The earthquakes in Syria and Turkey
On 6 February 2023, two powerful earthquakes hit southeastern Turkey and northwestern Syria. They had a magnitude of 7.8 and 7.5, and were followed by numerous aftershocks.
At least 59,000 people lost their lives, including 6,000 in Syria. Nearly 9 million people in the country were affected.
In Aleppo, the earthquakes caused major damage to homes and infrastructure. Houses that had already been damaged by 12 years of war were dealt a final blow.
In February 2024, NRC started a renovation project, block by block, one apartment at a time. A careful selection process determines who gets what. The blocks are colour-coded: green, orange, red and black. “Black” blocks will have to be demolished. NRC is focusing on blocks classified as “orange”.
“This is the first project of its kind for NRC,” explains Mohamad Ebaa Khallouf, who works for NRC providing shelter and sanitation facilities for families in Aleppo. In the most seriously damaged apartments, they do “everything”. He says:
“We fix foundation walls, we fix the wiring and the electrics, we take down ceilings and walls where we have to and rebuild them. The only thing we don’t do is paint the walls.
“We have renovated 11 buildings in Aleppo. Three are ongoing, and three more are planned.” [Figures from October 2024 – Ed.]
In the block where this family live, there was major damage to the foundation wall. Therefore, the first job was to repair that. Then gradually the team were able to deal with the apartments. Five of the eight apartments have been renovated. This family’s apartment was one of the first to be completed. NRC repaired the tiling, and the washbasin in the bathroom, and provided new bathroom furniture, new woodwork, new skirting boards and windows, kitchen units, taps, a water heater, a battery charger and lights. And a new exterior door.
Inside the door
“ All paths for Europeans lead to Rome,
All paths for Arabs lead to poetry,
And all paths of love lead to Aleppo.”
Nizar Qabbani
First there was war outside. Underground tunnels. Bullets that flew over the flowerbeds and the vegetable garden that the neighbours had planted in front of the apartment block. Gradually, the flowers died. So did the tomato plants. And the peppers.
Eventually, more peaceful days reached the people who lived here. Life wasn’t easy, but at least they were no longer on the front line.
Then the ground began to shake.
“We ran out and back in, out and back in, out and back in. Every time [there was an earthquake].”
The Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) visited the family in October 2024, before recent events in Aleppo and other parts of Syria. This article reflects the situation as it was at the time.
Noor
Two pairs of children’s eyes peer out. Cautious smiles spread across the faces as the door opens. At the bottom of the smallest pair of legs, Batman looks up from a pair of sandals.
Ghosoun and Anas live in the apartment together with their mother and father, grandmother and grandfather – and their brother Ismail, who is 13. “But he is at school now,” explains Grandma Rizon. “He is autistic, and needs routine. He goes to a school for children with special needs. He gets up every morning and leaves for school. He is so happy to go there.”
Anas and his grandparents show a picture of the siblings together with their brother Ismail.
Anas and his grandparents show a picture of the siblings together with their brother Ismail.
Grandma had been making food all day, she recounts. Then the earthquake came. She had just gone to bed when everything started to shake.
“We opened our eyes in shock. All the cupboard doors in the house flew open, all the pans fell to the floor, and the crockery in the kitchen was smashed. Everything made of glass was shattered into a thousand pieces.
“I woke the children, hugged them and said that we had to go out – the earthquake lasted so long.
“The neighbours ran to us and shouted, saying that we had to come down because another earthquake was coming.
“Eventually I got the children out. Then it started to rain, heavily, and it thundered.”
“I was really scared. I slept with my hijab on, because it was so cold, and it rained a lot that night.”
The family was out on the street all night, together with all their neighbours. The earthquakes continued. One of the buildings in the neighbourhood collapsed. After two hours, things quietened down a bit. Some time later, the ambulances came.
Ghosoun’s face hardens.
“My friend died.”
“... she died in the building that collapsed,” Grandma adds. “The only one who survived was her seven-year-old little sister.”
Ghosoun continues: “She was in Year 5. Her little sister is in Year 2.”
“Her name was Noor.”
Anas with his scooter on the balcony.
Anas with his scooter on the balcony.
Seven coats of paint
Grandma continues: “There was another earthquake the following day. We came down again.
