Syrian Beekeepers Battle Both War and Climate Change 

Syrian beekeeper Ibrahim Damiriya struggles to produce honey from his hives on parched land in Rankus village near the capital Damascus on September 11, 2023 after years of war, economic collapse and worsening climate change. (AFP)
Syrian beekeeper Ibrahim Damiriya struggles to produce honey from his hives on parched land in Rankus village near the capital Damascus on September 11, 2023 after years of war, economic collapse and worsening climate change. (AFP)
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Syrian Beekeepers Battle Both War and Climate Change 

Syrian beekeeper Ibrahim Damiriya struggles to produce honey from his hives on parched land in Rankus village near the capital Damascus on September 11, 2023 after years of war, economic collapse and worsening climate change. (AFP)
Syrian beekeeper Ibrahim Damiriya struggles to produce honey from his hives on parched land in Rankus village near the capital Damascus on September 11, 2023 after years of war, economic collapse and worsening climate change. (AFP)

Syrian beekeeper Ibrahim Damiriya struggles to produce honey from his hives on parched land near the capital Damascus after years of war, economic collapse and worsening climate change impacts.

"The war bled us dry. We could barely keep our beekeeping business afloat, and then the insane weather made things worse," the 62-year-old in a beekeeping suit told AFP as he examined meagre honey stocks inside the hives.

Before Syria's conflict erupted in 2011, Damiriya owned 110 hives in Rankus, a village near Damascus that was once filled with apple orchards.

But now a combination of fighting, severe drought and a grueling economic crisis have left him with a mere 40 hives in semi-arid lands, decimating his honey yield.

Rankus was once renowned for its honey, but was hard hit by fighting between government forces and opposition factions that caused widespread destruction, pushing many residents to flee.

Damiriya can barely afford to tend to his hives, donated by the International Committee for the Red Cross (ICRC) to help Syrian beekeepers.

"If we keep suffering from climate change and rising prices, I might have to abandon my profession," Damiriya said with a sigh.

Since 2011, Syria's war has killed more than half a million people and caused an acute economic crisis, exacerbated by severe Western sanctions.

Recent years have also battered Syria with heatwaves, low rainfall and more forest fires.

'Extreme weather'

A 2019 United Nations report found that fighting had practically wiped out hives, with bombs contaminating the environment and pesticide misuse and a proliferation of parasites speeding up their decline.

Syria used to be home to 635,000 hives before the war, but their numbers had dwindled to about 150,000 at the height of the conflict in 2016, said Iyad Daaboul, the Damascus-based president of the Arab Beekeepers Union.

Today that number has risen back up to 400,000, he said. However, the hives yield only 1,500 tons of honey per year -- half of the country's pre-war production.

Unusually cold springs and drought have had an adverse effect on the flowers that bees feed on.

"Extreme weather conditions have greatly affected bees, especially during spring -- the most important time in their life cycle," said Daaboul.

The number of beekeepers has nearly halved from 32,000 before the war to around 18,000 today, he said.

Another threat to the bees is the forest fires which have become more common as temperatures rise.

Fires "have destroyed more than 1,000 hives on Syria's coastal mountains and stripped bees of large foraging areas", Daaboul said.

'Unusually cold'

Rising temperatures and desertification have taken a toll on Syria's greenery, destroying many of the plants on whose flowers the bees feed and squeezing the once-thriving agriculture sector.

Damascus ICRC spokesperson Suhair Zakkout told AFP that "Syria's agricultural production has fallen by approximately 50 percent over the last 10 years" because of war and climate change.

Despite being one of the countries most badly affected by global warming, Syria has lacked the funds it needs to tackle environmental issues, Zakkout said.

Climate change has devastated farmer Ziad Rankusi's apple orchards, which have also been greatly thinned by illegal logging as people struggle to keep warm during the winter amid recurrent fuel shortages.

Rankusi, who is in his 50s, used to tend more than 1,000 trees on his land, but just 400 survive, and they are drying out in the heat.

"For about five years, we have had unprecedented droughts and desertification, and this year the spring was unusually cold. The fruit perished," said the farmer.

"When trees and flowers disappear, bees can no longer feed. They either migrate or die."



