Orphaned by War

A Syrian orphan in class at Baraem Al-Shouhada Orphanage School

Antakya, Turkey - The mission of the Baraem Al-Shouhada Orphanage School is to provide a safe, nurturing learning environment for Syrian refugee children whose parents have been killed in the Syrian civil war. Nestled in an urban residential community, and situated on a small plot of land wedged between two neighboring houses, this modest, brightly-colored three-story school is fitted with narrow hallways and small, stuffy rooms, crammed with 220 plus students. As the sound of the afternoon call to prayer falls away, the residential street fills with the noises of children at play. Children proceeding between classes form a line by placing their hands on the shoulders of the child in front of them, giggling as they snake their way down the staircases toward their next classroom. The youngest of the children are allotted more free play time with their teachers in the back section of the school, while groups of elementary-aged students are rotated outside for recess and exercise.

Children proceeding to their next class

Each child attending the Baraem Al-Shouhada Orphanage School is exactly what the establishment's name suggests: an orphan. Every child has lived through the terrors of the Syrian civil war, has had their family violently taken from them, and is now left to face their own ordeals. "Every child here has trauma," an Arabic language teacher told me. "We do the best we can to comfort them, but you can see memories of the war on the each of their faces." Some of the children lost their fathers in combat—those who picked up a gun to fight in the revolution against the Assad regime—but most lost their families during the endless bombing campaigns around the country. This is the case for 12-year old Hassan, a Syrian boy who took refuge with his family in an underground shelter. After getting his family to relative safety, Hassan's father ran back into the streets to help others find cover, and to aid those who had been wounded in the bombardment. Then another round of shelling fell, and Hassan's father never returned. When the dust settled, and people ventured out from their hiding places and back into the streets, it was Hassan who recognized his father's body, and who dug him out from the rubble with his own hands. 

A Syrian girl anticipating recess

This is but one of more than 200 stories carried by the school’s orphaned children. All across Turkey, Jordan, Lebanon, and inside Syria itself, thousands of these stories will continue to go untold. Although these children have survived through the violence physically unharmed, their wounds are deep, and their traumas are clearly visible. Students occasionally break down in tears, crying uncontrollably for their deceased parents, and an entire class of children will instinctively cower under their desks for fear of bombing when the sound of an airplane is heard overhead. "Every child needs our help," the program coordinator for the school explained to me. "We try to provide them with psychologists to talk about their problems, give them games to be happy, or read from the Quran to help them relax. We don't have much money. Like other Syrian schools, we have been working for over two years without being able to pay our 25 teachers. But we cannot leave these children. If we [teachers] cannot afford to buy shoes, then we will teach barefoot, and hope that God will provide for us. We must look to the future, not the past. Too many children have suffered, and we must look to find a way to make their lives better."

A girl in studying during her Arabic language course

Leaving Baraem Al-Shouhada, the school principal thanked me for coming to be with them. Looking back at a class making art with their teacher, at the child in the far corner sobbing uncontrollably for his family, and at the children congregated to say goodbye, I asked the principal if there was anything he wanted me to tell the outside world. Placing one hand on my shoulder, he replied, "The world needs to see how we live. Most people are good, but before they will want to help us, they must understand our lives. Tell them. Put them in our shoes. How would they feel if their father was taken from them, if their mother was killed, if there was no future for their child? What would they think then? What would they want the world to do?"

An Syrian orphan after crying for her parents

The youngest group of students learning with their teacher

A Life-Rope Over the River

Hatay, Turkey - Dawn breaks, stretching its pinkish-orange gaze westward across the sky as the smuggler's van slowly rumbles along a dusty road toward the Helleh River, the natural border separating Syria and Turkey. Pulling off to the right-hand side of the road, the van stops along an earthen trench, 15 feet deep and 10 feet wide, running parallel to the border for as far as the eye can see. In a few areas, mounds of dirt have been compacted to form a thin walkway to cross the division, leading to foot-holes chipped into the far wall to help climb the rising embankment on the other side of the trench. Standing atop the tall embankment, you look down on the Helleh River with its green, slow moving waters laden with sediment. On the other side of the river, Syria.

