This is one exile's story. I would imagine that many of the exiles are bitter over what happened.
Syria: Bitterness of Exile
Displacement and loss of a family caught up in conflict.
Our life of exile in Qurqunya, a village in the north of Idlib province, began in August 2012. I left with my family – my mother, younger sister and three-year-old brother –my older brother’s family, consisting of his wife and four children, and my aunt’s family – mother, father and two daughters.
We used to live in an area close to Idlib called Broma. When the army advanced on the Bab al-Hawa road, they encountered a number of rebel brigades, one of which was led by my older brother. My brother came with a group of men to give us the news that regime forces would not accept this reverse quietly and would be returning with new weapons and a fleet of aircraft.
“You have to leave the area to keep the children safe,” my brother said. “You have to get as far away from here as possible, as fast as you can.”
That night, my brother was able to persuade my mother that we needed to leave, but my father would not back down from his pledge to stay put.
“We aren’t leaving to save ourselves, but to spare the children unbearable trauma,” my mother said.
Continue reading at:
Syria Bitterness of Exile IWPR?
Syria: Bitterness of Exile
Displacement and loss of a family caught up in conflict.
Our life of exile in Qurqunya, a village in the north of Idlib province, began in August 2012. I left with my family – my mother, younger sister and three-year-old brother –my older brother’s family, consisting of his wife and four children, and my aunt’s family – mother, father and two daughters.
We used to live in an area close to Idlib called Broma. When the army advanced on the Bab al-Hawa road, they encountered a number of rebel brigades, one of which was led by my older brother. My brother came with a group of men to give us the news that regime forces would not accept this reverse quietly and would be returning with new weapons and a fleet of aircraft.
“You have to leave the area to keep the children safe,” my brother said. “You have to get as far away from here as possible, as fast as you can.”
That night, my brother was able to persuade my mother that we needed to leave, but my father would not back down from his pledge to stay put.
“We aren’t leaving to save ourselves, but to spare the children unbearable trauma,” my mother said.
Continue reading at:
Syria Bitterness of Exile IWPR?
