"If I Wanted to Get Beaten by Men in Uniforms I Would've Stayed in Syria"

This is a story of one of the refugee families I worked with in Vienna at Train of Hope this summer.

Noor (age 2) and Hamoudi (age 7) are the children of Ahmed and Rana*, a family from Syria. They decided to leave Syria after their families had either fled themselves, or had been killed in the current civil war plaguing the country. The family decided to take the route most Syrians and Iraqis had taken; they were trafficked into Turkey in the back of a cramped truck. Once having arrived in Turkey, they were instructed to dispose of their paper work and passports by traffickers, as this was said to make the asylum process a significant amount easier. They then spent a large percentage of their life savings on the journey. They were put into a small, unstable, plastic boat; the women and children moved towards the center of the boat, while the men surrounded them on the outside. They said that the boat almost capsized multiple times on the journey to Greece. Upon arriving in Greece, they embraced the land as if they had never seen such comfort in their lives. Ahmed told me that he spent about 15 minutes prostrated thanking God that they made it. This, however, was not the end of their journey. They still had to trek through three countries mainly on foot; Macedonia, Serbia and Hungary. Throughout the journey, they had little to no access to any hygiene products or opportunities; their backpacks and supplies had been thrown off the boat by traffickers, and their were no places they could refresh themselves at. They resulted to taking baths in any bodies of water they could find; seas, lakes, rivers. Anything. During the days where they were tired, they spent the day at coffee shops buying just enough to stay there. Eventually they reached Hungary. There, they were jailed and abused by the Hungarian authorities. Ahmed showed me the bruises from where they had beaten him. Rana told me how she would beg the authorities for just a glass of water to give to her children; she told me how they would laugh and spit in her face in response to this. She told me about how they ended up beating her as well, and while this was happening, the only thing she would scream is “Take me back to Syria, even war is better than this! If I wanted to get beaten by men in uniforms I would've stayed in Syria!” They eventually let them out, only after forcing them to register, and this was only because they had no room left in the jail cells. They then proceeded to take a train from the Austro-Hungarian border into Vienna, where I met them. It was a day where we received around 500 refugees at Train of Hope in Hauptbahnhof Wien. Throughout all the chaos, I made eye contact with Rana, who looked distressed, confused, exhuasted and quite frankly, like she was about to burst into tears. In her arms, I saw Noor, and next to them I saw Ahmed and Hamoudi. I felt drawn to them in a way I will never be able to put into words. I immediately dropped what I was doing, and walked towards them. “Kil shy tamam? Tahtajoon shy?” (Is everything ok? Do you need anything?) I asked. At first, they were too shy and prideful to give an answer, but after me pestering them for a while, they finally explained that they were hungry and needed some fresh clothes and medical attention for Noor, who was ill. Upon hearing their requests, I immediately catered to their needs. After getting them all that they needed, and translating for the doctors who took a look at Noor, who was not only ill, but had a diaper rash that made the poor girl insufferable, I was dragged to the playpin by the two children. We played with the stuffed animals while their mother recounted their experiences to me as if she'd known me for her whole life. She told me about her life, about her relationship, and her children. She said she felt like I was her sister. At first, Ahmed was skeptical, but after a couple of hours, he opened up in the same way. I spent two days with the family, translating legal advice, advising, talking to the parents, and playing with the children. This was the first and only family I became truly attached to. On their last night in Vienna, they spent some of their money to invite me for a “thank you” drink. We bonded over that drink, as they asked about my studies, my life, and my family. They talked to me about Syria while Noor sat on my lap and played with her toys and Hamoudi recounted his favorite shows to me in excruciating detail. I still keep in contact with the family, Ahmed texted me just the other day wishing me a happy Eid. He also let me know that him and Hamoudi have made it to Belgium, got their papers processed and are now integrating into society- they now have an apartment, Ahmed is in language courses, and Hamoudi is in school.

*name has been changed for security reasons.

"We Spent Months on Candle Lights"

    I was able to conduct an interview with a man from Aleppo in Syria; a city that has been one of the biggest battlegrounds since the start of the revolution. These do not represent the political views of the blog, I am merely the messenger.