Syrian refugees eagerly waiting the cross the Helleh border river into Turkey

The day has only just begun, yet already dozens of Syrians gather on the far bank of the river waiting to cross—illegally—into Turkey. Women, children, and men, young and old, have traveled through the night to reach this crossing point. Now they congregate along the river, starring anxiously across the water, eagerly waiting to put the living nightmare that is Syria behind them. A single rope, spanning the breadth of the river, is all there is to help pull each of them across on a makeshift floating device. For hundreds of Syrians every day, this simple length of twine, four inches thick, and 150 feet long is the difference between a safer life in Turkey and a continued life in the midst of war. One by one, families load themselves and the few belongings they can carry onto variously styled rafts, and are tediously drawn across the river to Turkey.

Syrian refugees using a rope to cross the river on make-shift a raft

The window of opportunity to cross the border is slim. Soon the Turkish military will arrive to stop the crossings, and everyone knows it. A tense atmosphere lays in the air, as thick as the dust being kicked up by the newly arriving refugees who are scrambling up the embankment with their children to the smugglers’ trucks waiting across the trench. Everyone's pace quickens, the tension ever rising, the grips of desperation clearly seen and felt. The personal story of each refugee is varied, but all are fleeing from violence and war. Many families traveled for days on end through war-torn areas and cities under constant bombardment. They don't know what life has in store for them, or their children in Turkey, but they cling to the hope that whatever the future holds, it surely must be better than living a life under endless shelling. The uncertainty is total. Many people have no idea of where to go, or where to turn. Yet, as the father of one family expressed to me, "I would rather risk my family's starvation, than continue to live a life under the bombs."

Crossing the trench

The dawn crossing over the Helleh river

Madrasah Al-Nur

Hatay, Turkey - The Syrian Madrasah Al-Nur, or School of Light, functions out of a two story business building near the edge of town. Established two years ago by Syrian teachers from Aleppo, Damascus, and Homs, they were able to pool their money together to lease the empty building, transforming it into a make-shift school. Meeting with Syrian teachers in the faculty lounge, which is actually a hollowed out room owned by an unrelated NGO that uses the back half as a storage space, they express the tribulations they face to keep the school running. Teachers, who asked to remain anonymous for the safety of their relative still living in Syria, are working without pay for two years now. Entering Turkey with what little savings they had, they still hold to a dedicated spirit, determined to not let hundreds of children grow up without an education. Yet, after two years of full-time work without salary, almost every teacher has exhausted their family's savings; many of whom are relying on borrowed money from friends, distant family, or from the generosity of the growing Syrian communities in Hatay.

Students in Math class.

"We are one of the poorest of the Syrian school here in Hatay," a language teacher related to me. " We can't afford to pay teachers, we don't have an adequate school building, and we lack the technology, like computers, to get children ready for a future in the modern world." 

Without a continual source of financial support, the school operates by individual donations alone. This creates a very strenuous situation for the 15 teachers working to educate the 300 children attending Madrasah Al-Nur. Aside from the inability to pay its educators, there is also the financial dilemma facing many of the children's families, who can't afford to send their kids to school. Regardless that the school remains tuition free for its students, "some children have dropped out of our school, or can't make it to class everyday because their families simply can't afford the daily bus fare," another teacher told me. "We [the teachers] try to raise money to pay for the buses, but with so many children needing help, the amount adds up."

Children getting on to a bus at the end of the day.

Compiled with the many operational costs, the school also faces a structural problem: the building itself. As an office building refitted as a school, many of the offices-turned-classrooms are too small for the amount of children in each class. There is a lack of accessible drinking water, and none of the rooms are equipped with air conditioning units to warm the classes during the frigid desert winters, or to provide shelter from the heat during the sweltering summer months.

"We can't give up," he continued with a tone of determination. "We can't stop. If we leave these children they may spend their days begging in the streets instead of getting an education. We can't let that happen. The war in Syria has already destroyed so much. We can't afford to loose an entire generation."

Students are assigned cleaning chores to compensate for a lack of janitorial staff.

And he is right. The Syrian war has killed over 200,000 people, and displaced millions. With every passing day the situation on the ground is turning more dire, and the seeds of revenge are only being sown deeper in minds of those whom have had their lives desolated. An entire generation of Syrian children are at risk of being forgotten; left to a life of exile, trauma, and complete uncertainty. 

