Syrian Family Reunited, Against the Odds, in Greece

Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)
Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)
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Syrian Family Reunited, Against the Odds, in Greece

Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)
Abdul Salam Al Khawien, 37, right, and his wife Kariman, 32, left, pose with their children for a family photo, at their apartment in the northern city of Thessaloniki, Greece, Saturday, May 1, 2021. (AP Photo/Giannis Papanikos)

Torn apart in the deadly chaos of an air raid, a Syrian family of seven has been reunited, against the odds, three years later at a refugee shelter in Greece's second city of Thessaloniki, a centuries-old melting point of cultures overlooking the Aegean Sea.

When the warplanes screamed in over the village of Dana, near Idlib in Syria, in September 2017, Abdul Salam Al Khawien was at home with his five children. His wife, Kariman, was out shopping in the marketplace. Bombs burst among the stalls, scattering corpses and knocking her unconscious.

She spent the next week recovering in a clinic, and by the time she was well enough to leave, Abdul had fled with the children to safety across the Turkish border, some 15 kilometers (9 miles) away.
Now in different countries, lacking mobile phones, internet or any other means of communicating or learning what had happened to each other, Kariman and Abdul each lost hope that the other had survived.

Until, one day last August, Kariman's brother discovered a social media account with a photograph of her eldest son, Hamza. It had been opened by Abdul, who had managed to reach Greece with the children — in his fifth attempt, having paid smugglers 5,000 euros ($6,000) for berths in a flimsy boat with more than 60 others — and had been granted asylum.

She immediately got in touch.

“I had a good feeling that day,” Abdul, a 37-year-old former car salesman from a village near Homs, told The Associated Press. “When I saw the message I nearly went mad with joy. I didn't tell the children, though. I thought it would be better for them to find out when she got here.”

Before, he said, whenever the children had asked about their mother, he told them she was in Syria and would rejoin them one day. “But they suspected she was dead," he said. "I had lost all hope.”
The 32-year-old mother still faced a daunting prospect: Making the dangerous — and illegal — journey from Syria to Turkey and then Greece, assisted by smuggling gangs.
“We didn't have any money (to pay them),” Kariman said, “and had to find some.”

She was able to raise the cash and entered Turkey with other Syrian refugees, finally reaching Istanbul. “From there, using smugglers, I tried to enter Greece by crossing the Evros River” that runs along the Greek-Turkish land border, she said.

But they were caught by Greek border guards and, according to Kariman, were sent back a day later to Turkey in the type of illegal action, known as a pushback, that Greece has repeatedly been accused of using against migrants slipping across the porous frontier. Greek authorities deny the practice.

Her second try, in November 2020, was successful. She found her way on foot, in the dark, to a Greek village.

“I went into a coffee shop and broke into tears,” she said. “They asked me where I was from, I said Syria, and they welcomed me. ... I sat on a balcony with a woman and drank coffee, and she made me understand, in sign language, that I was now safe.”

She was able to contact Filoxeneio, the facility set up by the Arsis NGO and the Thessaloniki municipality where Abdul and the children were living, and after registering with police the family was reunited.

Filoxeneio coordinator Manolis Zougos said he'd never encountered such a story during the 17 years he's been working with refugees.

“Up to the last minute we had thought her dead, which is what Abdul believed,” he said. “He had had a hard time. He was on his own and needed to perform multiple roles for his children.”

Even before the air raid on Dana, the family had struggled to escape violence in Syria's civil war.

“We changed locations 28 times, starting from our village near Homs in 2011,” Abdul said. “I had just built our house there, and it was destroyed. Whenever unrest came, we moved on. ... As soon as we heard a bombardment, we grabbed blankets, a tent and a generator, put them in the car and left.”

The couple tell their story with their children — Hamza, 10, Iman, 8, Layan, 7, Bayan, 5, and Safa, 3 1/2 — sitting around them. Kariman is pregnant again — “I would like a boy," Abdul said. But their travels may not yet be over.

