24 fotos

Sirios

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16 mar 2016 - 14:27CET

A Raneem de ocho años le gustaría ser médico y su hermana Nagham de siete, sueña con ser artista. Su padre, Ali Abdallah cuenta que siente vergüenza cuando sus hijas le preguntan ¿Cuándo van a volver a su casa de Siria?. Antes tenían una casa, ahora viven en una tienda de campaña en el asentamiento provisional de Bar Elias, uno de los cientos de asentamientos dispersos por toda la región del valle de Bekaa en Líbano. Las niñas, que se tratan de amoldar a su nueva vida suelen dibujar flores y cosas boni Una vez a la semana viene la pregunta: "¿Cuándo vamos a ir a casa a Siria?" "Siento vergüenza cuando le preguntan. Antes de que fueran libres para jugar, tenían una casa. Estaban a salvo. Ahora nos encontramos en una tienda de campaña con tan poco ", dijo Ali Abdallah Mohammed, padre de hijas nagham, 7 y Raneem, 8 (en la foto). A pesar de una vida ahora confinado a Bar Elias Campo - uno de los cientos de asentamientos de tiendas de campaña informal dispersos en toda la región fuertemente pobladas por refugiados del valle de la Bekaa en el Líbano - las hermanas dicen que todavía tratar de hacer la mayor parte de su nueva vida. "Cada día que haga dibujos de flores, y las casas por lo que nuestra familia puede tener cosas hermosas a la vista." "Echamos de menos nuestra casa en Siria, pero estamos juntos." En cuanto al futuro? "Un médico", dice Raneem. "Un artista," dijo Nagham. #WithSyria # Notnumbers.People. Fotografía: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

When you have no toys of your own, and confined each day to the small two room apartment you must stay in as your parents are afraid you will be kidnapped if you go outside, play time takes on a whole new meaning. Imagination becomes the key element. Leader is Aya (8), pictured left. She sets the rules for their daily game of “secretary,” where, holding her pretend phone, the other children are instructed to enter her “office” and learn of their business. They make money out of paper, and say sometimes they become very rich in their games and can buy houses and lots of food. The children play this day in and day out. Aya, and her siblings, Leen (2), Shahd (9) and Abdulkader (7), live in Kilis, Turkey, after their family fled Aleppo three years ago with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They say they miss their toys in Syria and being able to play outside with other children they knew. In the future Aya and Shahd said they wanted to become a nurse and help people like their mother did in Syria. Abdulkader dreams only of owning a mobile phone so he can call his auntie in Syria. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

Remember this face. He may be just 11 years-old, but Carmel can put out a beat akin to any of the hip-hop masters. “When I think about Syria I feel sad. Rapping helps take away my bad mood. I want to be famous and for people to know what is important to Syrian people like me.” Despite having grown up in a non-musical family, Carmel’s mother said her son “eats, sleeps and dreams about rapping.” “My dad didn’t like it at the start. But he understands now that it is important to me,” Carmel said. Rapping, Carmel said, is not common in Syria. The first time he heard it was in Lebanon “on someone’s phone.” “It was hard at the start to get the breathing right, but I practice every day and my voice is getting stronger.” Carmel has lived in a Collective Center building with 20 other Syrian refugee families in northern Tripoli since his family fled Homs, Syria three years ago. With no secondary education available to refugee children in the region, Carmel’s education will soon come to an end. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Twins Elad and Thaweel want to be clear. “Not four years-old. Four and half years-old!” As the youngsters giggle with one another, and scribble freely in notebooks donated by a charity, their mother admits she worries everyday about their future. “You see them smiling now, but these children have seen so much war and violence. Both have shrapnel in their bodies from a bomb that hit our house.” “Everything has changed in our lives. We used to live in rural Daraa where everyone knew everyone and the children played freely. Now we are in this small apartment with so little and I am afraid to let the children go outside. I don’t want them to grow up afraid of people – Syrians are social people.” “We know we are not just coming in as one family of Syrians, but coming in thousands, and this is putting a lot of pressure on Jordan. We understand that not everyone is happy.” Elad and Thaweel live with their parents and three siblings in a small, rented concrete apartment in impoverished Nazzal suburb in Amman, Jordan. While adapting to a confined, urban life while still struggling to make sense of the violence they have fled from, enters their everyday life, the parents still hope for the best for their children. “I hope they can experience happiness and what it is like to live a life of freedom,” Ahmad, the twin’s father said. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Ask any teenager what is important to them, and by and large keeping in contact with their friends is at the top of the list. For a teenager, forced to flee their country with nothing but the clothes on their back and now living in a refugee camp dependent on aid, it is exactly the same, according to 14-year old Nashmir. Although she doesn’t get to speak with the close group of girlfriends she left behind in Al-Malikiya, Syria, every chance she can get to chat with them online, she does. She says all of them are doing “ok.” Although the teenager said she has made new friends in the camp, she admits they are not the same and doesn’t like going outside often. She said she spends a lot of time drawing her thoughts and dreams instead. As for the future, Nashmir hopes she can become a teacher. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