*For those interested in contacting, or helping Madrasah Al-Nur, you may contact the school's program coordinator, Ashraf Jamous, at: asjamous71@hotmail.com

A girl in Geography class.

The Street of Friends

The wall of peace

For those traveling to Antakya as tourists, journalists, or pilgrims, you might just stumble upon a little know place called the "Street of Friends", that is, if you can find it. Nestled in Antakya's old city, the Street of Friends is run by Sister Barbara, who provides a serene environment for pilgrims, travelers, wanderers, and searchers. The adjoining buildings with old, heavy wooden doors, stone courtyards center-pieced with orange trees, is the vertex for two buildings of faith: on one side of the wall, a Catholic Church, on the other side, a Mosque.

To commemorate the joining of these two buildings of faith, Sister Barbara built a modest chapel in the main building; a sort of symbol of harmony. The chapel house itself, is a cool and dark stone room illuminated by three windows containing a shrine to the three Abrahamic religions: Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. The floor, furbished with prayer rugs, leads down the room to a quilted Wish Tree, popular in the Alawite religion for prayer, with the sidewall decorated by dozens of plaques expressing different words for peace.   

"We dare to pray for peace," Sister Barbara spoke to the people congregating in the chapel house. And after a brief pause for silent prayer, she picked up her guitar and said, "Now, let us sing."

German pilgrim in front of the Wish Tree

Easter on the Syrian Border

Benediction before the midnight mass

This weekend marks one of the largest holiday for the Christian faith, Easter. The ancient city of Antioch, currently known as Antakya, has always been a major hub for Catholic, and Orthodox Christians alike, as the city holds one of the first five churches of early Christendom. It was here that St. Paul began his missionary journeys, allowing the city to claim the “world's first cathedral”, and where religious followers of Jesus Christ were first recorded as being called “Christians".

Antakya is the main town in Hatay that reaches out to the rural border villages.  It has always been a city of mixed culture: Muslim, Catholic, Orthodox Christian, Arabs, and Turks. Since the start of the Syrian civil war, hundreds of thousands of Syrians, both Muslim, and Christian, have crossed over into Hatay.  On Good Friday, in the middle of the church's stone courtyard and surrounded by fruiting orange trees, Father Dominic talked about the changes the Syrian war has created for the Catholic congregation in Antakya.

Father Dominic leading a procession to the church

"Many Syrian Christians already have relatives here in Antioch.” He explained, “It's hard to say how many new people have joined this church, not everyone comes on a regular basis, but it is still noticeably bigger. A lot [of people] left for fear of religious persecution; so many people just practice their faith at home with their families while they wait to relocate to Europe."

Two hundred and eighty kilometers (175 miles) east of Antakya is the city of Homs, Syria. Once home to tens of thousands Christians, the city’s Christian population has now shrunk to less than 100 due to the war and radical Islamic organizations who target Christians. The most notable of these religious killings is the recent assassination of the 75 year old Jesuit Dutch priest, Frans van der Lugt, was widely known for staying in the besieged city of Homs, while constantly calling for humanitarian aid and working for peace before he was dragged from his home last week and shot twice in the head by an unknown gunman.

Prayer, and song inside the church

"Here in Turkey, we are safe," Father Dominic told me, "Over there [in Syria] there are many people who only care about who you are: Christian, Shia, Sunni, Alawite. Many people say they are faithful, but do not act as their religions tells them to. They have a black and white mentality. Here in Turkey, there is tension between people, yes, but there is still no violence. Here, we are safe."

Lighting of the candles

In the midsts of hymns 

Good Friday in Antioch

The Father, and a layman

A layman in prayer

Syrian Pirate Radio

Sout Raya's symbol - a map of Syria depicting zones controlled by military groups

Istanbul, Turkey - Sout Raya radio, a Syrian pirate radio station run by a collective of Syrian journalists-turned-exiles, broadcast a variety of shows directly into Syria from their station in Istanbul, Turkey. Initiated in 2012 by co-founders Firas Fayyad, and Aliser Hasan, Sout Raya (Sound of the Flag) radio has evolved to become a full-time station covering a wide range of topics for Syrians still inside Syria, including musical performances, child education programs, in-depth interviews with notable speakers, history, culture, real-time reports on situations inside Syria, and discussions regarding the ever looming question, what form of government will Syria have when the civil war eventually ends?

