“I fled 7 years ago, but mentally I’m still running”

Women fleeing, women on the firing line, women on the sidelines, women left behind: wars affect all women. They candidly tell Libelle about their experiences. This week Rahaf, who fled to the Netherlands in 2015 from Syria – where the war is still raging. As an ambassador for the Night of the Refugee, which takes place today, she draws attention to the refugee crisis. “Not for the people themselves, because they are not the crisis. The crisis is why people flee.”

“The way people deal with the Ukrainian refugees is perfect. The media attention, the reception of people. This is the way, I think. But what a pity that war refugees from other countries don’t get that attention, I immediately think about that. The now 6.3 million Syrian refugees often did not receive that warmth. They, we, are seen through different eyes.

I consciously try to distance myself from the news. When I hear about the situation in Ukraine, but also how things are going in Syria, I get stressed. The totalitarian regimes, the poverty… I cannot allow it, I have to keep focusing on my life here, which I have now finally built.

The regime

It’s a totally different life than I envisioned. I had a good time in Syria. It was 2011, and as a 23-year-old woman I lived in a nice house just outside the center of Damascus with my husband. My parents were divorced, but my father lived close by, as did my friends. I had just completed my university degree in electrical engineering and we were financially well off. Actually, my life was absolutely perfect. Except for one thing: the regime.

Demonstrations and torture sounds

We weren’t allowed anything. Even if you were to fix up the municipal gardens in the area, you would be arrested for doing something outside the will of the regime. We had zero freedom. I didn’t pull that off, I had to do something. So I also took to the streets with protest signs to demonstrate. Combative, but inside I was always afraid. I knew the stories of people being tortured underground for days for disobedience. When I was arrested and ended up in such a dark prison myself, I feared for my life. I had no idea if it was day or night, I just knew I wanted to leave. Away from the darkness, from the screaming in the hallway, from the torture sounds coming from cells next to me, the lashes, the electric shocks, the fear. When, after what turned out to have been ten days, I was back on the street, tired, hungry, but unharmed, I wasn’t sure I wanted to protest anymore. Did I have to acquiesce to the regime to prevent that I would ever be tortured?

Escaped

But I couldn’t. It was only after the second arrest and many more terrifying nights in jail that I knew I had to stop. My father had stepped on a portrait photo of the president during a demonstration and was wanted. He fled the country. And about a well-known family in Syria, a family of four whose mother was a chess champion and actively demonstrating, I heard that they had disappeared overnight. arrested. With their children, ages 3 and 5. I couldn’t imagine what they went through in that cell. I knew that one more arrest would mean my death. Three times is a charm, for the regime. I didn’t sleep anymore. Only had nightmares where I was tortured. When my husband was also drafted into the army, and would have to kill or be killed himself, we no longer had a choice. As much as I loved Damascus and my life, we had to flee to live.

Paranoia

I can’t explain how hard that is. You leave your whole life and identity behind. In fact, we had to sell all our stuff to have enough money for the flight. I was not allowed to work: after my arrests I was blacklisted. But a smuggler costs almost 7,000 euros. He or she will arrange a boat and shelter for you and put together a ‘safe’ route. When we had enough money for one person to flee in 2015, my husband went first, he was most at risk. His flight lasts a month and I constantly feared for his life. And for mine, because the regime has eyes everywhere. I was paranoid. No matter what I did, wherever I walked in Damascus, I kept thinking that there was a cop walking behind me to pick me up. When I went to people’s homes who also protested, I thought I was being met there. I always looked back. Only after eleven months I could travel after my husband, with our cat.

Road identity

And then you suddenly become a refugee. In the Netherlands I was no longer Rahaf, the electrical engineer, the woman with dreams and ambitions, with a partner and a life. Your whole identity is reduced to that one word: refugee. People were nice to me, but I was never an equal again. It wasn’t until I learned the language, started studying again and got a job in technology that I felt like a person again. I can’t imagine what that must be like for women who wear a headscarf. You can’t see from me that I’m ‘different’. But I feel it. Even though I now have lovely friends here and I even have a Dutch passport, I feel different inside. I keep wondering what my life would be like if I was in Syria. I miss the most normal things. Having drinks with girlfriends in town, my family who lived close by. I miss the whole life that lay before me there. I am still weighing the children I always wished for. How can I put a child in this world?

I’m a different woman since my flight. A Dutch one, with a passport. A year ago, on the day that the revolution in Syria lasted exactly ten years, I was allowed to vote for the first time in the Dutch elections. I was happy, and I cried. I always wanted to vote in my own country. Vote for freedom. Now I was allowed to vote, but in a completely different place than I had in mind when I joined the revolution.

Worse than before

The revolution is still going on in Syria, but the country is getting worse. We were always right. Financially we were in good shape, the only thing missing was freedom. I fled seven years ago, but mentally I’m still running. I can barely watch the images of Syria on television. We have nothing left. No freedom, no food, no money. And meanwhile, the regime continues. It is exactly the same situation as in Ukraine, if you look at it that way.

Night of the Refugee

That’s why I joined the Night of the Refugee. Continued attention must be paid to this problem. Money must be raised for refugee aid on a permanent basis. Especially now, now that 2.5 million Ukrainian people have also had to flee their country. I will not be able to participate this year. During one of the training sessions I sustained an injury. I do stand as a volunteer at one of the rest points. But that is the difference with us here in the Netherlands and the millions of people who are now on the run. We have the luxury of saying: I’m not running today. They don’t have that choice.”