Child Refugees Dream of Syria they Never Knew

Syrian refugee children run in a tented settlement in the town of Qab Elias, in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, March 13, 2018. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir
Syrian refugee children run in a tented settlement in the town of Qab Elias, in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, March 13, 2018. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir
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Child Refugees Dream of Syria they Never Knew

Syrian refugee children run in a tented settlement in the town of Qab Elias, in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, March 13, 2018. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir
Syrian refugee children run in a tented settlement in the town of Qab Elias, in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, March 13, 2018. REUTERS/Mohamed Azakir

Mohammad is five years old, Areej six and Dalaa 10. Syrian refugees in Turkey, these children have inherited a yearning for a country they know little to nothing about.

More than 3.6 million Syrians have found shelter from the decade-long conflict in neighboring Turkey, including around 1.5 million children under the age of 15, according to official figures.

Mohammad and his parents Maher Imadedine and Rawan Sameh, originally from Aleppo, are among the 450,000 Syrians who have settled in the frontline Turkish city of Gaziantep, where the couple wed.

The little boy says he wants to "return" to Syria even though he has never stepped foot there in his life.

"Because it is beautiful, Syria," he says with a slight lisp. "Mum and dad told me so."

Mohammad's mother has secured a job teaching Arabic at Gaziantep University and his father works for a charity.

Although settled in a relatively upscale neighborhood, they still have their minds set on returning to Syria, where they joined demonstrations against Bashar al-Assad's regime at the start of the revolt.

But when might that be?

"When Bashar al-Assad is in prison," the little boy replies. "I don't like him because he kills people and puts them in jail."

Mohammad tells AFP he learned about these things from his parents.

"He has also seen it on television," his mother cuts in. "He watches the news with us. Some things are beyond him, but he gets a general idea of what Syria is going through."

The mother fears the pictures of destruction unleashed by the Syrian forces arouse "a desire for revenge in the little ones".

"Our role as parents is to channel these feelings into positive energy that can be used to help reconstruct the country," she says.

Six-year-old Areej Beidun had not yet been born when her father, who joined opposition fighter ranks, was killed in Aleppo.

Since turning four months old, she has been living in a dilapidated Gaziantep apartment with her grandparents, uncles and their families -- 13 people in all.

Her mother has since remarried and in Areej's world, "mum and dad" are her grandparents, who have been taking care of her.

With a mischievous eye and her hair pulled back by a golden Alice band, Areej speaks of Syria with an eloquence that belies her age.

"Over there, there is war everywhere. There are a lot of planes and bombs blowing up the city," she explains.

"Here, when I see dolls in the market, I ask mum to buy them for me and she says 'no' because we don't have any money," she laments.

"I would like Syria to be the way it was before, without bombs, so that I could go back."

Ten-year-old Dalaa Hadidi's family lives in the same decrepit neighborhood of Gaziantep.

Born 45 days before the start of the revolt, she was 15 months old when her parents fled Aleppo.

But she talks about the Syrian city as if she has lived there her whole life.

"I want to go back to Aleppo to find my home, my neighborhood and my loved ones. I wish Assad would die so we could come back," she says.

If the feeling of belonging to Syria is handed down to the children by their parents, it is reinforced by media outlets targeting the diaspora, especially in Turkey.

Himself a refugee, Mahmoud Al-Wahab, 14, presents a children's radio program called "I want to play" on Rozana, a Syrian radio station with offices in Gaziantep and Paris.

"We try to instill this attachment, but in an indirect way," he says.

"We broadcast information about children in Syria, but also the situation in Syria and how it was before. We also talk about the Arabic language to help the children keep their mother tongue," he says in his radio studio.

The station's director Lina Chawaf thinks "the dream of returning stays alive" even among those who manage to successfully integrate in their host countries.

"Parents instill their children with a nostalgia for their home, their land, their country," she says.

"As for us (at the radio station), we try to maintain it through culture, through the riddles and games that we played when we were in Syria."

The station's morning presenter Nilufer al-Barrak says he has agreed with a few of his listeners to meet up in Syria -- one day.

"I asked the listeners to describe their neighborhoods in Syria and everyone talked about how beautiful theirs was," the presenter says.

"So we agreed that when we return, we will invite each other over to our houses and see the places we talked about on air. And if they have not been rebuilt already, we will rebuild them together."



