Syrian refugees reimagine their homeland

The idea of revolution continues to smoulder in Syrians as they try to rebuild their lives in refugee camps in southern Turkey

HATAY/GAZIANTEP, Turkey — Syrian refugees living inside or outside the camps in Turkey’s southeastern frontier provinces are bound by one common vision: a homeland free from Bashar al Assad, the Syrian regime leader who faced an armed rebellion that challenged his autocratic rule.

The impact of six years of grueling war is visible on their faces. Men who looked youthful before the war now have graying hair, wrinkled faces and tired bodies. Women who lost their husbands and sons speak with pride about how they became “martyrs for the cause.”

TRT World spent a week in refugee camps in southern Turkey and met with Syrians of different ages and cultural backgrounds. They discussed their identities and how they are coping with life. From the relationship between a father and daughter, to a former fighter who now runs a barber shop, we explore the broader implications of the war through this series of portraits.

Emira Salih, 42, Hatay

I was a teacher and my husband was a school principal in Aleppo. Initially, he did not fight in the war. But as Assad’s forces began to raid our neighbourhood, he took up arms to defend us. One day he came home around noon. Fighter jets were making rounds over the neighbourhood. Two of our daughters also returned from school. The school administration sent them home, thinking the jets might pound their building. We all gathered in the garden. I scolded my two-year-old son for playing with dirt in a corner. He cried and ran inside the house. As I followed him, my husband asked me to fetch a lighter from the kitchen.

Inside, a heavy wave pulled me down on the floor. I couldn’t understand what it was. A few minutes later, I realised a bomb had been dropped on my garden, which was covered in mud and blood. I heard my daughters crying. They both were badly injured. One of them said: “Mother, something is stuck in my leg.” I found her leg was almost gone. Only a piece of vein held it together. I told her not to worry and make a prayer. My husband was lying nearby. I didn’t hear anything from him. Soon after, people showed up and drove my daughters to hospital. I couldn’t understand why they left my husband behind. At the hospital, my daughters were on different stretchers. I didn’t know which one to take care of in that moment. My younger daughter lost her right leg and the older one received injuries in one of her legs.

Later I realised that my husband had died instantly.

My daughters were transferred to Turkey for medical treatment. So we came to Gaziantep. Shortly after moving here, I met with an accident. A car jumped the red light and hit me at a pedestrian crossing. I don’t know what will happen in future. I have faith in Allah. My children have no one except for me. Normally as a mother I am the one who is supposed to console my daughter. But like my children, I too have deep wounds. One day, when someone bought a pair of boots for one of my daughters, she hid them from me. She told her sister that “if our mother sees them, she will remember that I don’t have one leg and that will make her cry”.

Muhammed Hajhalil, 55, Nizip camp, Gaziantep

My son and wife were martyred on the same day. My wife was hit by a bomb and my son died fighting [against the Assad regime]. I have one more son and he has been detained by the regime forces. I have only one daughter left. So we came here together four years ago.

I heard about my wife’s killing after I buried my son. I came back home and found women were already bathing her body.

I’m trying to keep myself busy with this garden here. It’s hard to forget what’s been done to us but I’m trying to spend some time here. I grow onions, parsley, garlic, mint and turnip here.

Omer Mircan, 12, Nizip camp, Gaziantep

I feel very good when I pray. I feel like my stress is going away. I miss being at my home in Syria, and I miss my cousins too. We used to play football together at our grandparents’ house. I pray for many other things, but I mostly pray about going back to Syria. I want everyone in this camp to be able to go back to Syria.

Hasan Kivani, Barber, 22, Nizip camp, Gaziantep

I mostly shave beards here. I also cut hair. Most of the youth in the camp want those fashionable haircuts. I can’t say that I’m the best barber in this camp but I can make different hairstyles by looking at a picture.

I was a barber in Syria. I like this job. I learnt it from my uncle when I was 15. As the war intensified four years ago, I left Aleppo and came to Turkey. Soon after I heard the news of my barbershop being destroyed in Assad’s bombing campaign. I was really upset but I had to pull myself together.

Some of my friends have been martyred, some are still fighting. I fought for a while as well. I’m the eldest son in the family. My father died a year before the war. That’s why I need to take care of them. My younger brother is still fighting [with the Free Syrian Army] so someone has to work. It’s a heavy burden.

