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13 years of conflict: Displaced Syrians still long for lost homes

Picture shows a settlement camp with tents for the internally displaced people in Syria

13 years into the conflict, about 6.8 million internally displaced Syrians still wait to return home. Photo: Delil Souleiman/CARE

13 years into the conflict, about 6.8 million internally displaced Syrians still wait to return home. Photo: Delil Souleiman/CARE

The humanitarian crisis in Syria continues to deepen. Over 70 percent of the nation's population - 16.7 million people - can’t survive without humanitarian aid.

The 2023 earthquake and the recent escalation of violence have made an already-precarious situation worse, causing further loss of civilian lives, as well as displacement and destruction of vital civilian infrastructure, including water and power facilities.

The number of people who have been displaced by the conflict and its spillover effects is one of the highest in the world, with about 6.5 million refugees and around 6.8 million people internally displaced.

To try to understand how just a few of these millions of displaced people are managing this terrible situation, CARE asked a group of Syrian women living in northwest and northeast Syria what their most immediate needs are now, and what their hopes are for the future.  

A Syrian woman 's portrait who's holding her late husband's photo. An internally displaced Syrian women with her son. An internally displaced Syrian woman preparing food in her tent. An internally displaced Syrian woman, smiling next to her tent. An internally displaced Syrian woman and her husband, sitting next to each other in front of their tent. An internally displaced woman and her husband sitting inside their tent.
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Laila

Photo: CARE

Laila*, 63, originally from Idlib, now lives in a camp in Aleppo. She is a widow.

Farah*, 45, a mother of seven children from Homs has now settled in a village in Aleppo. She is the family’s sole breadwinner after a car accident left her husband paralyzed a few years ago.

Aisha*, 47, has sought refuge in a camp in Idlib after being forced out of her home and other temporary shelters in Idlib. As an agricultural worker, she earns slightly over a dollar daily to provide for her nine children.

Fatema*, 55, lives in a school-turned-settlement-camp with her sister and a disabled brother. They had to change places several times since leaving their village in 2016. Aisha is single and unemployed.

Maha*, 42, found a place to stay on a school compound – what is now described as a ‘collective shelter center’. It’s been over a year. Before that, she had to leave her home and three other shelters.

Rasha*, 38, a mother of six children, lives on the same school premises as Maha.

Malika*, 55, could not manage anything beyond a tent which she shares with eleven children and grandchildren. They had to flee from home five years ago.

Khawla*, 55, a midwife from eastern Syria, has been residing in a camp since 2018 with her husband. They had to change five places since 2013.

Huda*, 43, her husband Bassam, and eight children were forced out of their home from eastern Syria in 2012. They had to live in different places and now reside in a camp for the past seven years.

Photo shows a Syrian woman standing on her own farmland, looking at the horizon.
Like many Syrian families, Malika and Fatema used to farm on their own pieces of land, growing cotton and other cash crops. Photo: Delil Souleiman/CARE

Looking back: Life gone by

Laila: Life was peaceful and simple. Our house was big and beautiful with two floors. The ground floor had our livestock and some household items, while we lived on the second.

Malika: We owned nearly 100 acres of land where we planted cotton. We lived comfortably on our farm, with an abundance of food produced by our livestock and agricultural farming.

Aisha: Life was stable before fleeing our village home where we experienced occasional shelling. Some of our relatives lived close by, and I felt safer that way. In times of any crisis, I could ask for their help. Our financial situation could cover all our needs.

Farah: I truly miss how we used to experience the holy month [Ramadan] in our areas. Family gatherings, worship rituals, traditions, and night gatherings in small coffee shops — all these memories are now just something of the past.

Khawla: We had a good life. My husband Mohammed worked as finance head of a farmers’ union. He was responsible for the entire Jazira region from Raqqa to the borders with Iraq.

Fatema: We used to farm and had orchards, water pumps, and our own agricultural land. We planted cotton on 25 acres of land. We had a comfortable life, far better than this one.

Huda: Our homes are no longer there. My house was my abode, and it was my children’s sanctuary.

“I face challenges providing food for my family.” - Farah. Photo: CARE

“Most of my children had to leave school because of the financial crisis.” - Aisha. Photo: CARE

“My most urgent need now is to secure medication.” - Laila. Photo: CARE

What we need: Challenges we face

Fatema: This life is a life of sheer humiliation. We constantly rely on assistance for survival. We need to wait even for a bottle of cooking oil, or any other commodities. Sadly, most of the time, we don’t even get that.

Farah: I face challenges providing food for my family. We often take only bread. Sometimes, I need to borrow money from others. I wish my [paralyzed] husband would get proper treatment and be able to walk again.

Malika: Today, if we need to buy powdered milk for the kids, $1.50 isn’t enough for breakfast. Even one egg costs 25 cents, which isn’t fair. We have different household needs, like diapers for the kids. But prices keep rising and we’re not getting enough cash assistance. My husband is getting older, and we don’t have any other family members who can work.

Aisha: Most of my children had to leave school because of the financial crisis. They need to work. Also, the schools are quite far from where we live.

Laila: My most urgent need now is to secure medication. It’s difficult. Medicines are either not available or too expensive.

Maha: Our top priority is healthcare. We need mobile health clinics. When we go to a pharmacy, we don’t have enough money to buy medications.

Khawla: We don’t have any income. The aid we get isn’t enough. We must choose one thing over the other. Sometimes we sell stuff we get as aid to buy something more urgent. On top of that, rain often makes life more difficult. Since we live in tents, we get flooded easily.

Huda: Our living conditions are the biggest challenge. We need more work. Often the contracts are too short to sustain us. We want to earn enough money to send kids to school, buy clothes and uniforms. Our daily misery starts from the moment we wake up until we go to bed. We are all constantly stressed. To escape from that we often pretend to create a home-like atmosphere… sometimes we plant seeds and grow plants to uplift our moods. Life in a tent is indeed a tragic one. Only a few days ago a child died when a tent caught fire. That’s why when we turn on the stove, we stay alert. After all, our tent is a mere piece of cloth that can catch fire anytime.

“I joined the psychological support group sessions.” – Aisha. Photo: CARE

“You cannot imagine the happiness of my children when we receive cash assistance.” – Farah. Photo: CARE

Life in a camp: where we are now

Farah: You cannot imagine the happiness of my children when we receive cash assistance. The money helps me feed my family, buy fuel, and repay some of my loans. I hope we will continue to receive support [from CARE and its partners].

Aisha: I joined the psychological support group sessions [conducted by a CARE partner]. I also completed a literacy course. Now I can read and write!

Laila: I regularly attend health promotion awareness sessions conducted by SRDO [CARE partner] mobile team.

Maha: Here, we get bread and water. We also receive medicines and sanitary pads. Basic health services for women are available here, but no child health related support. Medical treatment and medicines are expensive. Only in serious cases, do we take our kids to a doctor that costs 60,000 Lira ($4). That’s why we often don’t see a doctor and resort to traditional healing practices instead.

 

An internally displaced Syrian woman in glasses holding a mirror and gazing at her own reflection with some medicines on her lap.
“My wish is to see my home one last time.” Photo: CARE

We wish…

Huda: We badly want to go back home. That’s the most important thing. If this does not happen any time soon, our living conditions must improve.

Aisha: I just wish to return home and see everyone together, gathered around one table like we used to. I also hope to receive aid to be able to start my own project, amidst dwindling aid flow. I am worried about our future.

Laila: My wish is to see my home one last time before my death, to return home and reunite with my relatives.

*Names changed

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