Flashy Villas, Cars and Drugs: Assad’s Legacy in Latakia

A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)
A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)
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Flashy Villas, Cars and Drugs: Assad’s Legacy in Latakia

A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)
A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)

The drive winds between manicured lavender-lined lawns to a crescent-shaped home with a gleaming swimming pool on the Syrian coast: Bashar al-Assad's holiday hideaway disgusts those who now come here.

"To think that he spent all that money and we lived in misery," spat Mudar Ghanem, 26.

He is grey-skinned and his eyes are sunken after spending 36 days in a Damascus jail, accused like other suspected dissidents of "terrorism" against the ousted president's rule.

Now he had come "to see with my own eyes how they lived while other people had no electricity", Ghanem told AFP, standing by the windows of a huge white-marbled living room.

"I don't care if the next president lives here too," he added, "as long as he looks after the people and doesn't humiliate us."

The Assad holiday home is in Latakia, Syria's second largest port after Tartus. It is in an area that is the heartland of the Assad clan's Alawite sect.

On Sunday, a week after the deposed president fled Syria a lightning opposition offensive after his family had ruled for more than five decades, curious people came to see how Assad had lived.

This was just one of three Assad villas on the outskirts of the city.

In scenes that were unimaginable just days ago, Syrians wandered through the luxury home that is now guarded by a handful of fighters.

There was no air of triumphalism, just stupefaction and anger at how Assad had lived a life of luxury in this idyllic seaside spot.

Over the past week the house itself has been ransacked, stripped of its last doorknob, but the grandeur of its rooms and the antique mosaic adorning the entrance bear witness to its standing.

- Showroom -

The land used to be owned by Nura's family.

"They chased us away. I didn't dare come back" before now, the 37-year-old said, adding that she intends to seek legal redress to get her property back.

Most people who spoke to AFP on Sunday, like Nura, spoke freely but preferred not to give their full names. Despite its downfall, the fear instilled by the Assad name is still there.

"You never know -- they could come back," said 45-year-old Nemer, after parking his motorbike outside a flashy villa.

The house belonged to Munzer al-Assad, a cousin of the former leader.

Along with his brother, who died in 2015, Munzer ran the notorious "shabiha" militia, known for its abuses and trafficking operations.

"It's the first time I've stopped here," Nemer said. "In the past the guards would chase us away. We weren't allowed to park."

The two-storey house had also been stripped. Chandeliers, furniture, stucco moldings... all gone. Family photographs ripped up and portraits torn from now bare walls. The looters had been busy.

"I get 20 dollars a month. I have to do two jobs just to feed my family," Nemer said, bitter at the memory of Assad clan convoys that used to speed through the city streets.

Munzer's son Hafez ran a car showroom -- Syria Car. Now just a single vehicle sits there among the broken glass.

The car won't start, so people have been pulling it apart, destroying its bodywork, windows and upholstery. A young couple pretended to get behind the wheel.

- On a mission -

Lawyer Hassan Anwar, another visitor, was on a mission. The 51-year-old inspected the premises, searching for any documentation that could be later used in court.

He said this was because Hafez was well known for confiscating cars or buying them for well below market price before selling them on.

"Several complaints have been filed," Anwar said.

"Syria Car" was in fact one big money-laundering operation to mask the family's trafficking operations, the lawyer said.

On the pavement outside, two passers-by stopped beside a sewer grating. They lifted it up and scooped out hundreds of small white pills.

This was captagon, a banned amphetamine-like stimulant. It became Syria's largest export, turning the country under Assad into the world's biggest narco state.

They said massive quantities of the drug had been found nationwide after Assad fell.

Lawyer Anwar said pills had been exported from Latakia inside clothing labels.

Accompanied by two young opposition fighters newly arrived from Idlib province, Anwar entered the building beside the showroom, stepping through its broken window. As he did so, a young guard, Hilal, appeared.

In the basement, Hilal had discovered brand new scales still in their boxes -- "for weighing drugs", he said -- along with box after box of glassware, pipettes and tubes he said were used to manufacture amphetamines.

"I'm shocked by the scale of these crimes," said 30-year-old Ali, one of the two fighters from Idlib.

As Ghanem said at Assad's sumptuous holiday villa, standing there and looking out to sea, "God will have his revenge."