Abdul says he wants to reach Germany, where his brother and sister live.

“Greece is a very safe country, but it is difficult to find work,” he said. “It's difficult for us.”



Moving Heaven, Earth to Make Bread in Gaza

Displaced Palestinian girls bake bread at the Bureij refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip - AFP
Displaced Palestinian girls bake bread at the Bureij refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip - AFP
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Moving Heaven, Earth to Make Bread in Gaza

Displaced Palestinian girls bake bread at the Bureij refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip - AFP
Displaced Palestinian girls bake bread at the Bureij refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip - AFP

In Gaza, where hunger gnaws and hope runs thin, flour and bread are so scarce that they are carefully divided by families clinging to survival.

"Because the crossing points are closed, there's no more gas and no flour, and no firewood coming in," said Umm Mohammed Issa, a volunteer helping to make bread with the few resources still available.

Israel resumed military operations in the Palestinian territory in mid-March, shattering weeks of relative calm brought by a fragile ceasefire.

The United Nations has warned of a growing humanitarian catastrophe unfolding in the besieged territory, where Israel's blockade on aid since March 2 has cut off food, fuel and other essentials to Gaza's 2.4 million people, AFP reported.
Israel has repeatedly said it will not allow aid in, accusing Hamas of diverting the supplies, a claim the Palestinian militant group denies.

Once again, residents have had to resort to increasingly desperate measures to feed themselves.

To cook a thin flatbread called "saj", named after the convex hotplate on which it is made, Issa said the volunteers have resorted to burning pieces of cardboard.

"There's going to be famine," the Palestinian woman said, a warning international aid groups have previously issued over the course of 18 month of war.

"We'll be in the situation where we can no longer feed our children."

- 'Bread is precious' -

Until the end of March, Gazans gathered each morning outside the few bakeries still operating, in the hope of getting some bread.

But one by one, the ovens cooled as ingredients -- flour, water, salt and yeast -- ran out.

Larger industrial bakeries central to operations run by the UN's World Food Programme also closed for lack of flour and fuel to power their generators.

On Wednesday, World Central Kitchen (WCK) sounded the alarm about a humanitarian crisis that is "grows more dire each day."

The organization's bakery is the only one still operating in Gaza, producing 87,000 loaves of bread per day.

"Bread is precious, often substituting for meals where cooking has stopped," it said.

"I built a clay oven to bake bread to sell," said Baqer Deeb, a 35-year-old father from Beit Lahia in northern Gaza.

He has been displaced by the fighting, like almost the entire population of the territory, and is now in Gaza City.

"But now there's a severe shortage of flour," he said, "and that is making the bread crisis even worse."

There is no longer much food to be found for sale at makeshift roadside stalls, and prices are climbing, making many products unaffordable for most people.

- 'Mould and worms' -

Fidaa Abu Ummayra thought she had found a real bargain when she bought a large sack of flour for the equivalent of 90 euros at Al-Shati refugee camp in the north of the territory.

"If only I hadn't bought it," the 55-year-old said. "It was full of mould and worms. The bread was disgusting."

Before the war, a typical 25-kilo sack like the one she bought would have gone for less than 10 euros.

"We are literally dying of hunger," said Tasnim Abu Matar in Gaza City.

"We count and calculate everything our children eat, and divide up the bread to make it last for days," the 50-year-old added.

"We can't take it any more."

People rummage through debris searching for something to eat as others walk for kilometres (miles) to aid distribution points hoping to find food for their families.

Germany, France, and Britain on Wednesday called on Israel to stop blocking humanitarian aid into Gaza, warning of "an acute risk of starvation, epidemic disease and death".

According to the UN humanitarian agency OCHA, displaced people at more than 250 shelters in Gaza had no or little access to enough food last month.

True to their reputation for resilience after multiple wars, Palestinians in the Gaza Strip have devised countless ways to cope with growing hardship.

But in interviews with AFP, many said these improvised solutions often make them feel as though they've been thrust back centuries.