Firas Fayyad, a 30 year old documentary film maker, activist, and proud new father of a beautiful daughter, lived in Damascus during the start of Syria's Arab Spring revolution in 2011. As anti-government protests quickly slipped out of control, and into a full scale civil war, Firas was one of the first journalists on the ground covering the conflict. His documentary film "On the Other Side" brought him international acclaim, but as he continued to document the fate of his country, he was arrested by Syrian president Bashar Al-Assad's government. 

Journalists in the sound proof room recording a show for broadcasting

Yet, even after being beaten, and tortured by government forces, Firas continued his work documenting the war. That was, until his second arrest by government troops. For 6 months he was imprisoned, beaten, and tortured by electric shocks from a car battery. After his second release, Firas, still determined to continue his work as a journalist, knew he would no longer be safe working in his own country. Fleeing Syria through the south, via Jordan's Zaatari refugee camp, he eventually relocating to Istanbul, Turkey. 

It was here that he connected with Aliser Hasan, the current manager for the station, whose connections with NGOs, and a rich Syrian businessman, brought about the foundation of Sout Raya radio, in 2012. Located in the middle of a financial district in Istanbul, the station has all the professional equipment needed to produce quality programs. The studio itself, is spacious with hardwood floors, beige tiled walls, individual work stations for each department (two sound proof rooms for live broadcasts, news production, music composition, sound mixing, media coordination, a kitchen, and a meeting room with two mat beds tucked away in the corner for journalists to sleep during all night projects). Approaching their two year mark as a station, Sout Raya has a paid staff of 10 journalists working at the Istanbul station, and 14 journalists reporting secretly from various locations within Syria. 

The majority of the station's funding, which is budgeted at $15,000 USD per month, comes directly from a wealthy Syrian benefactor, but a notable portion of funds are coming from various NGOs, predominantly based in western nations. Firas, and the other journalists (whose names will be intentionally concealed for their security) insist they have not received any pressure from NGOs to produce biased reports, (although some reports claim NGOs act as a third party conduit for western government funds). However, all the working journalists personally oppose Assad's regime, regardless of the ultimate source of "no-strings-attached" funds. 

Audio mixing for a broadcast in one of the recording rooms

"Most of our programs are not about the war," a Sout Raya journalist explained. "Our shows focus more on history, culture, welfare, and education. The war is destroying these things, and we need to make sure these important issues are not forgotten".  

Of course, much of their work is not without personal cost. Every journalist for Sout Raya has faced some form of repercussion for their work: arrests, torture, death threats, imprisonment, and so on. In the past, Sout Raya's radio transmitter has been stolen, and destroyed by the Islamic jihadist organization ISIL / ISIS (Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant/Syria). Many of the journalists working in Istanbul still have family inside of Syria, creating a serious danger if those journalist's families are discovered.

"There is always a moment of being scared every time my phone rings with a Syrian number." Feris told me, gazing at his phone as we sat around the kitchen table over a cup of Nescafe. "Is this going to be the call saying that one of our families has been kidnapped, or killed? After we answer the phone, and we hear them say, 'Hello. How are you?', we can relax, but every time my phone rings, my heart pounds, and races."

Syrian musician creating a score for a program in the music composition room

The Syrian civil war is now entering its fourth year. With a death toll so difficult to confirm, the United Nations has ceased counting the dead. Yet, the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights reported that over 150,000 people have been killed in the war, including civilians, fighters for various rebel groups, and the Syrian army. UNHRC (United Nations Human Rights Council) also confirmed that over one million Syrian refugees fled into the neighboring nation of Lebanon, with similar figures being seen in Turkey, and Jordan alike. In their most recent report, the UNHRC called the ongoing refugee crisis a "devastating milestone for a host community stretched to breaking point". 

In Syria, currently the world's largest humanitarian crisis, there is no end in sight to this war. For Feris, and all of the journalists for Sout Raya radio, their work is never ending, and will continue until a solution is forged, one way or another.

"We want to create unity," Feris explains. "We need news about things that are beyond death counts. We will continue to work for peace, even when the war is over. Syria is our country, our home, and we [the Syrian people] will need to heal after the war".

