_WEY8675
In 2012, Ali and his wife Zahra [names changed] fled with their family from their farm outside Aleppo when Islamists aggressively tried to recruit Mohamad and his brother. “Can you believe they offered me money in exchange for my honour, in exchange for the life of my sons?” exclaims Ali in disgust. “There was no choice but to flee to Damascus.” But his son was still not safe.
“Can you believe they offered me money in exchange for my honour, in exchange for the life of my sons?”
“I’d rather have no money, but have my parents be proud of me,” Mohamad bravely told the IS recruiters. Instead he joined the Syrian army, and in August 2016 he died fighting at Deir ez-Zor.
His family has been adrift ever since. Mohamad’s closest brother Hussein stays shut in his room, doing nothing. “He hasn’t left the house since his brother died,” worries his father Ali. “He is not well.” Sometimes Hussein has violent outbursts of rage, destroying things in their tiny home.
Meanwhile their mother squats on the floor for hours at a time with her back against the wall, unable to work. “I just think about my son. That’s all,” she says flatly, her eyes empty. Her loss is irreplaceable.
Now living in Jaramana, a suburb of Damascus overflowing with people displaced by war, the whole family goes every Friday to visit Mohamad’s grave in a village 15 miles away.
“We are alive. But that is all.”
“Before the war, we lived simply, but we had what we needed,” murmurs Ali, blinking away tears as he grasps a portrait of his lost son to his chest. “Olive trees, some farm animals, food to eat, the children in school.” Now, although he works ceaselessly doing manual jobs around the neighbourhood, he makes only about half what will cover the family’s basic needs. “When I find work, we eat. When I don’t… We are alive. But that is all.”
Down a little side street a few blocks away, Caritas workers have registered more than 5,000 families including Ali’s. Families receive vouchers to exchange for whatever goods they most needs, in shops which set fair prices. It must be difficult for a proud, hard-working father of a family to accept aid, but Ali admits that otherwise he could not manage.
He also gets help with the rent on three rooms on the rooftop of a half-finished building where the family lives, and Caritas also supports his youngest son Hassan, aged 12, to go to school. Hassan stays on after class for extra lessons to catch up with all the school he missed while living under the control of IS, who stopped children from attending. With 1.75 million children currently not in school (UNOCHA), Syria today has a lost generation whose life chances are in ruins.
Alexandra Way/Caritas Switzerland
_WEY8675
In 2012, Ali and his wife Zahra [names changed] fled with their family from their farm outside Aleppo when Islamists aggressively tried to recruit Mohamad and his brother. “Can you believe they offered me money in exchange for my honour, in exchange for the life of my sons?” exclaims Ali in disgust. “There was no choice but to flee to Damascus.” But his son was still not safe.
“Can you believe they offered me money in exchange for my honour, in exchange for the life of my sons?”
“I’d rather have no money, but have my parents be proud of me,” Mohamad bravely told the IS recruiters. Instead he joined the Syrian army, and in August 2016 he died fighting at Deir ez-Zor.
His family has been adrift ever since. Mohamad’s closest brother Hussein stays shut in his room, doing nothing. “He hasn’t left the house since his brother died,” worries his father Ali. “He is not well.” Sometimes Hussein has violent outbursts of rage, destroying things in their tiny home.
Meanwhile their mother squats on the floor for hours at a time with her back against the wall, unable to work. “I just think about my son. That’s all,” she says flatly, her eyes empty. Her loss is irreplaceable.
Now living in Jaramana, a suburb of Damascus overflowing with people displaced by war, the whole family goes every Friday to visit Mohamad’s grave in a village 15 miles away.
“We are alive. But that is all.”
“Before the war, we lived simply, but we had what we needed,” murmurs Ali, blinking away tears as he grasps a portrait of his lost son to his chest. “Olive trees, some farm animals, food to eat, the children in school.” Now, although he works ceaselessly doing manual jobs around the neighbourhood, he makes only about half what will cover the family’s basic needs. “When I find work, we eat. When I don’t… We are alive. But that is all.”
Down a little side street a few blocks away, Caritas workers have registered more than 5,000 families including Ali’s. Families receive vouchers to exchange for whatever goods they most needs, in shops which set fair prices. It must be difficult for a proud, hard-working father of a family to accept aid, but Ali admits that otherwise he could not manage.
He also gets help with the rent on three rooms on the rooftop of a half-finished building where the family lives, and Caritas also supports his youngest son Hassan, aged 12, to go to school. Hassan stays on after class for extra lessons to catch up with all the school he missed while living under the control of IS, who stopped children from attending. With 1.75 million children currently not in school (UNOCHA), Syria today has a lost generation whose life chances are in ruins.
Alexandra Way/Caritas Switzerland