Yaser's Diary: A Makeshift Mall in Hass

In Yaser's Diary, Syria Relief and Development's Turkey Country Director, Yaser Alsaghrji, reports on his journeys into Syria to help those in need. 

Our truck arrived in Hass early one afternoon after traveling a seemingly endless road.  Hass is a small town in the Idlib region of Syria that is now controlled by the Free Syrian Army. It was lunchtime but neither Mustafa, the driver, nor I had any appetite--Mustafa was in a hurry to get back on the road before dark and I felt guilty about taking any time away from our mission: to help our partners distribute a large shipment of clothing, infant formula and other goods that had finally arrived from the U.S. after five months in transit. But now it was here and I was eager to help our partners distribute it. 

At the distribution site, Mustafa and I were met by Abu Samer, a well-respected figure in Hass who owns a plastic bag factory. The factory had been sealed off for a year now, but he opened its doors for us to unload the shipment of 263 boxes packed with clothing, mostly for women and children. Abu Samer had a list of Hass families in need and we quickly began stuffing plastic bags with clothing for each family. The long-closed factory became a beehive of activity as Abu Samer, his wife, his two sons, their wives, and a young man from the neighborhood all pitched in to help.

Before dark, we set out to deliver the goods only to realize how our plan had failed to meet the families’ needs: people would open their bags and realize the cherished clothing items were "too little" or "too big" for their own individual family members. 

We regrouped at Abu Samer's house to re-assess our plan. His daughter-in-law, Layla, came up with a brilliant idea: “Why don’t we ask the families to come to the factory and choose their own items?” Umm Samer and her other daughter-in-law, Maha, thought it was a good idea, but the men were not yet on board.

Since no one had any better ideas, Abu Samer asked us to return to the families' homes and write out vouchers they could use to “buy” what they needed at the factory the following day. We returned to the homes and knocked at each door, this time asking how many people were in the family and then writing the vouchers accordingly. 

By the time we returned to the factory at 11 pm, the women of Abu Samer's family had strung ropes throughout the factory and were hanging up clothes, grouping them by gender and size.  The boring gray abandoned factory was beginning to look as colorful as Souk Al-Hamidiyeh, a renowned market in old Damascus. 

We worked to set up the factory under the dim light of a generator; it took until one in the morning to finish. The men were exhausted, but I could see how excited Umm Samer and her daughter-in-laws were.

At 7 am the next morning, a line formed outside the factory, stretching for half a mile. “Abu Samer’s Mall” was a distance for many of the townspeople to travel--and it really felt like a mall, with people admiring the clothes, trying them on, giggling and enjoying themselves.

By the afternoon we were exhausted. Ali, one of the volunteers, grew restless at how much time many of the families were taking in choosing their items. Abu Samer asked Ali, his son Ahmad and I to take a break with him outside and he asked Layla make us some tea. We sat on chairs overlooking the factory, waiting for him to speak.

He looked at the crowd with misty eyes and said, “For the past 20 months all this town had heard were cries for help and wailing over the dead and injured. Three Eids passed and people didn't shop for their children let alone themselves.” Putting his hand on Ali’s shoulder he looked him in the eye and continued, “I am not going to let anybody ruin their happiness. Let them take their time and let their kids enjoy this." 

Ali stood and kissed Abu Samer’s head, and then mine, and prayed for the people who sent these items that gave his townspeople so much happiness. Abu Samer then directed us to deliver the precious infant formula and diapers to the households that needed them most. We finished our deliveries at 11 pm and Umm Samer had dinner waiting for us. We ate and recounted endless stories about the makeshift mall’s patrons that day.

Two days after I left, Hass was heavily shelled by regime jets. I watch videos online of children’s bodies dragged from under the rubble and remembered the families I had encountered in the makeshift mall. Filling myself with those happy memories was all I could do to bare the loss that this beautiful town suffered. 

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Yaser's Diary: Ingenuity amid Struggle

 In Yaser's Diary, Syria Relief and Development's Turkey Country Director, Yaser Alsaghrji, reports on his journeys into Syria to help those in need. 

Every Wednesday morning, merchants and farmers across Reyhanli, Turkey, and nearby towns and villages--even as far as Kirikhan, 24 miles away--gather in our street for the weekly farmer's market. As early as 6 am the tents start to come up and stands are prepared for the event: fresh fruits, vegetables, spices, honey, and even clothing and shoes can be found among hundreds of items being sold here every week. By 7 am the usually quiet side street comes to life.

Every week I navigate the market, curious about all the spices and fresh produce that would never be seen in larger cities such as Damascus or Washington DC, my current home. Many people here at the market know me by now and kindly show me whatever they think might be unknown to me. Today however, it was thanks to Syria Relief and Development that I learned something about my favorite breakfast food, olives...and, about human will.

A man in his late fifties in a brown-striped galabieh (robe) seemed to have recognized me. He came out from behind his stockpile of olives and shook hands with me.  He introduced himself as Abu Waleed and his daughter--in her mid-twenties and also working the olive stand--as Umm Samer. Meanwhile, another man approached Abu Waleed and inquired about the olives.
Abu Waleed and the man discussed how expensive olives were this season--that they were, in fact, more expensive per kilogram than olive oil. "I’ve never heard of olives being more expensive than olive oil," said Abu Waleed. "It’s partially due to the fact that Syrian olives were not picked this year. It wasn't safe, and transportation was too expensive."
Abu Waleed and the man discussed how expensive olives were this season--that they were, in fact, more expensive per kilogram than olive oil. "I’ve never heard of olives being more expensive than olive oil," said Abu Waleed. "It’s partially due to the fact that Syrian olives were not picked this year. It wasn't safe, and transportation was too expensive."

Abu Waleed told him that these were Salqini olives from Salqin, Syria--an area just across the border from Reyhanli that is famous for its good olives. Abu Waleed explained that these were not watery olives that rotted quickly, which the patron confirmed by pressing one olive between two fingers and examining the oozing oil. The man purchased the entire pile of olives.

When the sale was completed, I saw Abu Waleed kiss the money the patron had given him and put it in his pocket while saying Alhamdulillah (all praise is to God). He came back to me and greeted me warmly, happily. He told me that although earlier he had sold another batch of olives for a better price, he was happy to let the whole pile go.

Suddenly Abu Waleed asked me if I recognized him. I was embarrassed to admit that I didn't. He reminded me that we met in Kafer Takhareem, an area in Idlib, Syria, where Syria Relief and Development's aid workers and I gave his family and his daughter's family winter kits. His daughter’s husband was killed and she was left with two young children to raise on her own. Abu Waleed and his daughter had traded the winter boots and sheets inside the kit for a trip to the border near Harem, about 15 miles from Reyhanli. They crossed the border carrying 110 kilograms of olives and were able to get a ride into Reyhanli.

They found the local farmer's market and set up shop. “This is the first money we’ve made in a very long time," Abu Waleed said. Umm Samer, his daughter, had suggested purchasing items in Turkey to sell back home in Syria to continue generating income. But Abu Waleed had replied, "people have no money to buy Turkish products like in the old days," so they decided to buy insulin for their neighbor back home who has diabetes as a way of shukr (giving thanks).

I was struck again by the will of the Syrian people, and their ingenuity: transforming items from a distribution kit into an income-generating olive sale. The money from that sale will keep two families surviving for a little while longer.  

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