S A N A 's Story
"When war came to the Hanano district of northeastern Aleppo in 2012, tragedy struck quickly and cruelly in Sana Ali Nahhal’s household. She lost both her husband and her 16-year-old son, Abdul Hameed, in a missile attack. Sana was devastated by both losses, but Abdul’s death hit particularly hard.... “He was the light of my life; he was the candle of my house,”recalls Sana.
A short time later, Sana took her 14 remaining children and fled to Aadhamiyye, a government-controlled neighborhood in western Aleppo. There she stayed for four years, renting a house for 25,000 Syrian pounds per month and cleaning other people’s houses to pay as much as she could toward her expenses. Her brothers helped as they were able. Geographically, she was a mere seven miles from Hanano, but her home and the life she knew there seemed far more distant.
Sana missed being in Hanano: “I remembered how my children and I used to have lunch in our home. We were a happy family and we didn’t need anything. We left our house suddenly, and we were never able to find the security and the love we used to know there once we were displaced.”
“Frankly,” Sana says, “I didn’t expect to ever come back to my home.” When she did return to Hanano at the beginning of this year, it didn’t feel like the place she had known. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. I found my house looted and broken down—no taps, no windows, no doors. The motor had been removed from my refrigerator, and I had no gas, no oven. Even our clothes were stolen.
Sana did the best she could to provide food and shelter for her fourteen children and herself through the cold winter months. “I desperately need to get my house fixed,” she says. “Some of my children got sick because of the cold air.” The house still lacks many of its windows and doors, and she can’t afford even basic repairs.
Sana still acutely feels the loss of her husband and son, and of the life she knew. She hasn’t given up, however. She expresses a desire to have her house back the way it was, and hopes against hope that things could even be better than before. She very much appreciates the opportunity to make a new start.
MAHMOUD & AALAA'S Story
Mahmoud Hussein Hussein and his wife, Aalaa, lived happily with their two little children in the Hanano district of Aleppo until the war came. As food and milk for the children became scarce in the local markets, they were forced to leave their home in August 2012. They fled to Afrin, a Kurd-controlled district in the countryside northwest of Aleppo.
They spent four years there, trying to eke out a living by selling coffee from a small wheeled cart or transporting goods for people. Their situation was difficult from the start, and it didn’t get any easier; “We moved from one rental house to another,” says Mahmoud, “and the rental fees climbed as high as 20,000–25,000 Syrian pounds per month.”
Aalaa wanted to supplement the family’s meager and inconsistent income, but was hampered by a language barrier. “I tried to work in Afrin,” she says, “but I couldn’t because I don’t speak the Kurdish language. I couldn’t help my husband make a living, and couldn’t even educate my children because the schools were for Kurdish-speaking students.”
As the years wore on, Mahmoud and Aalaa started to give up hope of ever returning to Hanano. In an effort to get their children enrolled in school, the couple relocated to Latakia, a city on the Mediterranean coast 125 miles away. But things only got worse. Neither Mahmoud nor Aalaa could get work.
When the Syrian army regained control of their neighborhood at the beginning of 2017, they came back to Aleppo. Theirs was a disappointing homecoming, however. Mahmoud remembers it: “We were shocked when we saw that everything in our house had been either stolen or demolished, and we had nothing left. All our furniture, our water taps, the windows, even the main door of the house were all gone. Our life savings—all we had worked for—was gone.” “Our house is as good as a barn, with no windows, no doors, nothing at all,” Aalaa adds. “Our worries have only become greater. There are no schools operating here. The future of our children is vanishing day after day.”
Being home has brought back memories for Aalaa. She remembers how her sister used to visit, how they lived together, cooked together, had conversations and worked through fights together. She says the war turned their lives to hell, but the memories of how things were before and the hope of how their lives can be keep her going. “We want to live a life without bloodshed, insults, or unfairness,” she says. “We want to live without being offended. We want to make a future for ourselves and our children.”
In spite of all they have endured, Mahmoud and Aalaa hold on to happiness. They’re putting their lives back together, piece by piece. Mahmoud looks forward to finding a job and once again settling in their house which, thanks to you, will soon be renovated.