Damascus’ Mazzeh 86 Neighborhood, Witness of The Two-Assad Era

Members of the Syrian Arab Red Crescent stand near the wreckage of a car after what the Syrian state television said was a "guided missile attack" on the car in the Mazzeh area of Damascus, Syria October 21, 2024. REUTERS/Firas Makdesi
Members of the Syrian Arab Red Crescent stand near the wreckage of a car after what the Syrian state television said was a "guided missile attack" on the car in the Mazzeh area of Damascus, Syria October 21, 2024. REUTERS/Firas Makdesi
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Damascus’ Mazzeh 86 Neighborhood, Witness of The Two-Assad Era

Members of the Syrian Arab Red Crescent stand near the wreckage of a car after what the Syrian state television said was a "guided missile attack" on the car in the Mazzeh area of Damascus, Syria October 21, 2024. REUTERS/Firas Makdesi
Members of the Syrian Arab Red Crescent stand near the wreckage of a car after what the Syrian state television said was a "guided missile attack" on the car in the Mazzeh area of Damascus, Syria October 21, 2024. REUTERS/Firas Makdesi

In the Mazzeh 86 neighborhood, west of the Syrian capital Damascus, the names of many shops, grocery stores, and public squares still serve as a reminder of the era of ousted Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father, Hafez al-Assad.

This is evident in landmarks like the “Al-Hafez Restaurant,” one of the prominent features of this area. Squares such as “Al-Areen,” “Officers,” and “Bride of the Mountain” evoke memories of the buildings surrounding them, which once housed influential officials and high-ranking officers in intelligence and security agencies. These individuals instilled fear in Syrians for five decades until their historic escape on the night of the regime’s collapse last month.

In this neighborhood, the effects of Israeli bombing are clearly visible, as it was targeted multiple times. Meanwhile, its narrow streets and alleys were strewn with military uniforms abandoned by leaders who fled before military operations arrived and liberated the area from their grip on December 8 of last year.

Here, stark contradictions come to light during a tour by Asharq Al-Awsat in a district that, until recently, was largely loyal to the former president. Muaz, a 42-year-old resident of the area, recounts how most officers and security personnel shed their military uniforms and discarded them in the streets on the night of Assad’s escape.

He said: “Many of them brought down their weapons and military ranks in the streets and fled to their hometowns along the Syrian coast.”

Administratively part of Damascus, Mazzeh 86 consists of concrete blocks randomly built between the Mazzeh Western Villas area, the Mazzeh Highway, and the well-known Sheikh Saad commercial district. Its ownership originally belonged to the residents of the Mazzeh area in Damascus. The region was once agricultural land and rocky mountain terrain. The peaks extending toward Mount Qasioun were previously seized by the Ministry of Defense, which instructed security and army personnel to build homes there without requiring property ownership documents.

Suleiman, a 30-year-old shop owner, who sells white meat and chicken, hails from the city of Jableh in the coastal province of Latakia. His father moved to this neighborhood in the 1970s to work as an army assistant.

Suleiman says he hears the sound of gunfire every evening, while General Security patrols roam the streets “searching for remnants of the former regime and wanted individuals who refuse to surrender their weapons. We fear reprisals and just want to live in peace.”

He mentioned that prices before December 8 were exorbitant and beyond the purchasing power of Syrians, with the price of a kilogram of chicken exceeding 60,000 Syrian pounds and a carton of eggs reaching 75,000.

“A single egg was sold for 2,500 pounds, which is far beyond the purchasing power of any employee in the public or private sector,” due to low salaries and the deteriorating living conditions across the country,” Suleiman added.

On the sides of the roads, pictures of the fugitive president and his father, Hafez al-Assad, were torn down, while military vehicles were parked, awaiting instructions.

Maram, 46, who previously worked as a civilian employee in the Ministry of Defense, says she is waiting for the resolution of employment statuses for workers in army institutions. She stated: “So far, there are no instructions regarding our situation. The army forces and security personnel have been given the opportunity for settlement, but there is no talk about us.”

The neighborhood, in its current form, dates back to the 1980s when Rifaat al-Assad, the younger brother of former President Hafez al-Assad, was allowed to construct the “Defense Palace,” which was referred to as “Brigade 86.” Its location is the same area now known as Mazzeh Jabal 86.

The area is divided into two parts: Mazzeh Madrasa (School) and Mazzeh Khazan (Tank). The first takes its name from the first school built and opened in the area, while the second is named after the water tank that supplies the entire Mazzeh region.

Two sources from the Mazzeh Municipality and the Mukhtar’s office estimate the neighborhood’s current population at approximately 200,000, down from over 300,000 before Assad’s fall. Most residents originate from Syria’s coastal regions, followed by those from interior provinces like Homs and Hama. There was also a portion of Kurds who had moved from the Jazira region in northeastern Syria to live there, but most returned to their areas due to the security grip and after the “Crisis Cell” bombing that killed senior security officials in mid-2012.

Along the main street connecting Al-Huda Square to Al-Sahla Pharmacy, torn images of President Hafez al-Assad are visible for the first time in this area in five decades. On balconies and walls, traces of Bashar al-Assad’s posters remain, bearing witness to his 24-year era.