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.”



Nobel Laureate Narges Mohammadi to Publish Two Books

Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
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Nobel Laureate Narges Mohammadi to Publish Two Books

Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP

Narges Mohammadi, the Iranian 2023 Nobel Peace Prize laureate, will publish her autobiography and is working on a book on women held like her on political charges, she said in an interview published Thursday.

"I've finished my autobiography and I plan to publish it. I'm writing another book on assaults and sexual harassment against women detained in Iran. I hope it will appear soon," Mohammadi, 52, told French magazine Elle.

The human rights activist spoke to her interviewers in Farsi by text and voice message during a three-week provisional release from prison on medical grounds after undergoing bone surgery, according to AFP.

Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years, most recently since November 2021, for convictions relating to her advocacy against the compulsory wearing of the hijab for women and capital punishment in Iran.

She has been held in the notorious Evin prison in Tehran, which has left a physical toll.

"My body is weakened, it is true, after three years of intermittent detention... and repeated refusals of care that have seriously tested me, but my mind is of steel," Mohammadi said.

Mohammadi said there were 70 prisoners in the women's ward at Evin "from all walks of life, of all ages and of all political persuasions", including journalists, writers, women's rights activists and people persecuted for their religion.

One of the most commonly used "instruments of torture" is isolation, said Mohammadi, who shares a cell with 13 other prisoners.

"It is a place where political prisoners die. I have personally documented cases of torture and serious sexual violence against my fellow prisoners."

Despite the harsh consequences, there are still acts of resistance by prisoners.

"Recently, 45 out of 70 prisoners gathered to protest in the prison yard against the death sentences of Pakhshan Azizi and Varisheh Moradi," two Kurdish women's rights activists who are in prison, she said.

Small acts of defiance -- like organizing sit-ins -- can get them reprisals like being barred from visiting hours or telephone access.

- Risks of speaking up -

She also said that speaking to reporters would likely get her "new accusations", and that she was the target of additional prosecutions and convictions "approximately every month".

"It is a challenge for us political prisoners to fight to maintain a semblance of normality because it is about showing our torturers that they will not be able to reach us, to break us," Mohammadi said.

She added that she had felt "guilty to have left my fellow detainees behind" during her temporary release and that "a part of (her) was still in prison".

But her reception outside -- including by women refusing to wear the compulsory hijab -- meant Mohammadi "felt what freedom is, to have freedom of movement without permanent escort by guards, without locks and closed windows" -- and also that "the 'Women, Life, Freedom' movement is still alive".

She was referring to the nationwide protests that erupted after the September 2022 death in custody of Mahsa Amini.

Amini, a 22-year-old Iranian Kurd, was arrested for an alleged breach of Iran's dress code for women.

Hundreds of people, including dozens of security personnel, were killed in the subsequent months-long nationwide protests and thousands of demonstrators were arrested.

After Mohammadi was awarded last year's Nobel Peace Prize, her two children collected the award on her behalf.

The US State Department last month called Mohammadi's situation "deeply troubling".

"Her deteriorating health is a direct result of the abuses that she's endured at the hands of the Iranian regime," State Department spokesman Vedant Patel said, calling for her "immediate and unconditional" release.