In Turkish-Funded Syria Camps, Tents Give Way to Homes

Internally displaced Syrians pictured in front of tents, before they became resident at a new housing complex in the opposition-held area of Bizaah, in the northern Aleppo governorate Bakr ALKASEM AFP
Internally displaced Syrians pictured in front of tents, before they became resident at a new housing complex in the opposition-held area of Bizaah, in the northern Aleppo governorate Bakr ALKASEM AFP
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In Turkish-Funded Syria Camps, Tents Give Way to Homes

Internally displaced Syrians pictured in front of tents, before they became resident at a new housing complex in the opposition-held area of Bizaah, in the northern Aleppo governorate Bakr ALKASEM AFP
Internally displaced Syrians pictured in front of tents, before they became resident at a new housing complex in the opposition-held area of Bizaah, in the northern Aleppo governorate Bakr ALKASEM AFP

Syrian mother of four Maryam al-Hussein was relieved to have a roof over her head as she moved from a tent camp into a housing complex built with Turkish support.

"When I first heard that we were moving into a house, I couldn't believe it," the 28-year-old widow told AFP in opposition-held northern Syria.

"I was so happy that I couldn't think of anything other than the move," she said, sitting outside her new concrete home.

The housing complex built near the Turkish-held Syrian city of Al-Bab is the latest in a series of residential projects sponsored by Ankara.

Turkey's goal is to create a so-called "safe zone" along its border to keep Syrians displaced by war from crossing into its territory, and to allow it to send back some of the millions who already did.

The housing units, branded by local officials and their Turkish sponsors as a humanitarian action to assist displaced families, could also serve as a model for initiatives to resettle Syrian refugees living in Turkey.

Turkey and its proxies have seized control of territory inside Syria during several military operations launched since 2016.

In these regions, the Turkish lira has become the main currency and Ankara has helped set up hospitals, post offices and schools that teach the Turkish language.

Turkish non-governmental group the Humanitarian Relief Foundation (IHH) said it has supported the construction of more than 18,000 residential units in Syria's north since 2019.

"More than 50,000 people have settled in the houses we have built so far," said IHH secretary general Durmus Aydin.

Aydin said that twice as many will be sheltered in a total of 24,325 homes due to be completed by April.

The latest housing complex was built near the opposition-held area of Bizaah with the support of Turkey's AFAD emergencies agency, local officials said.

It consists of 300 one-storey concrete units with large metal doors and small side windows.

Each unit is made up of two rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, and is equipped with its own water tank and costs about $2,500 to build, Aydin said.

They will be home to residents of a nearby displacement camp who were transferred there this month.

The complex -- which is one of many similar housing projects supported by AFAD -- includes a mosque and a school.

A medical center is currently under construction, local officials said.

For Maryam, the move marks a major upgrade from the dilapidated tent camps where she had lived with her father, brother and four children under harsh conditions.

Maryam, whose husband was killed in battles between opposition and Syrian regime forces, was displaced by war in 2019 and moved from one camp to another seeking refuge.

"In the winter, a house is better, because the rain does not seep in and in the summer it remains cool because stone deflects heat better than tents that turn into furnaces," she said.

Local official Hussein al-Issa, who oversees the resettlement of displaced families, said the Bizaah housing complex was built on land managed by an opposition-affiliated local council with "the full cooperation" of Turkey.

"These houses are temporary shelters for our displaced brothers," he said.

While many displaced families are grateful to Turkey for helping provide shelter, Mohammad Haj Moussa appeared dissatisfied.

"It's like we are lying to ourselves," the 38-year-old father of four told AFP.

"We want a (permanent) solution. We want to return to our homes," added Haj Moussa, who was displaced by war five year ago.

Since fleeing his home in the northwestern province of Idlib, Haj Moussa said he had moved from one displacement camp to another.

"This unit isn't too different" from the camps, he said. "It's a joke."

Nearby, Ahmed Mustafa Katouli said he was grateful to have a concrete roof over his head, but complained the units are too small.

"These houses do not make up for what we have lost," said the father of six, displaced from Aleppo with his wife nearly a decade ago.

"We have lost homes, land and martyrs," he said, adding that after years of surviving in tents, "I am forced to live here".



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".