"We will return to Syria," he went on, after a pause. "Everyone will have to continue with their lives. I will make my life's work through films, and try to find a way to heal my country. When there is peace, we hope to expand the radio station, and create Sout Raya TV in Syria".

"We dream of freedom, and will achieve just that" he said with confidence. "It will not be easy, but it is not impossible".

A kitchen discussion about future governance

The Red Wedding

How could I miss my chance to title this photograph after George R.R. Martin's infamous 'Red Wedding'?

For those of you who don't know me personally, I have a strong passion for history, and the medieval era. So, when I photographed this Kurdish wedding outside of Istanbul's famous Sultanahmet Mosque (Blue Mosque), I couldn't help but think of a witty title related to the 'Game of Thrones' series, which has captivated a world-wide audience with this weeks debut of the show's fourth season.

A Kurdish wedding outside of Istanbul's Sultanahmet Mosque (Blue Mosque)

Ankara Protests Against Electoral Corruption

Ankara, Turkey - On March 30th, Turkey entered into its municipal elections. While the current Prime Minister, Tayyip Erdogan, and his ruling party, AKP, is set to maintain power across Turkey, there has been strong opposition against AKP for electoral corruption.

Protesters stand their ground against police water cannons

On the day of the election, the key cities of Istanbul, and Ankara, which had less than a 1% vote gap, suddenly faced electrical problems, making it so votes could not be counted. Government officials have cited that this electrical problem was due to a stray cat disrupting the transformer. The half-hearted reason for a cat disrupting an extremely close, and important election is already doubtable, but now AKP has claimed an electoral victory, and cut off citizen's ability to track the vote counting online, claiming it necessary for national security.

Since Sunday's elections, AKP opposition groups are personally taking part in the recounting of votes, and have noticing a numerical difference compared to what AKP reported when claiming their victory. Supporters of CHP, Turkey's oldest political party established by Ataturk, are gathering in the streets outside of Ankara's election authority building, protesting against electoral fraud.

CHP supporters protest against electoral corruption in front of the ballot office 

Prime Minister Erdogan, and Ankara's AKP ruling mayor for 20 years, Melih Gökçek, states that there will be no patience for protesters to dispute the elections, and dispatched Ankara's riot police to disband the demonstrators by using water cannons, and tear gas.

As water trucks, and riot police approach the protesters, the crowd begins to chant slogans, sing the national anthem, say homophobic remarks about AKP politicians, and wave to the line of police shouting, "Come! Come! Come!"

Parents bring their children to expose them to political movements early on 

After some time, the police did just that. Charging down the street towards the crowd, protesters break off into smaller groups, taking side streets which begin a block by block skirmish while trying to avoid being hit by the water cannons from the trucks driving up, and down the streets.

"Our government, and our Prime Minister stole our election" Ahmet Gezer, a CHP protester told me. "Mussolini, Franco, Bush, Erdogan, they are all the same. They are fascists who only want war. The only reason a government attacks its own people during a peaceful protest is because they know they have cheated us, and are afraid of the power of their own people."

Whistles are commonly used to keep up the protester's spirits

Opposition protesters return after a water cannon attack

It is difficult to speculate what will happen in the coming days for Turkey's political parties. Even now, there is growing dissent amongst CHP's opposition members. As of last night, a call was put out online for the youth, and young adults in support of CHP to occupy their own facilities in attempts to throw out some of their leading politicians, who many young adults feel are not doing enough to challenge the corruption of this election.

Hand signs of the 'Grey Wolf'- an age old Turkish symbol of civil protest & power

Singing Turkey's national anthem

Turkish Elections, 2014

With national elections taking place this week in Turkey, Istanbul swells yet again with mass demonstrations for all the various political parties. There are some 30 political parties throughout the country, yet most are so small in number they don't stand much of a chance competing with the current ruling party, the center-right AKP (Justice and Development Party). Because of this, many minor parties join together in order to bolster their demonstration size.

Naturally, major media networks mostly cover the Prime Minister's rallies, which were a million strong this week, so I decided to focus on the less covered demonstrations instead. The Kurdish National Party (HDP) and their gorilla army, the P.K.K., is the strongest of the groups, but there were still other parties present: socialist, communist, anarchists, and a very minor gay coalition.