“People said that our building was going to collapse. After that, the children and their parents went to their other grandmother for 15 days. We were scared. So we turned off the gas and locked the door.
“My husband and I went to our daughter’s. The flight of stairs there is not so high, so it’s easier to help my husband up and down. We stayed there for a month.”
They came home to discover their apartment in ruins. There was broken glass everywhere. The tiles in the bathroom were smashed. The foundation wall was damaged. And there were big cracks in the walls. “You could put two fingers into the cracks,” says Grandma.
The balcony had also been destroyed, and the door out to it was so crooked that they couldn’t close it.
It used to be the family’s favourite place, they all say together. They used to sit out there and look down at the street, watching the people rush by. Out over the place where the vegetable garden used to be. There, the grandparents had built a swing for their grandchildren, and the kids used to play hide-and-seek. Grandad recounts that they used to sleep out there in summer and look up at the stars.
“Even so, the worst thing was that my grandson’s bedroom window was broken, so it got very cold in there when it rained. The water came in. Anas often became ill,” says Grandma.
“The house already had to be repaired because of the war. The earthquakes just made it worse.”
“I used blankets to keep out the cold. Everyone wore two pairs of socks to stay warm. We had no heater, no gas, no electricity.”
“Our home was very cold. Now it’s warmer here,” says Grandma.
“But I really want to paint the walls. We have painted our walls before, you know! My husband used to be a painter.”
“I put on seven coats of paint,” Grandad adds.
“He supervised,” corrects Grandma with a definite nod.
“What colour do I want? Magnolia.”
The buildings in Aleppo are different from those in the rest of Syria. They are brighter. While in other places they build in brick, the builders in Aleppo use limestone blocks.
There is still a lot of damage, and the limited building materials that are available are too expensive for most people. Even so, rebuilding is going on.
And just as Aleppo is being rebuilt, stone by stone, the lives in Syria are being rebuilt. Stone by stone, one home at a time.
One person at a time.
Grandma continues: “We’ve lived here for 21 years. I have a good relationship with the neighbours. But we’re not that close. I can’t drop by and drink coffee and chat, like the other women can. I have to be both husband and wife. My husband has been ill ever since we moved in. So he can’t work any more.
“Right at the start of the war, he had a stroke. Because of the fear. That left him partially disabled. It took five months before he could get around again. He also has high blood pressure, heart disease and diabetes.
“So I had to start working so we could afford the medication.
“My son would like to have his own place with his family, but he doesn’t earn enough. So I’m responsible for all of them.”
Grandmother Rizon in the kitchen.
Grandmother Rizon in the kitchen.
The dream
Grandma Rizon explains that she was born in Morocco and grew up in Syria and Lebanon. In Lebanon, she studied to be a doctor. “I wanted to carry on my studies, but my parents engaged me to be married, so I couldn’t. I know how to do it all, but I don’t have the certification,” she says.
“If I told you that no-one here goes to the doctor without ringing me first, you probably wouldn’t believe me. But they do ask me first, and then I make an appointment for them with the doctor. I also accompany them to the doctor, and if anyone has to go to hospital, I go with them and look after them.”
“Everyone calls me ‘Doctor’, although I don’t have the degree.”
However, without formal qualifications, Grandma Rizon can’t work as a doctor, so instead she makes and sells food. Often she has to work in the dark. Before the war they had electricity 20 hours a day, but that has now been reduced to just two hours a day. She would like a solar panel, or a generator. But they can’t afford that.
The two hours of electricity are not enough, she says, but some power is better than nothing.
“But no-one visits us in the winter. It’s too dark.
“So in the evenings, we always sit in the dark on the balcony and look down at the street.”
The war
The civil war in Syria
The civil war in Syria has now been raging for almost 14 years. In 2021, the UN estimated that over 350,000 people had been killed. The real figure is probably much higher.
In addition to over 7 million people being displaced within the country, many millions have fled to neighbouring countries, such as Jordan, Iraq, Turkey and Lebanon. The latter is now home to about 1.5 million Syrians, but when Israel began bombing Lebanon in October, a large number of people, both Syrians and Lebanese, fled across the border to a Syria in ruins.
It has been estimated that almost 17 million people in Syria needed aid in 2024, the highest figure ever.
The civil war in Syria has now been raging for almost 14 years. In 2021, the UN estimated that over 350,000 people had been killed. The real figure is probably much higher.
