It was more realistic for me to imagine myself becoming an astronaut than a refugee.
When the conflict started in 2011, I couldn’t imagine leaving Syria, it was more realistic for me at the time to imagine myself becoming an astronaut than a refugee. During the first two years I spent in Turkey, I couldn’t believe I was a refugee. This word is the title of my life now.
I was born in Damascus, but my family moved to Aleppo around 1981 and I studied in the Aleppo University English Language Department. As soon as I finished my diploma, I entered the mandatory military service and completed this within 2 years. Soon after, I left Syria all together and went to teach English in Kuwait and then worked in Saudi Arabia for a while before returning to Syria in 2006.
I focussed on building my personal life when I returned. I got married, my daughter was born, and I got a job teaching English in the countryside. I taught under the Ministry of Education and started a private college for teaching English. Around the same time, I joined a group of activists advocating for human rights and education, but the security forces called me and questioned me about my activities. They warned me that I could face imprisonment if I continued, so I stopped.
By the time 2009 started, I had just bought a new house and I was full of hope. On a personal level, I felt things were getting better. My wife worked with a telecoms company, and we were planning a better future for ourselves. Middle-class Syrians had moderately good standards of living at the time, but we had no freedom of speech, and we couldn’t criticise the regime or the government. It was great, as long as we didn’t get involved in politics or what the government was doing.
2011 was when things started to change. Peaceful demonstrations started in Deraa and soon spread across Syria. I joined the protests in Aleppo and the Syrian regime forces cracked down on the protestors. When the clashes started, I decided not to join any military activities. At the end of 2011, the Free Syrian Army started clashing with the regime and they managed to take a part of Aleppo. My neighbourhood was part of it. We stayed for a while, but the regime started shooting at us with mortar and rockets. A month after the Free Syrian Army took over, we miraculously survived a mortar attack and we had to flee. It was a miracle we survived but we knew we had to flee so we left for Lebanon.
In Lebanon, we stayed with my wife’s sister. It was a very small space and we had to share it with 15 people. We only stayed for a month, and it was such a painful experience that I decided to go back to Syria. We had no money and my wife, and I needed to go back to Syria otherwise we’d lose our jobs. We had to take the risk and return.
We kept hoping things would end well, that the heroes would kill the villain and we would be happy again. But it didn’t work out that way.
The area where my house was located was the battlefield and we used to watch as planes would bomb the area, but we had to work to get our salaries to survive. Luckily, my work was about 2km away from my house, in an area which was a bit safer. We kept hoping things would end well, that the heroes would kill the villain and we would be happy again. But it didn’t work out that way.
The security and economic situation in 2012 were dire. We forced ourselves to accommodate and adapt to having no electricity and the continuous shortage of water but 6 months later, the Free Syrian Army started a siege on the main roads from Damascus and there was no food entering the area. There were very serious shortages and people suffered a lot. The situation gradually worsened, and we thought there is still an opportunity to leave now but if we wait, we might not be able to.
It’s very difficult to lock your house and leave, but by the end the situation had been so unbearable we didn’t have a choice. Our neighbourhood was continuously bombed, the Syrian regime took over our neighbourhood and we had to live with my mother-in-law for a little while. There was a sniper on the street, 1 or 2 people were shot and when my wife used to go to work, she had to walk on a specific side of the street, or she would be targeted. As soon as we could, we left Syria. I thank God we left when we did because it became worse for people afterwards. It became more helpless.
I often dream that I’m back in Syria, which frightens me, and I wake up in shock.
I often dream that I’m back in Syria, which frightens me, and I wake up in shock. I posted about these nightmares on Facebook, it turned out many of my friends had the same nightmare; when we’ve suddenly returned to Syria, we walk on the streets, and we’re frightened the security forces will find us.
2021, officially marks 8 years of us being in Turkey. We work and live in Istanbul. I am an editor; journalist and I help NGOs. Life got better when we moved to Turkey, there was water and electricity, and we can buy things and visit other places. It’s a normal situation with the normal rhythm of life. In the beginning, it felt strange, we couldn’t understand the language but once we started learning it, it got better. Until 2015, I wanted to go back and rebuild Syria, but my hopes vanished, and we had to resign ourselves to the idea that we might be refugees forever. Syria might never go back to what it was before.
The first 2 years as a refugee were strange for me. In Syria, I remember meeting Palestinian and Iraqi refugees. They both told me that being a refugee means being a 2nd or 3rd class citizen. The Palestinians had been refugees for so long this feeling had decreased but for the Iraqis, the feeling was fresh and painful. They didn’t feel like Syria was theirs. They were bitter about being refugees because it meant you don’t belong to this place; you have no solid roots. This is what I feel now in Turkey.
When we first arrived, I was shocked because there was a big difference between Syria and Turkey. In Turkey, the streets were clean, there was discipline, and the way of life was different but soon we started to feel our fascination ending. We started feeling the differences and seeing the negative aspects of society. We’ve met many hostile people and have been through situations where we didn’t know why people were acting that way. When I compare how I treated the Iraqi refugees in my neighbourhood to how the Turkish treat us, I really don’t know what to say. We never treated them this badly. I never wanted them to feel like they didn’t belong.
One of our Turkish neighbours told me to switch off the lights at 11PM because it reflected through his curtain and prevented him from sleeping. When I questioned how this was possible, he showed me a very unwelcoming gesture. I started to feel like these people can’t accept foreigners or their way of life. They don’t have the same compassion I showed my Iraqi neighbours. There is no compassion. They don’t know what we’ve been through, and they don’t try to understand us either.