Fatima Jindi, Boynuyoğun camp, Hatay

She is the oldest woman in the camp

I have seven children. I have lost five of them. One of them died because of heart disease. The other ones died in bomb attacks. I pray to Allah for everything. Everything belongs to him, and we will return to him. Only one of my sons came here to Turkey with me and he has lost his son in the fighting. My grandson was very young and kindhearted. I am 100 years old now. Look at my hands! I love knitting but it is getting hard with my eyes becoming weak. I’m thankful to Allah for the opportunities, but I miss my daughter in Idlib very much.

Abdullah Ismael, 28, Nizip camp, Gaziantep

I played for Etihad for seven years in Aleppo. It is one of the leading football clubs of Syria, something like Besiktas of Istanbul. It was a good team. In 2006, we played against Turkey’s Fenerbahce. I played as left winger. I am good at shooting the ball with both my feet. My coach called me Maradona.

But the war in Syria changed everything. While my family moved to Gaziantep, Turkey, and began a new life as refugees, I stayed back and joined the Free Syrian Army. I fought against the Assad regime for two years. During that time, I missed my family and football a lot. In 2013, I came to Gaziantep to see my parents, wife and children in the refugee camp. I chose to retire from fighting and live with them. In the camp, I met other professional players and we formed a team. We practice football almost every evening. Our team participates in local Turkish leagues in Gaziantep.

Hassan Osman, 40, and his daughter Wafa Hassan, 16, at Nizip camp, Gaziantep

Hassan:

I had several clothing stores, a car and a house in Damascus, Syria. The Assad regime stole my car and bombed my store. In 2012, I was imprisoned for six months. The first six days I spent in a cell as big as a single mattress, and I was tortured for about two months. I couldn’t imagine I was ever going to get out. I thought about my daughters. I thought, how they are going to survive without me?

I bribed one of Assad’s top military generals and traded my freedom.

Wafa:

I missed my father when he was in prison. I missed all those little things he would do for us. Every evening when he came home after work, he would hug me, talk to me for long hours. He wouldn’t even go and see his wife. I missed all that.

Recep Recbu, 67, and his new friend, Ahmed al Hayek, 56, at Boynuyoğun camp, Hatay

Recep Recbu and Ahmed al Hayek met for the first time in the refugee camp, even though they come from the same village in Syria.

Recbu:

I had an agriculture business in Syria. I have lost 500 apple trees, 150 olive trees and all other different kind of fruit trees. I knew of Ahmed because everyone knows everyone in our village. We came here separately five years ago. I saw him living in the container across the street. Our first interaction happened in the camp’s meeting area. Since then, we have been meeting almost every day. We often marvel aloud: ‘when will the war end?’ It is always the same subject. If there was no war, I think we could have become friends in Syria at some point.

Ahmed al Hayek:

I knew of my friend [Recep]. We love each other now, but I don’t think we could have met and become friends in Syria.

I was into real estate business back in Syria. Me and my family are well-known in the area. I had two houses. One in the village and one in the city. The one in the village was destroyed in Assad’s bombing. And the regime soldiers occupied my home in the city. I also had three cars. Before moving here, I sold them for almost nothing. I’m not sad about losing what I had. I prefer to live as a poor man in my country but with honour and dignity.

Muhammad Haji Yousuf, 30, Nizip camp, Gaziantep

I left my hometown in Latakia, Syria, four years ago and came to Turkey. My daughter, Jannah, was born in this camp. I show her the pictures of our house in Syria on Whatsapp [a smartphone application], tell her stories about our village, and that we would move back soon. I don’t want her to consider this camp as her home. I hide one thing from her, though: I haven’t told her that our house in Syria doesn’t exist anymore, that it was bombed two years ago.

Fadhal Sayaddi, 50, Nizip camp, Gaziantep

Back home in Syria, I have an uncle, who is 100 years old. Last year, he called me and said if there is anything precious I have left behind in my house and that if he should send it to me. I said I would be thankful to him if he could send me our Shajra, the family tree. I am one of the descendants of Prophet Muhammad. I have memorised the names of 44 great grandfathers of mine. It is very important for me because it goes back to Prophet Muhammad. It gives me peace.

Pictures: Syed Waqas Hussain and Bilge Nesibe Kotan

Text: Mehboob Jeelani and Bilge Nesibe Kotan