Syrians are leading the change, one brick at a time, as they rebuild their nation from the rubble with resilience and determination. Photo: Shafak Organization
Syrians are leading the change, one brick at a time, as they rebuild their nation from the rubble with resilience and determination. Photo: Shafak Organization
I flew from Istanbul to Damascus on one of the first flights in 13 years. It was quite an experience on the flight; overwhelming, emotional. You could feel the sheer, pure, plain joy of the passengers.
Just before landing in Damascus, everyone on the plane craned their necks for a glimpse out the windows. Some had tears in their eyes, others were trying not to cry. But the joy was undeniable. It was a moment I won’t ever forget.
Once we landed, it was electric.
One passenger unfurled the flag of Syria, another wrapped it around himself. They started singing, and soon everyone joined them. Patriotic songs with lyrics like, “Syria belongs to us, and we will rebuild” or “Keep your head high, you are free” filled the air. One person also waved the flag of Türkiye to express gratitude for hosting Syrian people – millions of them – for long 13 years.
Outside the airport, I saw people forming circles, dancing, and celebrating. People told me it’s called Zaffeh – a traditional celebration to honor weddings or someone earning a foreign degree. But that day, it marked homecoming after years in exile. It was so beautiful.
Beneath the joy, I could also feel there was immense pain. These are people who have lived through horrific moments. Who knows what they had to endure when they escaped. Now they are returning to Syria, their homeland. But they carry with them trauma, memories of unimaginable sufferings, fears, and nightmares.
I met a gentleman who once worked for a non-governmental organization (NGO) that supported people in Homs, a city often viewed by the government as a rebel stronghold. He was later imprisoned for “supporting” the rebels, the “wrong” people.
And yet here he was, coming back, determined to find closure. His mother became emotional hearing about his trip, as she can no longer travel due to her age and health issues. She told him, “I’m travelling through you.”
“While I’m here, I want to visit that prison,” he told me. “It’s been so many years. I still get nightmares…I wake up at night. I feel startled, sweaty.”
I listened closely, trying to understand.
“I believe seeing that it’s no longer a harsh prison and is more open will help me heal,” he said. I was thinking, he just joined all that singing! Such are the scars that people have. Such are the scars.
Still, the road to my hotel was alive with drums, dancing, and waving Syrian flags. It was quite a moment. And I felt so fortunate to be a part of this experience.
The next day I sat with some of our Syrian NGO partners. They have been working with CARE for over 10 years. One of the first things they said was, “Has it really happened? Is Syria one again?” It’s so surreal for all of them.
“It’s a huge opportunity,” they said.
Our conversation then turned to immediate needs – shelter, water, sanitation, healthcare, and education –which are critical.
I recall a story about a man from Afrin who finally went home after years away, only to find another displaced family already living there. They asked if they could stay through the winter. And he said, “Okay, I waited eight long years. I can wait for a couple more months to help you pass through the winter.”
That’s the housing situation in many places now.
The man from Afrin was lucky to find that his home was still livable. But millions of others lost everything – their houses attacked and razed to the ground, often destroyed by chemical weapons. There are hardly any structures left. And what’s left barely stands. It’s all just black, ash, and gray.
So, shelter is the topmost priority. And then water, sanitation, healthcare, and education. Our Syrian partners feel that early recovery, reconstruction, education, livelihoods, all these are important, but we must address the immediate humanitarian needs first.
A mother told me, “I cannot imagine if a child is very cold and hungry and in pain, how will the child learn?” Another person added, “You can rebuild with the best infrastructure. But it’ll be useless if people can’t survive or are seriously ill because their basic needs aren’t met. Without shelter, water, sanitation, and healthcare, other things won’t matter.”
It’s not just the buildings that have been destroyed. The human toll is far greater. On the following day, I was chatting with some women’s groups and leaders. They shared something truly shocking: 200 women got out of a prison recently. 95 said they were raped. But they also said, “We are so sure the numbers are much higher than that.”
The ordeal doesn’t end there. The stigma around rape is so intense that families and communities often reject survivors. And the threat of honor killings is real. These women desperately need our support—emotional, psychosocial, legal, safe spaces—everything.
It’s not only women who have been scarred by the 13-year conflict in Syria. Children, too, have been traumatized. In Darayya, I met two kids walking hand in hand. It’s hard to guess their age—maybe four or six—because they’re severely malnourished. Normally, when you talk to kids, you ruffle their hair and make jokes with them. They usually laugh or feel shy. But these kids were expressionless. I shudder to think of the trauma they’ve experienced.
“It’s hard for me to explain. It’s been 13 years, and I still have these nightmares”, a person in Damascus told me. “Like I’m forcefully taken to join the military service or I’m at a checkpoint and I don’t have my ID…getting beaten or put in an overcrowded prison… these dreams keep coming.”
Despite overwhelming challenges, the determination to rebuild is stronger than ever. Never have I ever seen such high zeal and drive in the community to rebuild themselves.
In communities like Darayya and Douma, local councils work voluntarily, driven purely by their commitment to their country’s future. They are not sitting and waiting for anybody.
Even in these dark times, the spirit of generosity endures. I remember a moment in Damascus when a local man offered his jacket simply because a CARE team member complimented it. “In our culture, if you like something that I have, I’ll give it to you,” he explained.
And it wasn’t just the communities. My Syrian colleagues also had endured devastation and loss. For them, returning to Syria was both a professional and personal journey, marked by visits to places they hadn’t seen since the war began. Despite this, they stood tall, ready to support the people.
Syria’s story is a poignant blend of immense sadness and fierce hope. Everywhere I went, I could feel the weight of the nation’s sorrow and the power of its resilience. As my journey came to an end, I left with a renewed sense of hope, carrying the indomitable strength of its people in my heart.
Syria has endured unimaginable suffering, but its people refuse to give up.
Syria will rise again. Syria will rebuild. Syria will.