Young adults supporting the Kurdish party

Supporter of the P.K.K. - The Kurdish Gorilla Army

Green, red, and yellow are the Kurdish national colors

The demonstration

The Khasi Hills Unitarian Child Orphanage

Unitarian boy peering through the window.

After four days straight of traveling and sleeping on the floors of various train and bus terminals I finally arrived in the Khasi Hills of India's NE state, Meghalaya. Known as the Scottish highlands of Asia the Khasi Hills are just that; rolling hills of dried grass and barren rock, whipping wind and a thick fog.

Two years ago during my time as a camp counselor for Unitarian Universalist youth, a friend of mine mentioned a small Unitarian congregation somewhere in India. Unitarian Universalism is a liberal, all inclusive, non-denominational faith that teaches the morals of all faiths (without the dogma) while pushing for social change such as immigration and LGBTQ rights, and Unitarianism is it’s grandfather religion not commonly seen today. During one of my most recent projects in Varanasi I remembered this conversation and began looking around for contacts with hopes of finding the location of this community. One week later, through a series of emails from multiple contacts, I was introduced to a delightful man named Nangroi, who invited me to stay in his village and with the local Unitarian congregation of over 10,000 individuals.

Three 'brothers' eating lunch together.

Visiting each beautifully modest church house of the village allowed for discussion of hardships with the local, predominantly farmer population. With Nangroi and his wonderful family helping as translators I was informed about the rural difficulties of crop prices, medical aid and literacy.

Potatoes, the regional cash crop grown, yield a meager value when brought to market. The flooding of this mono-crop in the market place makes it very hard for families to raise their income and better their standard of living. Due to the rural location of the Unitarians in the Khasi Hills, medical aid rarely makes its way to the villages, forcing people to travel several hours to a hospital in the nearest city. With most families numbering from 5-10 people per household, it becomes a struggle to support everyone with their usual salary, which is equivalent to $400-$500(USD) per month.

Boy trying to find space away from the other children.

At the edge of Kharang village I was shown the Unitarian Child Orphanage for the Khasi Hills. Approaching the door I was introduced to each child with a bashful handshake and a lively, English, “How do you do?” The Unitarian Child Orphanage, currently housing 20 children (10 boys and 10 girls) ranging from ages 6-15 rests on a several acre plot with forested hills, jungle paths, small creeks and little pools. With a simple terrace garden, worm compost bin and their own personal water pump, Nangroi and other members of the UUNEI (Unitarian Union of North East India) hope to eventually raise enough money to build a health care center, school, community fishery and edible jungle garden to help with fresh fruit and medicinal herbs.

Dinner time in the kitchen.

Usually each child travels to the nearest school house each weekday but as I was lucky enough to visit during a winter break we were able to spend our time climbing through the forest, playing tag or getting in some quality fun on the swing and slide in the playground. Around meal time the older of the children who have been delegated more responsibility would join the two 'mothers’ of the house, helping prepare the main meal of rice and potatoes. After clean up play-time continued into the night and when the electricity would cut out the darkness would be filled with giggles and flickering candle light as play-time would scurry through the dark. After reading English books by candle, group songs and rhymes were sung before the nightly Earth, Wind & Fire dance party.

Learning to read English by candle light.

After such a long time on the road documenting poverty and child desperation it was such a wonderful time getting to know these brilliant youth. Even though each of them has lost at least one parent and still deal with emotional swings from pain it is a beautiful thing to see each of them come together to support one another and create an even larger family.

To the children at the Khasi Hills Unitarian Child Orphanage, thanks for making me a friend and teaching me to play Cricket; I promise I’ll do better next time.

Woman watching a storm fall outside the kitchen window.

Still Wandering Uttar Pradesh

I'm continuing with my work around the rural communities in the state of Uttar Pradesh, India. As mentioned in my previous post I'm trying to observe and document the myriad of societal struggles facing these isolated villages without holding a targeted agenda. As I witness the many issues that have presented themselves to me I decided to use this weeks article to shed a little light on the overbearing hardships of starvation, medical illnesses, unemployment and poverty.

Man napping through the day due to unemployment - Mahoba.

A hungry woman pleading for help - Balidi Kala village.

A little girl caring for her dying sister - Balidi Kala village.

Child waiting in a field - Swati Bruara village.

Girl playing outside her home - Itwanduendaila village.