Youth exodus takes joy out of festivities in Syria

Matanios Dalloul, 62, one of the 20 remaining Christian residents of the central Syrian town of Al-Qaryatain in the Homs province, assesses the damage in the fifth-century monastery. (AFP)
Short Url
Updated 25 December 2021
Follow

Youth exodus takes joy out of festivities in Syria

  • Daesh “has gone, but the sadness remains,” he lamented, the scent of molasses filling the air around him

AL-QARYATAIN: Inside a Syrian monastery desecrated by Daesh, Matanios Dalloul stood alone by the shattered altar where a once-thriving community celebrated Christmas before the threat of death drove them out.
The 62-year-old is one of 20 Christians remaining in the central town of Al-Qaryatain out of the community that boasted 900 members before conflict broke out a decade ago.
Tracing a cross against his body between piles of broken stone, the lone parishioner prayed for long life for the remnants of a dwindling community which has nobody left under the age of 40.
“The holidays need people, they need young boys and girls, not just piles of stone,” Dalloul said, gesturing at what remains of the mud brick walls of the Mar Elian monastery.
“It is people who generate holiday cheer, and if people do not return, there will be no joy.”
The town of Al-Qaryatain in Homs province was once viewed as a symbol of coexistence between Christian and Muslim communities who had lived together for centuries before Daesh seized the area in 2015.
Daesh razed the fifth-century Syriac Catholic monastery of Mar Elian (Saint Elian) and abducted hundreds of Christians, who were locked in an underground dungeon in the desert for 25 days before being freed.

FASTFACT

The last time the churches of Al-Qaryatain celebrated Christmas was in 2015 before the arrival of Daesh, said 62-year-old Matanios Dalloul whose three children have all emigrated to Europe or Canada.

Six years have passed since Russian-backed regime forces ousted Daesh from the town but most of the Christians who fled have not returned and those who remain have neither a church nor a priest to turn to this holiday season.
The last time the churches of Al-Qaryatain celebrated Christmas was in 2015 before the arrival of Daesh, said Dalloul whose three children have all emigrated to Europe or Canada.
“Now, there are no open churches, nor a priest to oversee Christmas mass,” he said.
Dalloul is not alone in his disappointment.
Bassam Debbas said he does not have a single relative left in Syria and will therefore spend Christmas alone, working in a small workshop where he produces grape molasses.
“I don’t have anyone left, not a father, nor a mother, nor siblings, nor a wife ... I will spend the holiday as though it is any other day, any other working day,” the 61-year-old said.
Debbas returned to Al-Qaryatain this year to resume the family trade of molasses production from a small workshop where grapes are fermented and then cooked.
Constant power cuts make the cooking a challenge but he is trying to maintain bare minimum production levels despite the odds.
Outside his home, the street is empty. Traces of Daesh rule are still visible on the crater-riddled walls of neighboring buildings, most of which are either leveled or abandoned.
“The holidays have become completely different since Daesh arrived and brought sadness into the hearts of the people,” Debbas said.
Daesh “has gone, but the sadness remains,” he lamented, the scent of molasses filling the air around him.
Inside Samira Khoury’s home, red rosary beads hang from a small golden cross placed on a wooden table.
A single red candle is lit beside a portrait of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. There are no Christmas decorations.
The 68-year-old and her three sisters were among dozens of Christians kidnapped and locked up by Daesh in 2015.
“Since that day, happiness has disappeared completely from our home,” she said, huddling by a heater.
Without relatives or neighbors to celebrate with, Khoury said “happiness tastes different and the holidays don’t look” the way they used to.
“Nothing is the same,” she said.
Feeding a small stove with fire wood, Phillipe Azar said his Christmas is once again blighted by the sadness of loss.
“My family has left and my friends are dead,” said the 49-year-old, who lives alone in a 10-room house once bustling with relatives.
Azar — who hasn’t put up any Christmas decorations since the start of Syria’s war in 2011 — said he will spend the holiday near his heater.
He may invite an 80-year-old friend over for a glass of wine but that is only if he is in good enough health to come visit.
“The Christmas tree has been packed in a box since 2011,” Azar said.
“Who should I put it up for? Why would I celebrate alone, without my siblings, neighbors and friends?“


