On the Fifth Anniversary of the Syrian Civil War, a Stateless Refugees Says Thank You
Reflecting on the long sad march out of Homs, and the people along the way
By Aboud Dandachi
March 14, 2016 • 10:00 PM
It is said that one true loyal friend is worth a thousand relatives. I had plenty of time to dwell on that saying when, displaced by the Assad regime’s February 2012 invasion of my neighborhood in Homs, I moved to the coastal Syrian town of Tartous. Like millions of other Syrian refugees, I was about to learn who my true friends were. To my surprise, those who offered me the most moral support during my darkest, most despair filled days on the coast wouldn’t be my relations or Arab acquaintances. They would be friends in Calgary, Toronto, and Richmond.
Of course, I hadn’t lacked for friends a little over a year earlier, back in my home town of Homs. In the middle of January 2011, I was busy setting up my own training business and had just moved into my new home in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in what was then the most livable city in all of the Levant. Most important, I was engaged and looking forward to getting married in the summer. I felt like I was on top of the world.
Alas, I also had the worst timing in the world. In March, protests against the regime broke out in the southern city of Dar’a, and it didn’t take long for the revolutionary fervor to spread to Homs, which by April was being dubbed the capital of the Syrian revolution.
Capital or not, I was having none of it. In those early days I was neither for the regime nor the opposition. Life was great for me. The last thing I wanted to do was rock the boat and upset my idyllic existence. After years of living in three different countries in the Gulf, I was looking forward to settling down in Syria, and I wanted nothing from the government save for an environment in which I could make my own way. A little over a month into the protests, and I was firmly in the “leave me the heck out of it” camp. That all changed on April 17. While I was spending the evening visiting relations in my ancestral village of Talkalakh, a funeral procession in Homs morphed into a massive demonstration and sit-in of tens of thousands at the landmark New Clock. It was Syria’s Tahrir Square moment.
On the Fifth Anniversary of the Syrian Civil War, a Stateless Refugee Says Thank You?
Reflecting on the long sad march out of Homs, and the people along the way
By Aboud Dandachi
March 14, 2016 • 10:00 PM
It is said that one true loyal friend is worth a thousand relatives. I had plenty of time to dwell on that saying when, displaced by the Assad regime’s February 2012 invasion of my neighborhood in Homs, I moved to the coastal Syrian town of Tartous. Like millions of other Syrian refugees, I was about to learn who my true friends were. To my surprise, those who offered me the most moral support during my darkest, most despair filled days on the coast wouldn’t be my relations or Arab acquaintances. They would be friends in Calgary, Toronto, and Richmond.
Of course, I hadn’t lacked for friends a little over a year earlier, back in my home town of Homs. In the middle of January 2011, I was busy setting up my own training business and had just moved into my new home in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in what was then the most livable city in all of the Levant. Most important, I was engaged and looking forward to getting married in the summer. I felt like I was on top of the world.
Alas, I also had the worst timing in the world. In March, protests against the regime broke out in the southern city of Dar’a, and it didn’t take long for the revolutionary fervor to spread to Homs, which by April was being dubbed the capital of the Syrian revolution.
Capital or not, I was having none of it. In those early days I was neither for the regime nor the opposition. Life was great for me. The last thing I wanted to do was rock the boat and upset my idyllic existence. After years of living in three different countries in the Gulf, I was looking forward to settling down in Syria, and I wanted nothing from the government save for an environment in which I could make my own way. A little over a month into the protests, and I was firmly in the “leave me the heck out of it” camp. That all changed on April 17. While I was spending the evening visiting relations in my ancestral village of Talkalakh, a funeral procession in Homs morphed into a massive demonstration and sit-in of tens of thousands at the landmark New Clock. It was Syria’s Tahrir Square moment.
On the Fifth Anniversary of the Syrian Civil War, a Stateless Refugee Says Thank You?