“How important is it that Lamees grows up knowing she is Syrian?” “Very. Knowing who you are is vital. I always try to teach her about Syria, our land, our family, and our culture. She is living an uncertain life so it is even more important that she knows who she is.” Omar, Lamees’s (pictured) father, said he works hard to ensure all his children remain proud of being Syrian, but said he makes a lot of effort with Lamees as she was born in Jordan. “She is living a different life than what we knew. Before our children had space, fields to play in and a very social life with our relatives. Now Lamees spends most of her time in this small apartment with just her parents.” Lamees was eager to show off her “selfie” poses, and said in the future she would like to go to school and make lots of friends. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Ahmad (9) hasn’t seen his older brother Mohammed for a long time. He knows that four months ago his brother did make it to Denmark, where he is now living in a room, “waiting” with other Syrians. He hasn’t sent any money yet. But it is the reason why his brother is there. Ahmad lives with his mother, five siblings and 83 year-old grandmother in a tent in Darashakran refugee camp in Erbil, Kurdistan region of Iraq, where they lived since fleeing violence in Al-Qamishli, Syria in August 2013. His father has left them, unable to deal with their destitution. Completely dependent on aid to meet their daily needs, Ahmad said he works hard at school so he will one day be able to get a good job to help support the family. He said he “loves” going to school, especially to learn maths. He has a lot of friends at school and plans to become a maths teacher in the future. A fact his mother, Lama, said she is particularly proud of. “I want my children to study and look for a better future. I don’t want my children to work – if they do they will lose their education and future. I will do all I can to keep them studying.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

When 13-year old Mahmood is asked to describe his friend Bushra, his eyes sparkle and he instantly declares that she is his “best friend.” “Bushra is kind and makes-up good games. But she does not like to go outside.” Seven-year old Bushra is the sole survivor of a bomb that struck her home in Homs and killed her family. Along with her elderly grandmother she made the long journey to Lebanon mostly on foot with nothing but the clothes on her back. She now lives in a Danish Refugee Council Collective Center in Wadi El-Nahli, Tripoli. Asked what she likes most, the quietly spoken youngster lists her grandmother (who knitted her purple dress she wears), spaghetti and going to school to learn. “I like French. I want to be a French teacher.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

It’s dark when Abdel Rahman, 9 (pictured left with his younger brother Abdul) rises at 4.30 am to prepare himself for school. First he makes sure his notebook, treasured blue pen and completed homework are in his small nylon string backpack. Then the young Syrian from Daraa checks his one pair of jeans and thinning school jumper are clean, washes his face and combs his hair before carefully unraveling a piece of flat bread for his breakfast. This is done in silence – the room he wakes in at the Danish Refugee Council’s Marj Collection Center in Bekaa Valley, Lebanon, is home for his six younger brothers and parents. “I like to learn. It makes me feel free,” Andulla says. “I want to become a doctor so I can heal the people in Syria and help take care of my brothers and parents.” As for Abdullah’s father, Ayham, he could not be more proud of his young son’s dedication to learning. “We had to leave everything behind in Syria and came to Lebanon with nothing. The children have been through too much but I encourage them to learn. I never had an education. With education you are promoting independence. If he gets an education he may get a chance.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

‘Picking flowers.” After some thought, this is the answer four-year-old Omayama gives when asked about her favorite thing to do in Syria. “I can’t find any flowers here.” Along with her cousins, the softly spoken four-year old would collect chamomile flowers from the hills near her home in Idlib every morning to give to her mum. Omayama lives with her family in a lean-to plastic shelter in Akkar, North Lebanon. Around one in four people in Lebanon are refugees, with 1.2 million from Syria. #WithSyria #Notnumbers. People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