Sudanese trek through mountains to escape Kordofan fighting

Updated 3 sec ago
Follow

Sudanese trek through mountains to escape Kordofan fighting

  • For eight days, Sudanese farmer Ibrahim Hussein led his family through treacherous terrain to flee the fighting in southern Kordofan — the latest and most volatile front in the country’s 31-month-old
PORT SUDAN: For eight days, Sudanese farmer Ibrahim Hussein led his family through treacherous terrain to flee the fighting in southern Kordofan — the latest and most volatile front in the country’s 31-month-old conflict.
“We left everything behind,” said the 47-year-old, who escaped with his family of seven from Keiklek, near the South Sudanese border.
“Our animals and our unharvested crops — all of it.”
Hussein spoke to AFP from Kosti, an army-controlled city in White Nile state, around 300 kilometers (186 miles) south of Khartoum.
The city has become a refuge for hundreds of families fleeing violence in oil-rich Kordofan, where the Sudanese army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) — locked in a brutal war since April 2023 — are vying for control.
Emboldened by their October capture of the army’s last stronghold in Darfur, the RSF and their allies have in recent weeks descended in full force on Kordofan, forcing nearly 53,000 people to flee, according to the United Nations.
“For most of the war, we lived in peace and looked after our animals,” Hussein said.
“But when the RSF came close, we were afraid fighting would break out. So we left, most of the way on foot.”
He took his family through the rocky spine of the Nuba Mountains and the surrounding valley, passing through both paramilitary and army checkpoints.
This month, the RSF consolidated its grip on West Kordofan — one of three regional states — and seized Heglig, which lies on Sudan’s largest oil field.
With their local allies, they have also tightened their siege on the army-held cities of Kadugli and Dilling, where hundreds of thousands face mass starvation.

- Running for their lives -

In just two days this week, nearly 4,000 people arrived in Kosti, hungry and terrified, said Mohamed Refaat, Sudan chief of mission for the UN’s International Organization for Migration.
“Most of those arriving are women and children. Very few adult men are with them,” he told AFP, adding that many men stay behind “out of fear of being killed or abducted.”
The main roads are unsafe, so families are taking “long and uncertain journeys and sleeping wherever they can,” according to Mercy Corps, one of the few aid agencies operating in Kordofan.
“Journeys that once took four hours now force people to walk for 15 to 30 days through isolated areas and mine-littered terrain,” said Miji Park, interim country director for Sudan.
This month, drones hit a kindergarten and a hospital in Kalogi in South Kordofan, killing 114 people, including 63 children, according to the World Health Organization.
Adam Eissa, a 53-year-old farmer, knew it was time to run. He took his wife, four daughters and elderly mother — all crammed into a pickup truck with 30 others — and drove for three days through “backroads to avoid RSF checkpoints,” he told AFP from Kosti.
They are now sheltering in a school-turned-shelter housing around 500 displaced people.
“We receive some help, but it is not enough,” said Eissa, who is trying to find work in the market.
According to the IOM’s Refaat, Kosti — a relatively small city — is already under strain. It hosts thousands of South Sudanese refugees, themselves fleeing violence across the border.
It cost Eissa $400 to get his family to safety. Anyone who does not have that kind of money — most Sudanese, after close to three years of war — has to walk, or stay behind.
Those left behind
According to Refaat, transport prices from El-Obeid in North Kordofan have increased more than tenfold in two months, severely “limiting who can flee.”
In besieged Kadugli, 56-year-old market trader Hamdan is desperate for a way out, “terrified” that the RSF will seize the city.
“I sent my family away a while ago with my eldest son,” he told AFP via satellite Internet connection, asking to be identified only by his first name. “Now I am looking for a way to leave.”
Every day brings “the sound of shelling and sometimes gunfire,” said Kassem Eissa, a civil servant and head of a family of eight.
“I have three daughters, the youngest is 14,” he told AFP, laying out an impossible choice: “Getting out is expensive and the road is unsafe” but “we’re struggling to get enough food and medicine.”
The UN has issued repeated warnings of the violence in Kordofan, raising fears of atrocities similar to those reported in the last captured city in Darfur, including summary executions, abductions and rape.
“If a ceasefire is not reached around Kadugli,” Refaat said, “the scale of violence we saw in El-Fasher could be repeated.”