Home / News & Publications / Michigan Catholic News / 2008 / His sister and her family wait as refugees in Syria
His sister and her family wait as refugees in Syria
Life after Iraq separate lives
by Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO, of The Michigan Catholic
Published December 12, 2008
Editor's note: Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO, who won a 2008 Egan Award from Catholic Relief Services for a story on the ROPE program at the Capuchin Soup kitchens, traveled to the Middle East with CRS to look at the situation of Iraqi refugees. Interviews for this story were conducted through a translator.
Nazar Shamoun and his sister Dahlia J. Shamoun were always close growing up in Baghdad. He remembers her love of stray cats and the time he saved her from a big rooster who knocked her down. She remembers sharing a walkie-talkie set, running out of sight of each other to talk.
These days, they share something else. Both are Iraqi refugees, having fled their country when violence touched their lives. He and his family now live in Madison Heights. She and her family are in Damascus, Syria, awaiting resettlement. Here is her story.
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Marylynn G. Hewitt; SFO | The Michigan Catholic
Dahlia Shamoun and her husband Muthana Mansour talk about the strain the situation in Iraq put on their family and the effect of living as refugees has put on their relationship. |
Damascus, Syria Dahlia Shamoun's breath catches as she turns to look at a photo of her brother and his family in front of their new home in Michigan. Tears spill from her eyes and she leaves the room for a few moments with a new piece of the reality of how different their lives have become.
It's been more than two years since she's seen him. Two hard years of uncertainty for her, her husband and their two boys separated from the rest of her family, her country, her friends, her life as she knew it. And in some ways, her family as she knew it.
Two years and two months ago the family of four fled Baghdad hoping to stay until things in Iraq calmed down. Now, "we don't see hope in the future to go back," her husband, Muthana Mansour, says.
They are now among what Syria claims are 1.5 million Iraqi refugees the country hosts. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees says 220,000-250,000 refugees have registered in Syria. Seeking refugee status with the UNHCR is not mandatory and though there's great disparity in the figures of how many have found refuge in the country, each, regardless of how many, have their own story.
Life in Iraq
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Marylynn G. Hewitt; SFO | The Michigan Catholic
Muthana and Dahlia and their sons, Yousef and Zaid, wave from the front door of the family's apartment in Damascus, Syria. |
The couple and their sons Yousef, now 10, and Zaid, now 6 were active members at St. Joseph Chaldean Church and lived in a "mixed" neighborhood of Muslims and Christians. As Chaldeans, a religious minority in a country ruled by Muslim Saddam Hussein, "nobody would say anything (negative) or attack the Christians," she says. They had friends who were Christian and friends who were Muslim and faith practices were inconsequential to friendships.
Extended family was a constant presence, as is tradition in the Middle East. Mansour recalls taking for granted sharing cups of tea in the afternoon with his family members, particularly his nephew Bassam Shamoun, now 18 and living in Madison Heights. (See related story.) "Since we've been separated, I haven't been able to do this, but hope to do this again," he says.
Mansour worked for a decade turning his cosmetics shop into a thriving business and life was comfortable.
It all changed in a matter of days.
"We lost a lot of friends"
Mansour was throwing garbage away near his shop in mid-2006 when he found something that looked like a bomb. He reported it to authorities who came and dismantled it. Two days later, he says, a flyer was left saying he would be killed and his shop burned. "Then they started threatening at home," he says of the messages left for him.
Shamoun and her husband had already been through unsettling times. As 2005 waned she started wearing long sleeves and the head scarf, known as hijab, in order to feel safe in public. Their oldest son had been bullied at school because he was a Christian. Times grew even worse after the al-Askari Mosque in Sammra, one of Shiite's holiest sites was bombed Feb. 22, 2006.
"This was the first initiative that created this division between Shia and Sunni," Mansour says. "Then militias became active and started attacking, killing each other and then (came the) segregation with the different religions.
"The most victimized in Iraq is the Christian. They are suffering more," he says, "They don't have militias, no one to protect them, no one to stand up for them."
"We lost a lot of friends in this," Shamoun said. "And now we can't be friends with them?" her husband asks. "They were close friends. Now we only have two or three close friends" who are Muslim, he adds.
With the threats still fresh and the family uncertain of their future plans, Mansour and Zaid went to the garden one afternoon to water plants. Shooting erupted in the street right in front of them. The father scooped up his son and ran behind the house to protect him from the bullets. But he was unable to protect him from the trauma that left little Zaid mute. It would be more than two years, and life in a different country, before he'd speak another word. Two days later, the family flew to Syria.
Seeking a new life
Once in the country where they thought they'd seek temporary refuge, they met up with Mansour's brother's family with two daughters the same age as their sons who had also just arrived.
In October 2006 the two families went to the UNHCR center to seek refugee status. They joined thousands waiting in line, waiting for a chance to tell their story, waiting for a chance for a new life. Seven months ago, Mansour's brother's family was resettled in California. His family still waits. Their hope is to also be resettled in the United States. In the meantime, their savings have been depleted and in Syria, where there is no right to work for refugees, there is no new money coming in. "I should be the bread winner. I should be the one taking care of them but I can't," Mansour says. He points to his heart and talks about anxiety attacks. He knows that's what it is because he's had an EKG the results he carries in his wallet and has been told his heart is fine "but it's a psychological complaint."
He still worries about his family's former home, though there's nothing he can do about it. Within a week of their leaving, neighbors have said, milita members overtook the house. A neighbor reportedly asked the militia, "Why are you doing this to them?" and was told, "They are Christians. They are atheists." The militia has since moved on "but they took everything," Mansour says.
As a wife and mother, Shamoun says it's difficult to protect her family. "We still have faith in Jesus," she insists, but, "psychologically we are going through a hard time." She and her husband hardly talk to each other any more, she says, as "he is worried something will happen to him, especially after all these anxieties. We have tolerated so far for two years but we can't tolerate any more."
"There are Christian families like us, going through what we go through and being in such a situation with no one helping us," says Mansour. "Pray for us to get out of this situation."
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