Then and Now: 10 Syrians Recount a Decade of War in Pictures

In the northern city of Aleppo, retaken by government forces in late 2018, Ahmad Nashawi poses in front of his destroyed house - AFP
In the northern city of Aleppo, retaken by government forces in late 2018, Ahmad Nashawi poses in front of his destroyed house - AFP
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Then and Now: 10 Syrians Recount a Decade of War in Pictures

In the northern city of Aleppo, retaken by government forces in late 2018, Ahmad Nashawi poses in front of his destroyed house - AFP
In the northern city of Aleppo, retaken by government forces in late 2018, Ahmad Nashawi poses in front of his destroyed house - AFP

Samer became paralyzed, Bakri had a leg amputated and Rukaia fled to France: a decade of civil war in Syria has devastated millions of lives.

As the conflict enters its 11th year this month, 10 Syrians shared with AFP pictures of themselves before the start of the 2011 war, and recounted how their lives have been changed by the fighting.

Speaking from across fragmented Syria or even abroad, they give a personal account of a war that has killed more than 387,000 people and displaced millions from their homes.

In the capital Damascus, 33-year-old Samer Sawwan holds up a picture of himself standing on a beach in the coastal resort of Latakia.

That was before a bullet shot through his car while he was driving in 2011, sending the vehicle into a barrel roll that paralyzed him forever.

"I passed out with two legs, and woke up in a wheelchair," he says. "My ambitions and dreams have changed."

At least 1.5 million Syrians have suffered a disability as a result of the war, the United Nations says.

In the last major opposition bastion of Idlib, 29-year-old Bakri al-Debs rests on stone steps with one leg amputated above the knee, his artificial leg resting beside him.

The former medic holds a picture of himself in a similar position at university a decade ago in Latakia where he studied sociology, before he was maimed in what he says was a government barrel bomb strike.

In Idlib city, former opposition fighter 28-year-old Mohammed al-Hamid leans on crutches, holding a large picture showing him before the war in a military uniform and holding a weapon.

He says he was wounded in a 2016 battle against government forces in Latakia, where his brother also died in his arms.

That same year, he learnt that three other siblings had died in prison.

In 2017, warplanes bombarded his home in Idlib, killing his daughter.

Also in Idlib, Abu Anas, 26, holds an image of himself when he was 16 years old.

A native of the Damascus countryside, Abu Anas was displaced to Idlib in 2018 where artillery shelling two years later caused him to lose his eyesight.

In the northern city of Aleppo, retaken by government forces from opposition in late 2018, Ahmad Nashawi posed in front of his destroyed house.

The man in his fifties, once one of the city's most popular fishmongers, said his home and shop were obliterated in clashes between opposition and pro-government fighters in 2015.

The war has also flung journalists into exile.

Rukaia Alabadi, 32, arrived in Paris as a refugee in 2018 after escaping threats over her reporting about the reality of life in the eastern province of Deir Ezzor under ISIS.

Before that, the young woman had been jailed for months by the regime and accused of being a media activist.

The picture she shares with AFP shows her wearing a chador and a face veil in 2011 when she was studying economics at university.

Anas Ali, 27, has lived in France as a refugee since 2019.

Before that he was in Ghouta on the doorstep of Damascus until government forces seized it in early 2018 following years of bombardment and a devastating siege.

A citizen journalist, Anas covered fighting between both sides and in 2013 was wounded, sustaining face injuries, according to the picture he showed AFP.

In Iraqi Kurdistan, Dima al-Kaed, 29, clutched a memento of her graduation, one of the few belongings she kept after her family moved from Damascus and sold their home.

"I dreamt of changing the world, but instead the war changed mine," she said.

Life in exile has at times been tough.

Fahad al-Routayban, 30, works as a building concierge in the northern Lebanese city of Tripoli.

On his smartphone, he pulled up an image showing him in uniform during his military service in 2010.

In the ravaged Palestinian neighborhood of Yarmouk south of Damascus, 70-year-old Palestinian painter Mohammed al-Rakouia stood on top of the ruins of his gutted studio.

"Nothing can make up for my losses," he said.

"My studio has been destroyed, my paintings have been stolen, and my colors have been scattered all over the place."



Lebanese Emergency Services Are Overwhelmed and Need Better Gear to Save Lives in Wartime

Search and rescue team members try to find victims following an overnight raid by the Israel army on the Palestinian camp of Ain el-Hilweh, in Sidon, Lebanon, 01 October 2024. (EPA)
Search and rescue team members try to find victims following an overnight raid by the Israel army on the Palestinian camp of Ain el-Hilweh, in Sidon, Lebanon, 01 October 2024. (EPA)
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Lebanese Emergency Services Are Overwhelmed and Need Better Gear to Save Lives in Wartime

Search and rescue team members try to find victims following an overnight raid by the Israel army on the Palestinian camp of Ain el-Hilweh, in Sidon, Lebanon, 01 October 2024. (EPA)
Search and rescue team members try to find victims following an overnight raid by the Israel army on the Palestinian camp of Ain el-Hilweh, in Sidon, Lebanon, 01 October 2024. (EPA)

When Israel bombed buildings outside the southern Lebanese city of Sidon, Mohamed Arkadan and his team rushed to an emergency unlike anything they had ever seen.

