The moment he arrived home to Syria from Türkiye, Ahmed al-Kassem held his sister in a tight embrace, tears streaming down their faces. They hadn't seen each other in more than a decade and now were reunited only days after the fall of Syrian President Bashar Assad.
But soon, the former refugee’s joy was tinged by uncertainty about the future of his war-torn homeland. His old house in the city of Aleppo was too damaged to live in, and the family home he had brought his wife and children to had no electricity or running water.
“If I had known, I don’t know if I would have come,” the 38-year-old al-Kassem said. “Our life in Türkiye was not perfect, but what we are seeing here is a disaster.”
Al-Kassem and his family are among the more than 7,600 Syrian refugees who Turkish officials say have crossed back into Syria from Türkiye since Dec. 9 when Assad was swept out of power by the opposition factions. Thousands more have come back from neighboring Lebanon. The Associated Press documented the return of al-Kassem's family, from their crossing out of Türkiye with a truckload of belongings on Dec. 13 to their first days in Aleppo, a city still scarred by the long civil war.
They leave behind a life they built in Türkiye over the past 11 years. Four of his five children were born in Türkiye and know Syria and their relatives here only through video chats. For al-Kassem and his wife, it’s a chance to rejoin their family, resume their lives, and introduce their kids -- three girls and two boys aged 7 to 14 -- to their Syrian heritage.
But it’s a dive into the unknown of a new Syria still being formed. There’s little chance Türkiye will let them back.
At Türkiye’s Oncupinar border crossing, they waited in line for hours and then had to hand over to Turkish officials the “temporary protection” documents that certified their refugee status and right to be in the country.
On the Syrian side of the border, known as Bab al-Salameh, they unloaded their belongings – including a carpet and a washing machine – from the Turkish truck and placed them into another truck and van.
For an hour, they rode across northwest Syria until they reached Aleppo’s Masaken Hanano district. By now it was after nightfall, and the neighborhood was shrouded in darkness, with no electricity. They passed buildings destroyed or damaged years ago in fighting.
Using the light on his mobile phone, al-Kassem led his family down a dark alleyway and found his sister’s one-story house. It was intact but dark. There in front of the house, he had his tearful reunion with his sister. The kids hugged their cousins for the first time.
But the initial reality was hard.
When AP journalists met al-Kassem again three days later, he had sent his children to another relative’s house because his sister’s home had no electricity or running water. The relative’s house at least had a few hours of each every day, he said.
Al-Kassem wondered if he made the right decision bringing his family back so soon.
“When I saw my country liberated, I got up and returned with my children, to introduce them to our homeland and show them their country,” al-Kassem said. “But when my children came here and saw the situation, they were really surprised. They didn’t expect this.”
In Türkiye, they had water, electricity, the internet –“all life’s essentials were available,” he said. “But here, as you can see, we have been here for days with no water. I have no idea where I will go with my children.”
His 14-year-old daughter, Rawiya, said she was pleased to be reunited with her relatives. But she was worried about starting school in Aleppo after years in Turkish schools. She speaks Arabic but can’t read or write it.
“It will be difficult for me to start learning Arabic from zero,” said Rawiya. “Despite this, I’m happy to be in Syria.”
Rawiya was 4 when her family fled Aleppo in 2013. At the time, the opposition held the eastern districts of the city and fighting was ferocious with Assad’s forces holding the western half. A mosque behind al-Kassem’s house was repeatedly hit by shelling – and the day the shelling hit his house, he decided it was time to go.
They settled in the Turkish city of Kahramanmaras, where al-Kassem worked in construction, as he had in Aleppo. There, his other children were born and raised, becoming fluent in Turkish while speaking little Arabic.
Once a vital economic hub and Syria’s largest city, Aleppo was ravaged by years of fighting, until government forces with help from Russia and Iran finally recaptured the entire city in 2016. Much of the eastern section remains in ruins, many of the buildings still concrete skeletons with a few partially rebuilt by residents.
In Aleppo’s Old City, a Syrian revolutionary flag now hangs from the historic castle, where crowds continue to celebrate Assad’s downfall. Dozens of people strolled outside the ancient structure, some carrying or wearing the flag. The streets were filled with residents and visitors.
“We are here today to share the joy with everyone,” said Huzam Jbara, a mother from nearby Idlib province visiting Aleppo Castle with her two daughters for the first time in 10 years. “We are very happy, and we got rid of the tyrant who oppressed his people, killed his people, and locked them in prisons.”
In Aleppo’s Kostaki Homsi Street, lines stretched outside bakeries as people waited for bread — a sign of the widespread poverty in Syria’s wrecked economy.
In his first days back in Aleppo, al-Kassem found his old home in Masaken Hanano. The windows were shattered, all the belongings they left behind were gone.
He reflected on his life in Türkiye. They faced hardships there, including the COVID pandemic and a devastating 2023 earthquake. Now they will face hardships returning here, he said.
“But I have to adapt to the situation,” al-Kassem said. ” Why? Because it still is my homeland, my home, and our people are here.”