     

     "

     1) How did you feel at the start of the revolution?

From the very beginning I did not fall for the fake calls of freedom and democracy promoted from the dens of “authoritarianism” and “backwardness”; the Gulf states, such as Qatar and Saudi, who fund the likes of Aljazeera and Al-Arabiya, were vigorously optimistic about the concept of ‘the Arab spring’ while these countries, themselves, have the most dictatorial regimes in the whole world. Syria, as any other country in the world, suffered from levels of corruption, but it did not require the likes of a revolution as violent and overwhelming as those of which we had witnessed in Egypt or Tunisia. To make things clearer, for myself who lives in Syria, we started witnessing exaggerations and lies spread by various sources; sometimes even creating events that never happened. I had daily calls and questions from friends abroad asking me how am I doing and I would give the same answer every time: “nothing is happening over here”.

By August 2011, the demonstrations reached my city, Aleppo, on very small scales. But wherever they happened, the people were generally terrified by the provocative calls and actions of the demonstrators who have resorted to various forms of religious shouts from the beginning.  They had also started blocking streets and neighborhoods while forced shop owners to close their shops. At the beginning of 2012, the protesters started getting more aggressive. They began attacking those who asked them to leave their peaceful neighborhoods. They began labeling them as ‘shabeeha’. They began threatening them with death. On several occasions, I witnessed protesters attacking unarmed traffic police; as well as vandalizing public and private property. Later they got very violent; blowing up the shops of anyone who had any Syrian flag, other than that of the FSA, raised outside their shops; or had a picture of the President hung inside. They resorted to fear tactics such as death threats and kidnapping; especially kidnapping children of the wealthy Aleppo bourgeois, most of whom soon fled the country after having paid millions in exchange for their lives and their families.

2) What has it been like in Aleppo for the past couple of months?

The past couple of months have generally been the same since July 2012; when the FSA had invaded half of the city, after cutting off all roads leading to the city that used to be economical center of Syria. Since then, Aleppo has suffered terribly from lack of necessities and services, such as electricity, which NOW barely comes for an hour every 24 hours. Water was also cut off on several occasion by the terrorists in attempt to bargain with the government. Water was also cut off by their infamous subterranean massive explosions that had once led to the complete absence of water all over the city for over two months. On August/Ramadan 2013, the people of Aleppo living in the part under the Syrian government control were under full siege by the various terrorist organizations, such as FSA and Jabhat AlNusra. The siege, which lasted for weeks, prevented anyone from taking food or any products into the part of the city under government control.


3) What was the scariest part/worst experience?

There have been several times where my family and I were in the direct threat of death. When your loved ones are in grave danger, there is no worse feeling. On October 2012, the FSA were very close to my house. I witnessed thousands flee their homes in their pajamas at 6 am with barely anything with the. This was the most terrifying moment in my life. My brother and I went out to the street after hearing gunshots, explosions and tabkeer shouts. The terrorists invaded the adjacent neighborhood after taking over a nearby police station that has been defending the whole area for weeks. I called on relatives to bring their cars and come take the women and children, the valuables, and of course, our papers. I refused to abandon my house knowing that they will loot and burn it, or even use it as a position to hide in, or attack from. A handful of armed residents managed to keep the terrorists away from our neighborhood for a few hours until security forces arrived and pushed them further back. When I recall these incidents today, it all flashes so quickly before my eyes; but back then every second felt like ages. I can still remember how fast my heart was beating when I woke up to the sound of gunshots and takbeers. I can still remember old men, old women and children, crying as they were running to safety. Thankfully we did not lose our house, unlike many unlucky Aleppo residents, and by next morning a group of a couple of hundreds Syrian Arab Army soldiers arrived to our neighborhood and were cheered by all who remained in their homes.

4) Did you ever want to leave?

Yes, on several occasions, mostly from 2013 until summer 2014. There seemed to be no hope back then. Everything was deteriorating on every level. Water would be cut off for days or even weeks. Electricity would be cut off for weeks. We could barely find any fuel in the coldest winter. People started cutting green trees to keep their families warm. We spent months on candle lights, and would only eat whatever we had stocked of rice, lentils, and bulgur.

