Enab Baladi – Ghazal Salat
With small bags carrying some memories of the past and hesitant steps on roads that are no longer as they were, many Syrians have returned from exile and refuge to visit what remains of their homes.
Videos and photos circulated on social media documenting moments of returnees standing on the ruins of their destroyed homes. Some returned with the hope of rebuilding, while others came only to see what was left, but all shared the scene of destruction that does not resemble their memories of the place.
Despite the destruction that has befallen their homes, the visit of Syrians to the ruins of their houses has not diminished their connection to those places but rather revived in their hearts a strong sense of belonging, as some of them told Enab Baladi.
“The astonishment of the first encounter”
Aerial images and news reports created a general idea among Syrians about the extent of the destruction left by the previous Syrian regime, yet the reality they encounter in their trips to the ruins of their cities and homes remains harsher.
The demolished buildings are not just silent rubble; they carry within their crumbling walls remnants of lives that were not completed, with opened doors leading to the memories of their owners.
More than a decade ago, specifically on December 19, 2012, young Abdul Wahab Ameera from the Jobar neighborhood of Damascus was forced to leave Syria.
Ameera recounts to Enab Baladi that his departure with his family from Syria at that time was not a voluntary decision but rather an escape from the arrests and the violent shelling that targeted his neighborhood and his siblings’ school.
Ameera, who was honored as the youngest Syrian inventor in 2011, was arrested instead of being celebrated; he had lost hope of returning to Syria a month before the regime fell. He stated, “Hope of returning faded for me, and I started thinking that perhaps my grandchildren might return to Damascus one day.”
“But what happened was one of the most amazing and incomprehensible feelings,” Ameera described his emotions upon arriving at the ruins of his home.
He added, “I was filled with awe and astonishment at the extent of the destruction—a mixture of fear and courage, joy and sadness. I cannot describe my feelings, but I think they were evident in my eyes at that time.”
Upon arrival, Ameera found the old rubber tree planted by his grandfather years ago still standing, alongside his grandmother’s jasmine, which had grown amid the rubble of a five-story building. He said, “Although the jasmine of Damascus usually does not bloom in December, I recognized the place from the scent of the jasmine, as if the two trees had come out to welcome us from beneath the rubble.”
Similarly, young Tamam Ankir was one of those who decided to visit her home after years of forced absence, having fled with her family to Turkey to escape the shelling that targeted her city of al-Habit in rural Idlib.
“I expected to see my house in this state, but tears flooded my eyes at first sight, as scenes of destruction resembled a war zone taken from movies,” Ankir told Enab Baladi.
Visiting Syria was also a dream for Rania al-Maamar, who decided immediately after the fall of the regime to visit her city of Maaret al-Numan in rural Idlib to see her family after years of separation. She said, “I did not expect to return, and my joy was immense, but the extent of the destruction I saw caused me some disappointment.”
She wondered, “How can a sane person kill his people and destroy an entire country in this way?”
“Return to the past”
Upon arrival, Syrians face realities that differ from one person to another. While some recall their memories in the alleys and streets, others find themselves confronting remnants of details that adorned their homes amidst the rubble, while some others only discovered the void left by the years.
The scenes of destruction did not prevent al-Maamar from recalling her memories in the city. She said, “As soon as I entered my city, memories of the past began to flow in my mind—its streets, houses, markets… I wandered through its neighborhoods and recalled the details; here was so-and-so’s house, here was our neighbor’s store, and here was my relatives’ home.”
Tamam Ankir recalled the weekends she spent at her grandfather’s house, where she enjoyed gatherings with her uncles and aunts, competing in football and badminton matches, and hosting barbecues, where warmth and security filled the atmosphere during those days.
Ankir hoped to find something of the past hidden among the ruins. She said, “I could not find any of my old belongings, and unfortunately, even the photo album I had buried in a safe place before we left, I could not find it.”
Amidst the rubble in his room, Abdul Wahab Ameera searched with his hands for traces of his past, finding some of his memories buried under the wreckage. He said, “I found some pieces of decoration pots that belonged to my mother, a prize for my sister, a notebook that I used to draw in during my childhood, charred pieces of family photos, in addition to an old notebook belonging to my grandfather, where the family kept its memories.”
He added, “Every time I picked up a stone, a memory emerged.”
“Home is where the heart is”
Although many Syrians who left their country at a young age thought that the years and distances had stripped them of their belonging to their cities and homes, this visit showed them otherwise.
“I felt that I would not find anyone, and it seemed to me that no one would recognize me, but I did not walk down a street in Syria without being welcomed by people with greetings and hugs,” Abdul Wahab Ameera said.
He added, “I wish to return to live here, for I have found no happiness in life, companionship, or living that compares to the happiness I felt when I used to live in this neighborhood and this alley.”
Ameera believes, as do most of the residents of Jobar, according to him, that he should, each time he enters Jobar, “take off his shoes in respect for the blood of the martyrs.”
He continued, “Nothing in my life gives me the sense of pride that my belonging to this land gives me.”
As for Tamam Ankir, what made her feel a sense of belonging and reassurance was that her childhood friends and relatives were as she had known them—if not kinder and more generous.
She expressed her hope of returning to Syria one day, affirming that when she returned, she felt that there was no safer refuge than her homeland, for home is the place where you find comfort and security and to which you can resort when times get tough.
Returning to Syria after years of absence was not just a fleeting trip down memory lane; in the alleys that held their first steps, the visitors found themselves in a homeland whose features had changed but whose presence in their hearts remained intact.