Violence-fleeing Syrians face economics of being refugees

Some days he was able to earn a daily wage of 200 Syrian pounds (SYP), less than $3 or TL 6, insufficient to sustain his family of six, which includes his three children.

But now Ramiz is in a refugee camp across the border in Hatay. “It’s difficult here. These tents get very hot during the day and it does get windy at night. But my family is getting square meals, which was impossible to imagine even before the violence broke out.”

Abdul Malik, who lives in the same camp, has a similar story. As a laborer working on olive farms near Homs, his sustenance was dependent on a good crop. But successive years of drought had forced him to migrate to the city, looking for an alternative job. “Our original home is in the village. Life in this camp is no different from where we lived in Homs. There was no work in the cities, everything was very expensive. We had no idea what to do,” says Malik, 38, as he looks after his family of seven. “We don’t want to return to the city now. When the violence is over, we would like to either stay in Hatay, or move back to our village. Homs is no longer an option,” he adds.

According to figures from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), out of a total of 350,000 Syrians living as refugees, Turkey has already accommodated an estimated 120,000. But not all are as lucky as Ramiz or Malik.

Until last month, Sami was a lawyer practicing with one of the leading law firms in Aleppo. Drawing a handsome annual salary of SYP 700,000, Sami’s life has been turned upside down over the last 12 months. “Initially I thought I’d stay back despite the violence on the streets. The offices were shut, but we were still employed. I at least had a decent career, for which I had worked really hard. On an average, I used to work 10-12 hours a day,” says the 39-year-old. “It was only when I saw this fighter jet above my building … that I decided to leave,” he adds as he shows a clip on his mobile phone.

But Hatay has brought its own set of challenges for Sami and his family. As he crossed the border, he carried with him his life’s savings — SYD 650,000. “Shelling had already started above our building, and we had no time. This was all the cash we could arrange when we were fleeing.”

The first setback came in the form of currency conversion. “I was told that it was impossible to convert Syrian pounds into Turkish lira. So I decided to convert my currency into US dollars. Unfortunately, none of the licensed counters were open, forcing us to go through the black market route. The exchange rate until recently was around 48 SYP to 1 US dollar. Even the official rate now suggests that the exchange rate should be around 60 SYP. But you know how black market works … they are smugglers.”

Sami eventually got nearly $7,200 at a staggering rate of 90 SYP per 1 USD. He entered Hatay through the checkpoint near the Rehanlı neighborhood with his old parents, wife and three children, trying to start from scratch. “We did go to the relief camps in the beginning, but decided against staying there. It was way too different from our three-bedroom apartment in Aleppo,” his retired father explains. That’s when the family decided to scout for accommodation in Rehanlı itself.

“When we came, most of the available accommodation was already occupied by Syrian nationals. There were many like us who were willing to pay a little extra to get a roof above our women’s heads. It is about dignity after all, isn’t it?” says Sami, but at the same time admitting that this desperation may have been the main reason behind the escalation of costs in the Hatay area. “Yes, there were five other families trying to get the same house. It was like an auction,” he says.

His family finally found accommodation at a highly inflated $200 per month. At this rate, Sami and his family realize that time is running out much faster than they had imagined. “I just hope all this ends soon. I hope I could go back and resume my practice,” says the worried breadwinner.

For most, finding employment has also become a worry. Abu-Bashar is an auto mechanic and was hoping he would be able to find work at the many garages in Antakya. But so far, he has been unsuccessful. “All potential employers here insist on producing a work permit or an ikamet [residence permit]. I first tried here, then went to Ankara, but they asked me to come on some other date. Now I don’t even have the money to buy the TL 50 bus ticket,” says the 42-year-old, whose family is living with their Antakya-based relatives.

It’s the same story in Kilis, too, which has witnessed a major influx of refugees. Some refugees even complain of food prices going up at eateries. “While initially, the local Turkish shop owners had sympathy for us and were even willing to offer food for free, that seems to be changing now as more and more people arrive from Syria,” says Muhammed Omar, who was among the first groups to enter Kilis from Syria. While some protest, others are ready to look at the reasons, too. “Those who enter from Syria carry some cash with them and hence don’t want to be treated like refugees. It’s a matter of pride. But with time, all that goes. It’s now a question of survival.”

Almost 80,000 Syrians are living in refugee camps in Turkey. An estimated 40,000 are living on the outside, on their own, and hence straining municipal resources.

While security is being cited as the main reason, Turkey’s plan to relocate those living outside the shelters to other cities is being received with mixed reactions. While most are afraid of the unknown costs it would entail, there are still some who are hoping that along with these challenges, fresh cities may also throw in opportunities. It may have been fast dwindling, but it is hope that continues to be the only constant in the lives of refugees.

(Today’s Zaman)