5) Why did you stay?

For many reasons, mainly because I refuse to be mistreated and humiliated like many Syrian refugees in neighboring countries have been. I would rather stay with my family in these hard times than leave them when they need me most and be humiliated in a refugee camp, or to struggle as a minimum wage slave. I have a roof and walls that shelter me here, and a loving family that I need, as much as they need me. To be honest, if I could afford traveling abroad to live a decent life, I can afford to stay here and live a decent life around my loved ones.

6) What do the people of Aleppo feel at this time?

The majority of those I meet and talk to feel exhausted by the continuous war, they want to return to their normal lives they had before the war. Many also feel heartbroken over severe losses. There is hardly a family in Aleppo that has not been directly affected and has not lost something very precious be it a property or a loved person.

7) Do you have hope for things to get better?

I have experienced several periods of despair throughout this crisis. I have lost so much from the beginning of the events in Syria, starting with my job and not ending with my only brother. On several occasions, I felt broken and hopeless. I cannot forget the cries, the explosions, the destruction and the fear and terror. I have also seen people rise from their misery and distress, find a way to get over their losses and stand on their feet again, rebuild their destroyed homes and shops and start working again. I may be a pessimistic person who has apocalyptic views, but I have learned a lot from my city and my people, I have learned that at all costs I must die fighting, not running. I learned that, hopeful or hopeless, one should always work hard for as long as they live and die fighting, with no regrets.

8) What can people in the West do to help?

The people in the west can, and must, do a lot since it is their governments that have been the main, and worst, cause of the all sufferings in Syria and Middle East, generally. I believe they can start by writing to their representatives in whatever democratic system they claim to have, to lift the harsh and unfair sanctions on Syria. The people of Syria, which used to be one of the main exporters for food in Middle East, now suffer from lack of food as well as fuel and other necessities due to severe sanctions imposed by the USA, the EU and the UK and of course their puppet allies elsewhere. They also should rally to call for their governments to stop meddling around the world and disturbing peace, which has caused the death of millions since Vietnam. I believe that if the people of the west are interested in world peace they should seek serious changes in their governments’ policies in the Middle East as well as elsewhere." -ALEPPO, SYRIA 

"That's The Sound of The Candy Man"

"The summer of 2013 I had traveled to Jordan as I do every summer to visit my family. As daughter of Palestinian refugees who were exiled to Jordan, seeing my family was a tradition instilled by my parents who didn't want me and my siblings to grow up never knowing our grandparents. This summer, was different than all other summers I had gone before though.

The conflict in Syria had been raging for about a year. And the effects of the conflict were prominent in Jordan. Masses of Syrian refugees had escaped war torn Syria to Amman, and other parts of the country.  I didn't notice at first. But when I did, it was a shocking call to reality.

I had been sitting on the steps of my family home, which directly faces the street. My family’s home is in well off district of Amman, Dabouq, clean and well known. My grandfather had worked his entire life in factories as a Palestinian refugee until he had saved up enough to buy the land the house is built on, when land was still cheap in this area years ago. As I had sat, with a book in my hand, absorbing the rays of a warm Jordanian sun, I heard a clanging knock on the gate. I peered up to see a man, middle aged, looking awfully tired. He wore a white construction hat,  and I knew that he must be one of the workers who are always being hired to build or beautify a home on this street.  I ventured over to the gate, and without opening, asked how I could help him.  When he spoke, I was surprised to recognize the dialect of Arabic my best friend who is Syrian speaks. He explained to me how he had been working all day in the heat, and that the sun would set soon and he needed food so that he and his family could break their fast. I don’t think I answered at first. What was processing in my mind, that this was a Syrian refugee. That he had labored all day while fasting. That he didn't have enough to even bring food to his family. I said, sure absolutely, it would be my honor. He held out a plastic bag to me. I didn’t register that he wanted me to throw food into a plastic bag for him until a few seconds after he gave it to me. Oh my God, no way, I thought. I went inside to my mother and told her what had just happened. My moms eyes widened. She went into the kitchen, and packed up some of that night’s iftar that she had been cooking all day into little plastic plates, which she sealed up carefully with tinfoil. Then she placed all these plates of food into the plastic bag. She insisted on coming down with me, so in a matter of seconds, she threw on a black abaya and scarf and we descended down the stairs, through the garden, to the gate. The man still stood there, smiled when he saw us and greeted us warmly. I don’t even remember what my mother said to him, I just remember seeing his eyes fill with tears when he looked into the bag.

