Syrian Woman Haunts Assad’s Notorious Prison for Clues of Relatives’ Fate

Hayat al-Turki, 27, looks at a cell inside Sednaya prison, which was known as a slaughterhouse under Syria's Bashar al-Assad rule, hoping to find her relatives, after the opposition seized the capital and announced that they have ousted Assad, in Sednaya, Syria, December 11, 2024. (Reuters)
Hayat al-Turki, 27, looks at a cell inside Sednaya prison, which was known as a slaughterhouse under Syria's Bashar al-Assad rule, hoping to find her relatives, after the opposition seized the capital and announced that they have ousted Assad, in Sednaya, Syria, December 11, 2024. (Reuters)
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Syrian Woman Haunts Assad’s Notorious Prison for Clues of Relatives’ Fate

Hayat al-Turki, 27, looks at a cell inside Sednaya prison, which was known as a slaughterhouse under Syria's Bashar al-Assad rule, hoping to find her relatives, after the opposition seized the capital and announced that they have ousted Assad, in Sednaya, Syria, December 11, 2024. (Reuters)
Hayat al-Turki, 27, looks at a cell inside Sednaya prison, which was known as a slaughterhouse under Syria's Bashar al-Assad rule, hoping to find her relatives, after the opposition seized the capital and announced that they have ousted Assad, in Sednaya, Syria, December 11, 2024. (Reuters)

When she heard the stunning news that the opposition had brought an end to Syria's decades-old regime, Hayat al-Turki headed for a prison that had become known as a slaughterhouse, praying that her brother and five more relatives held there were still alive.

But after four days of wandering around the notorious Sednaya complex, she is still desperate for any clues about their fate in a prison that human rights groups say is known for widespread torture and executions.

"I sleep here of course. I haven't been home at all," she said. She had been hopeful of finding her brother, uncle or a cousin, she said, but they, like the relatives of dozens of other Syrians searching the prison, seemed to have disappeared.

The 27-year-old found a document dated October 1, 2024, listing more than 7,000 prisoners of various categories.

"Where are they? Don't they have to be in this prison?" she said, adding that a much smaller number had walked free.

Thousands of prisoners spilled out of President Bashar al-Assad's merciless detention system after he was toppled on Sunday during a lightning advance by the opposition that overturned five decades of his family's rule. Many detainees were met by tearful relatives who thought they had been executed years ago.

In Sednaya, a hanging noose reminded visitors of the dark days their relatives had spent there.

"I search the whole prison ... I go into a cell for less than five minutes, and I suffocate," Turki said before going into another cell to search through belongings.

"Are these for my brother for example? Do I smell him in them? Or these? Or is this his blanket?" she said, holding up a picture of her sibling -- lost for 14 years.

Rights groups have reported mass executions in Syria's prisons, and the United States said in 2017 it had identified a new crematorium at Sednaya for hanged prisoners. Torture was widely documented.

The main commander of the opposition who toppled Assad said on Wednesday that anyone involved in the torture or killing of detainees during Assad's rule would be hunted down and pardons were out of the question.

"We will pursue them in Syria, and we ask countries to hand over those who fled so we can achieve justice," Ahmad al-Sharaa, previously known as Abu Mohammed al-Golani, said in a statement published on the Syrian state TV's Telegram channel.

That provided little comfort to Turki, whose hopes of finding her brother were fading.

"I don't know what he looks like, because I am seeing the photos of prisoners getting out, they are like skeletons," she said.

"We are sure that people were here. Who are all these clothes and blankets for?"



Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
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Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)

After the fall of Bashar al-Assad, Afaf Mohammed did what she could not for more than a decade: she climbed Mount Qasyun to admire a sleeping Damascus "from the sky" and watch the sun rise.

Through the long years of Syria's civil war, which began in 2011 with a government crackdown on pro-democracy protesters, people were not allowed access to the mountain.

But now they can return to look down again on their capital, with its high-rise hotels and poor suburbs exhausted by war.

When night falls, long queues of vehicles slowly make their way up a twisting road to a brightly lit corniche at the summit.

Once there, they can relax, listen to music, eat and, inevitably, take selfies.

On some evenings there have even been firework displays.

Afaf Mohammed told AFP that "during the war we weren't allowed up to Mount Qasyun. There were few public places that were truly accessible."

At her feet, the panorama of Syria's capital stretched far and wide. It was the second time in weeks that the dentist in her thirties had come to the mountaintop.

A man sells tea on Mount Qasyun, from which government artillery used to pound opposition-held areas under Assad's rule. (AFP)

- Ideal for snipers -

Her first was just after a coalition of opposition fighters entered the city, ousting Assad on December 8.

On that occasion she came at dawn.

"I can't describe how I felt after we had gone through 13 years of hardship," she said, wrapped close in an abaya to ward off the chilly breeze.

Qasyun was off limits to the people of Damascus because it was an ideal location for snipers -- the great view includes elegant presidential palaces and other government buildings.

It was also from this mountain that artillery units for years pounded opposition-held areas at the gates of the capital.

Mohammed believes the revolution brought "a phenomenal freedom" that includes the right to visit previously forbidden places.

"No one can stop us now or block our way. No one will harm us," she said.

Patrols from the security forces of Syria's new rulers are in evidence, however.

They look on as a boy plays a tabla drum and young people on folding chairs puff from water pipes as others dance and sing, clapping their hands.

Everything is good-natured, reflecting the atmosphere of freedom that now bathes Syria since the end of Assad rule.

Gone are the stifling restrictions that once ruled the people's lives, and soldiers no longer throng the city streets.

Visitors to Mount Qasyun can now relax, listen to music, eat and snap selfies. (AFP)

- Hot drinks and snacks -

Mohammad Yehia, in his forties, said he once brought his son Rabih up to Mount Qasyun when he was small.

"But he doesn't remember having been here," he said.

After Assad fell, his son "asked if we would be allowed to go up there, and I said, 'Of course'," Yehia added.

So they came the next day.

Yehia knows the place well -- he used to work here, serving hot drinks and snacks from the back of a van to onlookers who came to admire the view.

He prides himself on being one of the first to come back again, more than a decade later.

The closure of Mount Qasyun to the people of Damascus robbed him of his livelihood at a time when the country was in economic freefall under Western sanctions. The war placed a yoke of poverty on 90 percent of the population.

"We were at the suffocation point," Yehia told AFP.

"Even if you worked all day, you still couldn't make ends meet.

"This is the only place where the people of Damascus can come and breathe a little. It's a spectacular view... it can make us forget the worries of the past."

Malak Mohammed, who came up the mountain with her sister Afaf, said that on returning "for the first time since childhood" she felt "immense joy".

"It's as if we were getting our whole country back," Malak said. Before, "we were deprived of everything".