About a dozen apartments had collapsed onto the hillside they once overlooked, burying more than 100 people. Even after 17 years with the civil defense forces of one of the world's most war-torn nations, Arkadan was shocked at the destruction. By Monday afternoon — about 24 hours after the bombing — his team had pulled more than 40 bodies — including children's — from the rubble, along with 60 survivors.

The children's bodies broke his heart, said Arkadan, 38, but his team of over 30 first responders' inability to help further pained him more. Firetrucks and ambulances haven’t been replaced in years. Rescue tools and equipment are in short supply. His team has to buy their uniforms out of pocket.

An economic crisis that began in 2019 and a massive 2020 port explosion have left Lebanon struggling to provide basic services such as electricity and medical care. Political divisions have left the country of 6 million without a president or functioning government for more than two years, deepening a national sense of abandonment reaching down to the men whom the people depend on in emergencies.

“We have zero capabilities, zero logistics,” Arkadan said. “We have no gloves, no personal protection gear.”

War has upended Lebanon again Israel’s intensified air campaign against Hezbollah has upended the country. Over 1,000 people have been killed in Israeli strikes since Sept. 17, nearly a quarter of them women and children, according to the Health Ministry. Hundreds of thousands of people have fled their homes, sleeping on beaches and streets.

The World Health Organization said over 30 primary health care centers around Lebanon’s affected areas have been closed.

On Tuesday, Israel said it began a limited ground operation against Hezbollah and warned people to evacuate several southern communities, promising further escalation.

Lebanon is “grappling with multiple crises, which have overwhelmed the country’s capacity to cope,” said Imran Riza, the UN's humanitarian coordinator for Lebanon, who said the UN had allocated $24 million in emergency funding for people affected by the fighting.

Exhausted medical staff are struggling to cope with the daily influx of new patients. Under government emergency plans, hospitals and medical workers have halted non-urgent operations.

Government shelters are full

In the southern province of Tyre, many doctors have fled along with residents. In Nabatiyeh, the largest province in southern Lebanon, first responders say they have been working around the clock since last week to reach hundreds of people wounded in bombings that hit dozens of villages and towns, often many on the same day.

After the bombing in Sidon nearly 250 first responders joined Arkadan's team, including a specialized search-and-rescue unit from Beirut, some 45 kilometers (28 miles) to the north. His team didn't have the modern equipment needed to pull people from a disaster.

“We used traditional tools, like scissors, cables, shovels,” Arkadan said.

“Anyone here?” rescuers shouted through the gaps in mounds of rubble, searching for survivors buried deeper underground. One excavator removed the debris slowly, to avoid shaking the heaps of bricks and mangled steel.

Many sought refuge in the ancient city of Tyre, 20 kilometers (12 miles) north of the border with Israel, thinking it was likely to be spared bombardment. More than 8,000 people arrived, said Hassan Dbouk, the head of its disaster management unit.

He said that there were no pre-positioned supplies, such as food parcels, hygiene kits and mattresses, and moving trucks now is fraught with danger. Farmers have been denied access to their land because of the bombings and the municipality is struggling to pay salaries.

Meanwhile, garbage is piling up on the streets. The number of municipal workers has shrunk from 160 to 10.

“The humanitarian situation is catastrophic,” Dbouk said.

Wissam Ghazal, the health ministry official in Tyre, said in one hospital, only five of 35 doctors have remained. In Tyre province, eight medics, including three with a medical organization affiliated with Hezbollah, were killed over two days, he said.

Over the weekend, the city itself became a focus of attacks.

Israeli warplanes struck near the port city’s famed ruins, along its beaches and in residential and commercial areas, forcing thousands of residents to flee. At least 15 civilians were killed Saturday and Sunday, including two municipal workers, a soldier and several children, all but one from two families.

It took rescuers two days to comb through the rubble of a home in the Kharab neighborhood in the city’s center, where a bomb had killed nine members of the al-Samra family.

Six premature babies in incubators around the city were moved to Beirut. The city’s only doctor, who looked after them, couldn’t move between hospitals under fire, Ghazal said.

One of the district’s four hospitals shut after sustaining damage from a strike that affected its electricity supply and damaged the operations room. In two other hospitals, glass windows were broken. For now, the city’s hospitals are receiving more killed than wounded.

“But you don’t know what will happen when the intensity of attacks increases. We will definitely need more.”

Making do with what they have

Hussein Faqih, head of civil defense in the Nabatiyeh province, said that “we are working in very difficult and critical circumstances because the strikes are random. We have no protection. We have no shields, no helmets, no extra hoses. The newest vehicle is 25 years old. We are still working despite all that.”

At least three of his firefighters’ team were killed in early September. Ten have been injured since then. Of 45 vehicles, six were hit and are now out of service.

Faqih said he is limiting his team’s search-and-rescue missions to residential areas, keeping them away from forests or open areas where they used to put out fires.

“These days, there is something difficult every day. Body parts are everywhere, children, civilians and bodies under rubble,” Faqih said. Still, he said, he considers his job to be the safety net for the people.

“We serve the people, and we will work with what we have.”