There are currently more than 4 million Syrian refugees in Turkey. We can rent houses but when Turkish landlords hear that we are Syrians, they say they don’t want foreigners. We can work, go to school, and use hospitals and children can go to school but we have to pay for that. Some families receive funding from the International Red Cross – widows, orphans, and those with chronic diseases.
I remember Aylan Kurdi’s story vividly. I edited these stories and I cried. I put myself in the position of his father and imagined it happening to my children. I thought to myself, is Europe worth risking the life of my children?
I remember the people leaving Turkey for Europe in 2015. I was working in 2015 and I used to write and edit the stories of Syrians trying to cross to Europe in rubber boats. I read about so many accidents and boats sinking in the sea. I remember Aylan Kurdi’s story vividly. I edited these stories and I cried. I put myself in the position of his father and imagined it happening to my children. I thought to myself, is Europe worth risking the life of my children? Could I stand to see the bodies of my daughter and son in the sea? I decided I would never risk their lives.
I also thought, I respect myself as a journalist, a teacher and a man with literary status and I wouldn’t allow myself to be someone who crosses illegally, lived in a camp, and was forced to endure police brutality. I wrote reports on how Eastern Europeans treated refugees badly. I remember the story of a Czech journalist who tripped a father holding his son. I couldn’t put myself in that position. I didn’t like the idea in 2015 because I felt it was dangerous, but now I regret it. It’s becoming worse for Syrian refugees in Turkey and now I’m waiting for the chance to move somewhere else.
There has been a rise in racism in Turkey and the hatred campaign run by political figures is making things worse. Recently, because of the bad economic situation, the political opposition in Turkey started a campaign against Syrian refugees and held us responsible for the unemployment and high rent prices. They’re demanding all Syrian refugees are returned even though we tell them it’s not safe. We tell them we’ll be tortured to death, but they don’t listen. They don’t want refugees in Turkey.
The situation is getting worse, and I find myself reflecting and wondering if I should have risked the trip to Europe.
The situation is getting worse, and I find myself reflecting and wondering if I should have risked the trip to Europe. Some of my friends who reached Europe in 2015 have citizenship now and many of them have joined courses and learned different languages, but I’m still a refugee with a Syrian Kimlik (ID) card. With this, I can’t even leave Istanbul. I need to get approval from the immigration officer for a travel permit.
I’ve started seriously thinking about leaving Turkey. We have no rights here. Some Syrians were given Turkish passports, but they’re still treated like foreigners. I don’t have a future here. There are no standards or hope here. I know racism and people who are full of hatred exist everywhere but, in a country, ruled by laws, where racism is a crime, it might be slightly better. Countries where large portions of the population believe in human rights might have people who would stand with you and there would be equality before the law. There would be tools to defend yourself.
I often wonder if after 200 years, when human rights and freedom of speech becomes normal, maybe the generations to come won’t be able to believe there were people before them who were forced to flee their homes and give up everything just to live in another place to express their opinions.
No one chooses to be a refugee. No one would choose this life. Human beings rank stability as one of their top priorities. They want to feel stable, secure, connected and related to – they want to feel like they belong somewhere. I often wonder if after 200 years, when human rights and freedom of speech becomes normal, maybe the generations to come won’t be able to believe there were people before them who were forced to flee their homes and give up everything just to live in another place to express their opinions. It’s painful to tell the whole world that you’ve lost your home where you’ve lived for so long. If it’s not possible for people to go back home, give them hope and the feeling of belonging somewhere new.
Recently, I feel terrible about being a refugee. A little while ago a racist targeted me on the bus. I was speaking on the phone and a Turkish man told me not to speak in Arabic. He said Arabic isn’t honourable and he said many bad words to me. He hit me on my face and punched me when I tried to defend myself. When I tried to get off the bus with my bags, he kicked me in the chest. The people on the bus were standing with him. They were shouting at me as well. When I posted about it on Facebook, my friends suggested I call the police, but they were indifferent as usual. They kept sending us to different police stations. They wanted a medical report. As a Syrian you won’t get your rights.
I feel bitter about being a refugee. A little while after the incident on the bus I came across a girl speaking in Arabic. A Turkish man said stop barking like dogs in Arabic, you’re in Turkey respect our laws. I thought of fighting him but I’m diabetic. If I fought him, I would be in more trauma. When I was attacked the first time, I had to take a lot of medication to stabilise my health and I didn’t want to go through it again. There is a bitterness about being a refugee, you can’t raise your voice because you weren’t born here, and you don’t belong here.
I try to stay home and not use public transport. I’ve also stopped reading posts by politicians. The time of the day doesn’t matter, they continuously tweet their hate. There is no law to stop them, the government never says this is enough, stop your lies. No one tried to stop these people from spreading their hatred and lies. No one defends refugees. I feel stressed about the current situation. I have no plan B. I have no plans for tomorrow. I just live day-to-day for tomorrow. I just have today.
I feel humiliated by the events I’ve had to endure. I feel like the world is looking down on me. Our people were killed in front of our eyes, and we couldn’t do anything. Even if I speak the language of another country and tried to go to the consulate and say I’m being treated badly, that I haven’t crossed illegally – they still wouldn’t give me a visa, only in my dreams.