This is Ali. He's 11 years-old and been on the move from his worn-torn home of Homs, Syria, for way too long. Every night he plays football with the other Syrian children in the building his family has a room in. He says he is not a great footballer, but will be with practice. Getting a proper ball may be a start. Currently it’s used plastic bags wrapped together with string. Asked what he misses most from Syria. "My girlfriend. She was the most beautiful girl in the school." As for the future? “An engineer. I can help rebuild Syria.” #WithSyria. #Notnumbers.People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Taking on the role of being the man of the house is not something most nine year-old boys have to consider. But for Abdul Almonaf, helping his mum take responsibility for the running of their small two-bedroom concrete flat in the foreign city of Amman, Jordan, and assisting look after his younger sisters and brother, has become his every day. “I have watched his moods change from being happy boy when we lived in Syria to being very serious. He worries that we have no heating and little food. Boys should not be having these thoughts,” Abdul’s mother said. Abdul has not seen his father since he left in search of employment over two years ago. Asked if he likes looking after his younger siblings and buying food at the market, Abdul says he does it to see his mum smile. As for the future, the young Syrian says he hopes to be able to play football like he did when he lived in Aleppo, and become a doctor so he can support his family. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Halad, 13, has only one dream. And that is to be able to go to school again. For the past two years the young Syrian has not been able to attend school. Secondary education is not available for refugees around Zaatari Camp in Jordan. He said he is worried that he will forget everything he has learned. To keep his mind active he tries to go to as many learning opportunities as he can, and to keep friends, each Friday he plays football with other children on a dirt pitch where “he likes to score goals”. He is photographed at the Gerda Henkel Siftung School, where he walks half an hour each day to learn with fellow Syrian and Jordanian students about history and a shared culture. “It makes me feel happy to know new things.” In the future Halad hopes to be a policeman. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

Ali, 7, smiles when asked about his friends. He boasts proudly that he has three. They are good friends, he says. Their names are Hamudi, Sherou and Aski. They all live in small two room tents the same as his family’s in Kowergosk refugee camp, in Erbil, Kurdistan region of Iraq. A camp that houses over 10,000 Syrian refugees. Ali said he doesn’t have any toys to use when he plays with his friends. Instead they play hide and seek. If he could get toys, he would like some small cars. Ali does not go to school and has lived in the refugee camp for two years since they family fled violence in Al Hasakah, Syria. Asked what he remembers about Syria, Ali says “sleeping outside” on warm nights. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

Ismail (6), says he is the boss, but most of the time his little sister Sidra (3.5) doesn’t listen to him when they play games together. “She is stubborn.” But that does not mean she isn’t his best friend. The two siblings live in a small apartment in Surus, Turkey, after fleeing from Al-Raqqahh two years ago. Their mother is afraid to let them go outside. She said she doesn’t know the neighbours. So the brother and sister spend most days with her at home. Without toys, Ismail says sometimes play is hard. But Sidra helps him makes up good stories and they play “make believe.” As for the future Ismail said he hasn’t decided what he would like to do. But knows it will be being “someone important.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

The frightening night 13 year-old Amina and her family were forced to flee the only home they ever knew in Kobani, Syria Erbil, Kurdistan region of Iraq, is etched in her memory like it was yesterday. Such was the brutality of the fighting, and the pace their parents rounded herself and her seven siblings together, that they nearly left two children behind. Their comfortable home destroyed. The construction company her father owned and employed many people in, gone too. Since October 2015, despite all her possessions and comforts gone from her new life, Amina has tried to make a new life for herself in the Qushtapa refugee camp. She keeps up her studies at school and is proud to be one of the better students in her class. She has no toys, but along with her cousins who are also in the same camp, her new favorite game is “keeping off” played with a shared ball they pass from one to the other. As for the future, she hopes she will see her friends in Syria again. She also would like to become an Arabic teacher and teach children in the same situation she is in. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

“I would like to be alone for a bit. In the camp everyone is everywhere all the time.” 11 year-old Raheem said he doesn’t like to complain, but sharing a cramped shelter with nine other family members he says is hard. “In Syria I had my bike. I’d ride with my friends every day. To school, and around. There were many fields to play in. Syria is beautiful. If I had my bike I would ride to the ocean. I know there is one close but I have never been there.” Raheem, a Syrian refugee from rural Idlib, lives in a small lean-to shack with nine family members in Akkar, North Lebanon. Every day he helps his mother look after his siblings and takes himself to school. He said he studies hard as one day he plans to be a lawyer. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People. Photograph: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Jihad, 11, says he works hard at school, but he was a better student in Syria because he could concentrate more there. The school was an actual building and not a tent, and his head was clearer –war and the future did not fill his thoughts. Despite this, the young Syrian said he is determined to work hard to become a doctor so he can cure people of their sicknesses. He also likes to enjoy himself, playing football (that he is “good at”), hide and seek and riding his bicycle. While his family lost everything when they fled their home in Derik, Syria, for Qushtapa refugee camp in Erbil, Kurdistan region of Iraq in August 2013, Jihad’s father said his children’s future mean everything to him. “I would give my flesh so they could have all they need,” Jihad’s father, Hissam said. Hissam has organised to resettle his family in Europe in two months, believing “society there is more interested in children.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

