Syrian Women: Efforts and Ambitions to Cope in Turkey
No doubt the last five years have changed Syrians’ lives, this has also changed how they see themselves in a milieu that’s, according to many of them, quite different than the homeland. Not all the families fled the war-ravaged Syria concurrently, of course. Reasons differ, but it always comes down to the moment of facing death. Life is harsh when innocents have to leave, and readapting to a new life is tiring.
With the diaspora of the Syrian people, women are facing sociological and psychological conflicts as widows, internally displaced and refugees. According to the latest figures from The UN’s Refugee Agency, 21.2 percent of Turkey’s 2.7 million registered Syrian refugees are women aged between 18–59. Some are placed in border camps and receive intermittent humanitarian aid from NGOs, while others have the benefit of being resettled in towns with, theoretically, better conditions.
For refugees, it’s not easy to get a job in Turkey, even with a university degree and years of experience. Turkey has enacted new legislation to regulate refugees labor conditions, but in practice they still lack access to legal work.
Besides being known as skilled, Syrian housewives also proved that they can be responsible and share family burdens in exile. In home-cooked food, handmade crafts and events planning, formerly employed women have tried to find themselves again. And it’s helped their integration into Turkish society, securing a source of income and investing in their leisure time.
In Turkey’s southeastern border town of Gaziantep, a modest handmade crafts bazaar was taken root as the first of its kind in the town, where 12 Syrian housewives enthusiastically participate with what they have. “I don’t know all of them, but I didn’t face any difficulties to gather them. They were waiting for my call,” said Dina, one of the bazaar organizers. “I’ve had to apologize to eight more women as there isn’t enough space. Over 250 guests came and bought stuff yesterday. All this made us decide to re-organize another event in a bigger place so more women can participate.”
The bazaar’s venue is a kindergarten run by Dina’s partner, Reem, who chose the venue due to the very limited budget of the event. “Although the participation fee to rent a table is 75 Turkish Lira ($25.60), which isn’t that much, still many women can’t afford to pay it,” Reem said. “If the event is financially supported we would definitely have hosted more.”
I met some participants at the bazaar, who spoke candidly about their experiences.
Dina: “Any project needs capital, and we Syrians can’t risk a lot of money in a foreign country. But with little money you can show the people how your work is fantastic. Many girls and women do amazing stuff at home, but they don’t dare to take a step forward establishing a business. I helped a girl to show herself to the Syrian community here. I even made business cards for her.”
Amany: “I’m a pharmacy graduate. I had a pharmacy in Aleppo. I came to Antep four years ago and wanted to work as a pharmacist, but no one allowed me to do, so I thought of my secondary profession. Our financial status in Aleppo was better. I would show my customers my handmade mattresses and dresses, and I would sell on a larger scale. A month ago I opened a small shop for makeup and wedding accessories. My mom helps me. I have Turkish customers, and they adore my work.”
Raneem: “I recently attended a course on making cakes and desserts. After that I did something that amazed my relatives. I couldn’t imagine that it’s going to work. Qet’aat Hob (A Piece of Love) is the name of my kitchen. I like the meaning in Arabic. I also believe that doing something from your heart makes it prettier. We, the women of Aleppo, always feel the pride of our cuisine. I hope to have my own bakery and to have Turks buying my products.”
Raghad: “I recycle and decorate used glass bottles and cardboard into vases. I also work with etamin (cross stitching). I brought much of my work in Syria with me. When the war erupted, there weren’t raw materials, like yarn. Even here, I face difficulties to find materials. I buy from Ankara, and it’s too expensive for me. Working with etamin is hard, expensive and time-consuming. It’s originally a Turkish craft not Syrian, but I like it.”
Dina: “This wasn’t my profession in Syria, but I’ve had a passion for it for a long time. It was a hobby, and I worked it well for me and my relatives before. I’ve been here for three years. I see when Syrians have a wedding party or any occasion they get lost in what to do and from where to buy their supplies. The language barrier is another problem. A month and a half ago I decided to turn the old event planning hobby into a profession and show that to people. Next month I have a client, an opening of an electronics shop.”
Ghidaa: “I came here a year ago. In Damascus, I was an administrative officer and all that was like a pastime activity that I decided to take seriously just four months ago. I work from home — no ability to start a business at all. But I hope one day to have my own custom jewelry business. You know, to tell me that you like a piece of my jewelry means a lot more to me than just buying it. I have 1,000 fans on my Facebook page, and I share my work with them. When a girl wants to buy my stuff we meet in front of Sanko Mall. Everyone knows it. [But] I still can’t count on this as a real source of income. Sometimes I don’t sell anything for 10 days.”
Bushra and Hala: “We lived in Sanaa, Yemen, for 18 years and came last year when the war broke out there. We’re very interested in home-cooked food. Our friends encouraged us, saying we cook pretty delicious food. There is a barrier between women and the market, and now we have free time that we didn’t have before in Syria. Also the living expenses are getting more and more expensive here, which is the thing that makes us sometimes feel the need to work and do something.”
This story has also been published by Egyptian Streets and Refugee Streets.
