Worse than ‘Years of War’: Syria Hospital Treats Quake Survivors

Civil defense workers and residents search through the rubble of collapsed buildings in the town of Harem near the Turkish border, Idlib province, Syria, Monday, Feb. 6, 2023. (AP)
Civil defense workers and residents search through the rubble of collapsed buildings in the town of Harem near the Turkish border, Idlib province, Syria, Monday, Feb. 6, 2023. (AP)
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Worse than ‘Years of War’: Syria Hospital Treats Quake Survivors

Civil defense workers and residents search through the rubble of collapsed buildings in the town of Harem near the Turkish border, Idlib province, Syria, Monday, Feb. 6, 2023. (AP)
Civil defense workers and residents search through the rubble of collapsed buildings in the town of Harem near the Turkish border, Idlib province, Syria, Monday, Feb. 6, 2023. (AP)

At a hospital in Syria, Osama Abdel Hamid was holding back tears as he recalled on Monday the powerful earthquake that toppled his home and killed his neighbors, along with hundreds of his compatriots.

"We were fast asleep when we felt a huge earthquake," Abdel Hamid told AFP at Al-Rahma hospital in the northwestern Idlib province, where he was being treated for a head injury.

The 7.8-magnitude pre-dawn quake, whose epicenter was near the Turkish city of Gaziantep, wiped out entire sections of cities in Türkiye and war-ravaged Syria. Officials have put the combined death toll at more than 1,900.

When it shook the Abdel Hamid family's home in the village of Azmarin, near Syria's border with Türkiye, "I woke up my wife and children and we ran towards the exit door," the man said.

"We opened the door, and suddenly the entire building collapsed."

Within moments, Abdel Hamid found himself under the rubble of the four-storey building.

All of his neighbors died, but the family made it out alive.

"The walls collapsed over us, but my son was able to get out," Abdel Hamid said. "He started screaming and people gathered around, knowing there were survivors, and they pulled us out from under the rubble."

They were taken to the hospital in Darkush, a town several kilometers (miles) to the south along the Turkish border.

The facility soon had to take in patients far beyond its capacity and received at least 30 dead bodies.

An AFP photographer saw multiple ambulances arriving at Al-Rahma one after the other, carrying casualties including many children.

"The situation is bad," said Majid Ibrahim, general surgeon at the hospital, where by the late morning some 150 people injured in the quake had arrived.

"A lot of people are still under the debris of the buildings," he told AFP.

"We need urgent help for the area, especially medical help."

Many 'still trapped'

At least 810 people were killed across the war-torn country, the Syrian government and rescue workers said.

The health ministry, said at least 430 people were killed and 1,315 injured in government-controlled areas.

The White Helmets rescue group said at least 380 were killed and more than 1,000 injured in opposition-held areas.

It had cautioned earlier on Monday "the toll may increase as many families are still trapped."

In one crowded hospital room, injured people were lying on beds, some with bandages on their heads and others treated for fractures and bruises.

On one of the beds, a boy whose head was covered in a bandage was sleeping next to another patient.

And in another room, a young girl was crying as she received an injection, her hand in a cast.

Mohammad Barakat, 24, was being treated for a broken leg.

"I took my children and got out of the house," recalled the father of four, lying in bed with wounds covering parts of his face.

"My house is an old one, and construction is very old," he told AFP.

"So I got scared it might collapse on us. The walls of the neighboring houses began collapsing when we were out in the street."

'Judgement day'

The earthquake hit near Gaziantep in southeastern Türkiye at 04:17 am (0117 GMT) at a depth of about 17.9 kilometers (11 miles), the US Geological Survey said.

Tremors were also felt in Lebanon and Cyprus, AFP correspondents said.

In the town of Sarmada, in the countryside of Idlib province, a block of buildings had been levelled. The remains of solar panels and water tanks as well as mattresses and blankets were scattered above the ruins.

An AFP photographer saw rescue workers start to clear the rubble and remove big pieces of concrete in the hope of finding survivors.

Anas Habbash said he "ran down the stairs like crazy", carrying his son and ushering his pregnant wife outside of the apartment building in the northern city of Aleppo.

"Once we got to the street, we saw dozens of families in shock and fear," the 37-year-old told AFP.

Some knelt down to pray and other started crying "as if it were judgement day".

"I haven't had that feeling all through the years of the war" in Syria since 2011, Habbash said.

"This was much more difficult than shells and bullets."



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".