“No one’s ever put the food in plates before” he said in a quiet voice. I really had to hold myself back from getting emotional then and there. He thanked us graciously and left, and when I broke my fast on a date a few minutes later all I could think was ‘Alhamdulliah’ , thanks be to God.

This scenario happened many times after, sometimes the same man, sometimes other refugees. One night, I was sitting on the marble veranda with my young cousins when I heard the sound of a toy whistle. My cousins Dana and Omar heard it too, and they recognized it immediately. “Thats the sound of the candy man” they squealed in excitement. Sure enough, at the gate I saw multi-colored lights laced up on a bar that was hoisted on the shoulders of a relatively old man. The bar had tiny bags of cotton candy tied onto it. My cousins rushed to the gate and I followed closely behind them. The old man smiled, took the bar off his shoulders, and offered each of them a bag of cotton candy. One bag only cost a few Jordanian ‘irshes’ or quarters. I paid for both, and I noticed a small Syrian flag pin on the mans shirt. “Are you Syrian, uncle?” I asked politely. He smiled, a smile that reminded me of my grandfather’s smile, who was actually sitting in his garden on the other side of the house at the time. “Yes I am, ya binti”  he replied warmly. I told him that I wished all the best for his people, and his reply to this day is something I’ll never forget. “We all just want to return, but I am glad that while I am here I can make children smile”. Then he left, the sound of the toy whistle echoing in my ears. I well and truly lost it when he left. My grandfather, sitting in the garden, could hear me crying. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a selfless optimistic person in my life , someone who had to escape the violence of their country only to come here and have to work a foolish job to make a living, yet still make the best of it, still be thankful, still make little children smile. And I returned to cry on those stone steps where a few weeks ago I had encountered my first disenfranchised Syrian refugee, and thats where my grandfather found me. The moon was still high, I could hear my cousins playing, and my parents and uncles were still not home from the Ramadan night prayer, taraweeh. These small series of events inspired me to go visit the Syrian refugees in the North of Jordan a few days later.

My dad and uncle went with me. We drove through the winding valleys of Jordan. We stopped by a complex called Circuit City, but decided that donations would be futile here since the residents of the complex got a room for each family and an allowance of ten dollars a week to buy food for their families. So we drove a bit farther north until we reached the city of Al-Ramtha which is so near to the Syrian border that you can actually see the smoke of the war on the horizon. There, through a small Islamic organization, my father and I gave refugees who had literally just arrived from Syria money, as they had come with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Al-Ramtha is interesting. Many self proclaimed revolutionaries there, many shabihs as well. Politics wasn't really discussed,  and people kept their political sympathies to themselves. My father delicately had asked people who he had given the donations to what their viewpoints as Syrians were and almost every person gave a different answer. But they could all agree, they wanted the violence to stop and they wanted to return to their homes and lives as soon as possible. To see the young children who were smiling and playing on the streets, the old woman who begged on the sidewalks and praised you with blessings when you sat next to them and helped them out and heard their story was a life changing experience.

Now, its 2015 and the war in Syria is raging on. Sometimes, when I turn on the news, it seems so hopeless to me, and I remember all the people I met in Jordan. I wish the best for them, I truly from the bottom of my heart do. People always tell me that I was too young to have seen such suffering but I think it motivated and inspired me. The people of Syria are forever in my prayers, and the refugees who’s narrative seems to be lost in a sea of violence are in my heart. I hope that they do not face the plight of what my people, the Palestinians faced. I hope that generations are not born outside of Syria and raised in refugee camps. I hope, that soon this will all end. That  everyone I saw and every refugee in  exile returns to rebuild Syria and create a future that will outshine the past." - 17, Syria