Destruction in a street in the Firdaous district of Raqqa. (Credit: Bernard Jallet)
At night, tarpaulins stretched between two bullet-riddled walls. Shadows formed of children lit by a light bulb plugged into an old car battery.
There were nine children. They lived with their parents in the ruins of al-Mouwasat Hospital. Today, the first floor of the former cafeteria is the only thing still there. The building was blown up in an air strike by the US-led Coalition against ISIS in 2017.
Originally from Homs, Mahmoud, the father, was unsure when he moved the family here. But, “It’s already been several years. We could no longer live at home near Homs. There are militias from Iran. One of my daughters has already lost an eye in the regime’s bombing,” he said.
Discreetly, the teenager uncovered her eye behind a long lock of hair. She could see nothing. A barrel of explosives dropped from a helicopter exploded a few meters from her. “If I take my family back to Homs, Bashar al-Assad’s men will accuse me of being a terrorist because I lived in ISIS’s former capital,” added Mahmoud. “So, for all of us, the safest place is Raqqa. Besides, there are no planes here.”
A wall with a hole in it in the center of Raqqa. (Credit: Bernard Jallet)
The city is no longer targeted by bombardment, but 80 percent of it was destroyed in 2017 in the air strikes of the US-led Coalition. A flood of fire drove out ISIS’s last men who had made it their stronghold.
Almost seven years later, Raqqa, abandoned by the international community, has not been reconstructed. Like the rest of Syria, the city has been sinking into an economic crisis. “My children collect rubbish to earn money. I’ve been crying every day for them, for their future,” said Mahmoud.
Military service
After the Kurdish-majority Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) ousted ISIS from Raqqa in 2017 with Washington’s support, they took control of the city with the US’s blessing. A civil council has been set up, but the Arab population is poorly represented. There is an imbalance that has aggravated tensions over the years. Only a few local organizations are trying to help the displaced.
Families live in the rubble of a building partly destroyed by the International Coalition to Fight the Islamic State. (Credit: Bernard Jallet)
In the heart of the city center, Firdaous Kitchen, an NGO, provides meals for 400 families, mostly widowed women living in ruins without income. “Without us, they’d be forced to rummage through the rubbish. It’s terrible; the international NGOs have abandoned Raqqa,” said Abou Omar, founder of Firdaous Kitchen.
“For us, ISIS was one virus. Poverty is another,” suffocating the large displaced persons camp of Salhat al-Banat on the city’s outskirts. The place has become a slum over the years. Two years ago, just a few dozen tents were wedged between a rubbish dump and a cemetery. Today, blackened by dirt, they stretch as far as the eye can see.
The garbage now forms hills on which children climb. In the midst of what seems like an apocalyptic scenario, some are barely two years old. “We go through the rubbish for five hours a day,” said Ali, 10. “With my friends, we earn about a dollar a day.”
The boy has been growing up here since 2019. His family fled Deir ez-Zor, whose part west of the Euphrates River is under the control of the regime and Iranian militias. “We used to live in the countryside, but the regime has regained control of the area,” added another teenager. “I don’t know what happened to my house, but I don’t want to go back there anyway. I will be 18 soon, so I’ll have to be enlisted in [the compulsory] military service and carry a gun.”
‘In Damascus, everything is unaffordable’
Once their studies were completed in Damascus or Aleppo, thousands of young people also moved to Raqqa to escape the Syrian army. More than 13 years after the outbreak of the revolution, they still don’t want to be forced to kill and torture.
Adopted in 2020 by Washington, the Caesar law, which sanctions any person, company or institution that trades with the Assad regime or contributes to reconstruction efforts in the country, has also exacerbated the economic crisis, which has been pushing educated youth to leave.
“I came back to Raqqa because here I have a better chance of finding a job,” said Dania, 25. Terrorized by ISIS, the young woman moved to Damascus in 2015 to study. She moved back to her hometown three months ago. “It may sound crazy but here, at least, there’s electricity thanks to the neighborhood generators. There’s gasoline. In Damascus, everything is unaffordable. Raqqa is destroyed, but the situation is better,” she said.
Pointing to a row of chandeliers that light up the cafe where she works, she said, “It’s far from perfect, but there’s light.” Dania scrolled through photos of her fiancé on her phone. She hasn’t seen him in four years. In 2020, he crossed Europe to the Netherlands. Like more than six million Syrians, he chose exile to stop being in constant search for a better life in his own country.
This article was originally published in L'Orient-Le Jour and translated by Joelle El Khoury.
