Stories from
“This Crisis Made Our Children Adults”
Saadya and her family of nine live in a small apartment in Amman.
I meet Saadya, 75, who greets me with a warm embrace, even though we’ve never met. She introduces me to her granddaughter Sanaa, 19, whose 18-month-old twins playfully chase each other around the room. I also meet her grandson Fadyeh, 17, while her granddaughters Sadye, 13, and Taghreed, 11, wait quietly in the next room.
“Saadya doesn’t want them to relive what happened in Syria because they’re so young,” says Deema, our community liaison. “That is why they’re in the other room.”
"This crisis has made our children adults...In Syria, no children worked" Saadya, 75
Their neighbours found the two girls and brought them to Saadya and Fadyeh, who were hiding on a nearby farm. Saadya knew they couldn’t stay in Syria anymore. They fled to Jordan.
As I sit with Saadya and her grandchildren, I soon understand why.
“We had our own land and farm,” begins Saadya. “It was beautiful. Everyone there felt like family.”
Their life vanished the day the Syrian crisis reached their neighbourhood in Homs. When the gunfire started, Saadya fled on foot to safety with Fadyeh.
Inside their family home, Saadya’s son and his wife rushed their three youngest children to the car, but as they started to drive off, an armed group appeared ahead of them. The mother yelled to her young daughters to duck behind the front seats for cover. Doing so saved their lives. Sadye and Taghreed survived that day; their parents and six-year-old brother did not.
In Jordan, they lived in a small tent at Zaatari refugee camp before moving to an apartment with another of Saadya’s sons. For a time, their lives improved. “We were happy. We lived in a good place and we were together,” says Saadya.
Their happiness was short-lived. To make ends meet, Saadya’s son was working illegally without a work permit. He was caught and sent back to Syria.
Saadya has been crying all through her story, and as she tells me this, tears roll down her face in a steady stream. “If I had known they were taking him back to Syria I would have gone with him,” she says, heavy with grief. “Now I don’t know where he is.”
Saadya and her grandchildren were left with nothing but their dwindling savings to live on. Like many Syrian refugee children, Fadyeh felt that he should be working to help the family, but he knew that working could lead to his eviction—or his whole family’s. It was an impossible decision. “This crisis has made our children adults,” says Saadya. “In Syria, no children worked.”