Aside from two thin mattresses lying on the floor, the only other object in Hanzada’s tent she shares with 11 of her extended family members, is a tattered, nylon backpack hanging on a nail. I am told the bag is the softly speaking six year-olds. Every day, when her older siblings leave for school, Hanzada, with her treasured bag on her back, trails along with them to the camp’s primary school run voluntarily by a Syrian teacher who also lives in the informal camp settlement, on the outskirts of Tripoli, Lebanon. While still too young to formally enroll, the young Syrian sits quietly each day outside the tented classroom, “taking down” notes in her prized notebook. “I never learned to read or write. It makes me so proud to see Hanzada working so hard. I hope one day she will become a doctor. I know she can do anything,” Hanzada’s mother, Hiba, says. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Hussein has names for all his sheep. He can also tell you which ones get sick, which ones have good lambs, and which ones always get into trouble. Five years-old, Hussein said he feels the happiest when he is looking after his family’s sheep flock. “In Syria we had many sheep and lots of fields. Here you have to be careful that the sheep don’t run away,” Hussein says. The young Syrian lives with his extended family in an informal settlement in Halba, northern Lebanon that houses forty families from the Idlib, Syria region. Every morning, at sunrise, before taking himself to school, Hussein checks the family’s sheep. After school he is straight back to the sheep to make sure they are ok. As traditional shepherds, Hussein’s family has relied on the income made from selling sheep milk, meat and wool for generations. Although their flock is significantly smaller in Lebanon, the boy and his father say it has helped them re-gain a sense of normality and feeling that they can look after themselves since the were forced to flee Syria three years ago. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras JalilEduardo Soteras Jalil

Ask 11 year-old Ramadan what future means to him, and he does not hesitate with a response. “Germany,” the young Syrian offers. Having fled Ashmili, Syria two years ago, Ramadan’s new life surrounds hanging out in the family’s caravan at Basherma refugee camp, Kurdistand region of Iraq, and according to his mother “measuring the camp all day long” (an Arabic expression used for people doing nothing). Although he went to school in Syria, Ramadan is struggling in his new surroundings. He refuses to go to school, saying he is picked on by other students and the teacher. In the future he would like to get back to learning about computers and playing football. He used to like both “very much.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

Mustafa (16), pictured left with his brother Anas (12), said he makes good bread. The secret, he said, is to have patience when the dough rises; leaving it for as long as possible to rise. The time depends on the weather and temperature. He said it is also important to sift the flour well, and break the dough with your hands – that must be clean. With their father injured by falling shrapnel in Syria and unable to work, Mustafa and Anas have become the breadwinners for their family of seven. Every weekend Mustafa works from 4.30am to 7pm making bread in the local bakery in their new home town of Kulul, Turkey, where their family has sought refuge for the past three years. A town minutes from the Syrian border, and whose population has doubled with the influx of Syrian refugees. Each day before school, Anas sells fresh bread from the same bakery outside his school for “around one hour”. He has become something of a regular now, holding a board of bread shouting “Taza semit” (fresh bread) to all going past. Despite the hard work, the boys say they feel proud they can help their family. Both still want to work hard at school to reach their dreams. Mustafa a doctor, and Anas a policeman. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

When Mohamad, 14, plays the guitar he said it feels like he is dreaming. “You forget everything and just get lost,” the Syrian teenager said with a rare grin. Asked if he is good, Mohammad says “not yet.” But according to his teacher - a Syrian volunteer at the Danish Refugee Council’s Community Center in Hayati, Sanliurfa - the teenager is not short on talent. Mohamed also plays the keyboard and sings “very well.” He practices every chance he can get – before and after school. Along with his family, Mohamad sought refuge in Sanliurfa, Turkey, after fleeing violence in hometown of Al-Raqqah, Syria, four years ago. While he is working hard at learning Turkish language so he can speak, he admits that discrimination from local children does upset him. “In Syria I had many friends, but here I feel alone.” Playing the guitar, he says, makes him happy. “I want to become the best.” #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil

Noor(5) pictured left, becomes instantly shy when asked about her dream for the future. Instead, it is her cousin Masa (6) that comes to her rescue. “She wants to be a bride! She already has her white dress and practices putting make-up on each day!” Noor, nods quietly in agreement. While dressing up is Noor’s favorite thing, for Masa, she said, she will work hard at school in order to become an engineer and “build a house for her grandmother.” Her auntie is an architect in Syria, and the young Syrian said she has already learned a lot from her. The cousins live side by side in apartments in Altinozu, Turkey, since their families fled fighting in Idlib three years ago. #WithSyria #Notnumbers.People Photographer: Eduardo Soteras Jalil