migration (Raghuram 2016;Serra Mingot and Mazzucato 2019), and in the displacement context, the men have expanded their definition of who receives this level of support, moving beyond biological family to the 'new' family of close housemates. These relationships did not replace family relationships of care, and neither were all participants in a household equally included. However, the men have become intrinsically part of one another, and helping each other and sharing the marginal resources they have is an important part of being recognised as an 'upstanding' man in their society. In centring an ethics of care as the primary framework through which to understand the men's hosting relationships, I emphasise that men do care. To further our understanding of care and migration, we need to pay greater attention to how men talk about care, how they give and receive care (Locke 2017), and the implications of this care, for the individuals involved and other.
In creating new ways to be, enabling their stay in the city, and seeking to defy their marginality, the men construct their presence (Darling 2017). Their shared understanding of the injustice of their position in Amman has in part motivated their care for one another -both on the level of meeting essential needs, but also as a claim to rights and presence. In this, there are echoes of Isin's notion of 'activist citizenship', a citizenship that 'acts in a way that disrupts already defined orders, practices and statuses' (Isin 2017, 384) creating new forms of belonging and ways to be. However, Isin states that activist citizenships 'create a scene ' (2017, 379). While this phrase connotes highly visible disruption, practices taking place within daily life and in hidden spaces may also offer a quiet disruption to existing norms of belonging and of violent exclusion (Harker 2012;Staeheli et al. 2012).
This everyday disruption is more reminiscent of Bayat's description of the 'quiet encroachment of the ordinary' (2013, 15) and non-movements of informal city dwellers. The relations that constitute hosting are both allowing for everyday urban encroachment and collective mobilisation at moments of threat or opportunity. However, while Bayat (2013) focuses on how urban migrants encroach on the private and propertied as a distinguishing feature of non-movements, my work here shows that the men's relations of care with one another are foundational in enabling their presence and securing space for further claims to social rights. Here, I return to Lister's (2007) contention that while care acts are not in themselves acts of citizenship, they provide the resources for further claims in the public sphere. With the men's hosting relationships situated in the domestic sphere, yet serving as a semi-public institution within their community, there is no clear cut line between the care and the politics they enable. Analysing care and inhabitation among urban migrants in Italy, Boano and Astolfo (2020) contrast the ethical care practices of humanitarian bodies with the strategies of refugees and migrants 'to negotiate life, to resist marginalization, and to maintain and repair the world' (Boano and Astolfo 2020, 4). Similarly, Dadusc, Grazioli and Martinez (2019) argue that inhabitation transgresses and subverts institutional humanitarian attempts to house people within emergency shelters and camps, and goes beyond claims to citizenship. Following such approaches, I argue that refugee-refugee hosting practices hold the potential for lived citizenship, enacted through everyday and ordinary acts of care. Paying attention to the everyday acts of hosting, therefore, shifts the focus from legal status and state-centric notions of citizenship towards a more relational understanding of care and inhabitation as acts of citizenship.
As with other migrant groups in precarious or uncertain positions, the men's politicisation is ambivalent and simultaneously purposeful, political, and the result of frustration or desperation (McNevin 2013). It is rarely possible for the men to act beyond the ever-present constraints of their legal status as refugees. Compared to, for example, the protests of 2015 claiming recognition from the Jordanian government and UNHCR, hosting is a less visible disruption and claim to rights. However, in allowing for sustained presence and inhabitation, the act of hosting nonetheless transforms the options for Sudanese refugee men in Amman and allows for openness to unknown possibilities (Simone 2020). Such claims to right are not overt struggles, but rather allow for the negotiation of the messiness of everyday life in displacement. In doing so, hosting relationships become sites for resisting restriction, furthering claims, and affirming refugees' rightful presence.

Conclusion
Through hosting, the men form new bases from which to articulate and enact their claims to rights. While the men themselves might not conceptualise these acts as acts of citizenship, their everyday social relations nonetheless have substantial impacts in enacting their responsibilities to one another, and in securing their basic social rights, including housing, work, and protection As such, they may be read as forms of lived citizenship.
Their relationships are vital in maintaining their presence, and thereby for their positioning themselves as urban subjects with claims towards rights. The recognition of people's presence, created and maintained through intricate webs of care between individuals is a vital component of understanding the everyday politics and realities of people's lives in displacement.
The understanding of how such acts of lived citizenship may emerge and be enacted even in situations that are perceived -and hoped -to be temporary further adds to the existing literature that has analysed the multiplicity of citizenships that refugees may hold, and allows us to explore when, as well as where, acts of citizenship are enacted. Sites of belonging are not pre-existing categories, but dynamic entities formed through contest, struggle, and the articulation of claims to belonging (Isin 2017). However, for the Sudanese refugee men I worked with these relational claims emerge from the absence of routes to formal participation and in a largely hostile environment of limited rights. While the men may be able to position themselves as subjects in relation to one another and make incremental gains within the city, their positions vis-à-vis the state remain tenuous and fragile. In such a context, overstating the power of personal relations risks obscuring the ever-present risks that remain. The increasing recognition of the long-term presence of refugees in urban environments has provoked renewed attention to questions of who belongs in urban areas, on what basis, and what these positions entail. As cities are increasingly at the forefront of responding to refugee movements, it remains vital to take seriously the personal relations that are embedded in the everyday life of cities and the political consequences that they entail.

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Funding
This research was supported by a 150 th Anniversary Studentship from Oxford Brookes University, and by a travel grant from the ISA Charity Trust.

Notes on contributor
Zoë Jordan is a Senior Lecturer at the Centre for Development and Emergency Practice at Oxford Brookes University. Her research interests include forced migration, protracted and urban displacement, ethics of care and informal assistance in humanitarian contexts, and education and employment in displacement.