In addition to over 7 million people being displaced within the country, many millions have fled to neighbouring countries, such as Jordan, Iraq, Turkey and Lebanon. The latter is now home to about 1.5 million Syrians, but when Israel began bombing Lebanon in October, a large number of people, both Syrians and Lebanese, fled across the border to a Syria in ruins.
It has been estimated that almost 17 million people in Syria needed aid in 2024, the highest figure ever.
At the start of the war, the family tried to stay in their own house. When it became too dangerous, they moved in with the grandfather’s brothers’ families – five families in total. Grandma recounts:
“We couldn’t tell day from night. We shared everything: the bathroom, the kitchen, the toilet … Even the balcony was crammed.
The ruins of Aleppo by night. Photo: Ina Eriksen Eines/NRC
The ruins of Aleppo by night. Photo: Ina Eriksen Eines/NRC
“It was very difficult. I pray that we never see the like again. We were in constant fear for our lives, with bombs falling and debris flying everywhere. It was awful, not knowing where the next danger would come from.”
The family lived through missiles landing all around them. Fragments penetrated deep into the walls, on one occasion close to Grandad’s head. Half of the surrounding buildings collapsed. There was no water or electricity, and very little food other than a little bit of bread. No-one could work.
That was how the following years passed.
“But we had nowhere else to go. Where could we have gone? We didn’t have enough money to rent anywhere else. So there we were – five families in an empty house. We had to collect water, blankets and other things we needed, bit by bit.
“So we waited there, for six years.”
The front
When the war was at its height, the family’s apartment block found itself next to a crossing between the fronts. Instead of trees, the gardens were now full of trenches.
“You know, out here, this was the front line. By God’s grace, I survived.”
“I went back to the apartment a few times to get supplies,” says Grandma. “I took a pram and filled it with the things we needed. We didn’t know anywhere else we could find food.
“The last time I went back, there was a battle going on. The noise was terrifying. When I tried to leave, a sniper shot at the door. It was like being in a movie.”
“I prayed. I was so close to the crossfire. I tried to run while praying to Allah. I saw many people who were injured. Anyone who moved was shot – men, women and children.”
She sat inside the door and waited for one and a half hours, she recounts. She wondered whether she should take the chance and open the door and get away, knowing full well that the sniper would shoot as soon as he saw her.
“I carefully set foot outside, but then quickly went back in. Eventually I came out. They fired off some warning shots and shouted: “If you come out here, forget your home.”
“If you are shot, no-one will help you.”
“Just the previous evening, a woman and her son had been injured. She later died – there was no first aid.
“I’ve seen lots of people get injured. The sniper never let up, I swear.
“Eventually I got out of there, and I never went back.”
The door
Children’s voices stream in through the open balcony door. The nearby school is full of pupils again. The morning shift has finished, and now it is the turn of the next group of children.
“I have about 10 or 12 friends,” says eight-year-old Anas. “But I don't have much time to play with them. The breaks [at school] are so short!”
“His father wants him to be a tailor, like him,” says Grandma, “but I want him to be a doctor.”
Anas, though, wants to be a pilot:
“And fly over Aleppo, and all of Syria!”
His big sister Ghosoun has already packed her bag and run off to school. But Grandma Rizon has something she wants to show us.
“See this? Our door is different from all the others. Grandad decided it should be like this. That’s because he was a painter and decorator, you know. He knows about these things. He didn’t want it to be painted, like the others. He wanted you to be able to see the wood.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
View from the balcony, overlooking where the vegetable garden used to be.
View from the balcony, overlooking where the vegetable garden used to be.
While this article was being prepared in late November and early December 2024, there was a sudden and unexpected development in Aleppo. The night leading up to 8 December 2024, the previous Government of Syria fell, and has since been replaced by a transitional government.
The situation is constantly changing. As of 11 December 2024, conflict has subsided in major cities, but fighting is still reported in some regions including the northeast.
Thousands have been displaced in the fighting while many have also returned home. Insecurity remains the main concern for people, particularly those living around active conflict lines. For those displaced, winter conditions will be particularly harsh this year. Many have left with nothing while others could be forced to leave home in the cold conditions due to fighting.
Soaring inflation, which has increased since 28 November, and unaffordable food and essentials, remain a challenge for millions of Syrians.
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