Avin Alo
The displaced families from the city of Serê Kaniyê (Ras al-Ain) keep the keys to their homes in their pockets, as they carry in their hearts the scent of memories that have not faded despite the passing years. Six years have gone by since they were forced to leave their houses under the weight of bombardment and attacks, yet those keys remain symbols of endurance that does not break and of hope that refuses to die.
The walls of their homes, once witnesses to laughter and conversation, now stand as witnesses to absence. The tents that shelter them in the camps have become the very image of a life suspended between hope and waiting.
Serê Kaniyê (Ras al-Ain in Arabic) lies in the countryside of Al-Hasakah province, in north-eastern Syria near the Turkish border. The city has long been known for its ethnic diversity, home to Arabs, Kurds, Assyrians and Turkmen who lived together for decades. Until 2019, it was considered one of the relatively stable areas in the region.
In October 2019, Turkey launched a military operation it called Operation Peace Spring, in cooperation with armed Syrian opposition factions, aiming to seize control of the border strip between Tal Abyad and Serê Kaniyê.
As a result, Turkish forces and allied factions took full control of the city after several days of fierce fighting, displacing tens of thousands of civilians toward Al-Hasakah’s countryside, especially to the Washokani (al-Tuwaina) and Tal al-Samen camps.
Since then, most of the original residents have been prevented from returning to their homes due to the continued presence of armed factions and reported violations including property seizures and demographic changes, according to international human rights organisations such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International.
Today, more than six years after the operation, tens of thousands of displaced people still live in harsh conditions inside the camps. The issue of Serê Kaniyê remains one of the most significant cases of forced displacement in northern Syria, amid the absence of any political settlement guaranteeing their safe return.
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Enduring Memories, Unending Hardship
With a voice filled with pain and longing, Ghazala Daoud recalls the day she was forced to leave her home.
“It was a black day,” she tells +963. “We locked our doors as the sky filled with smoke from the planes. We thought we would be back within days, but six years have passed. Our keys are still in our pockets, and the occupiers are sitting on our homes and our backs.”
Nadia al-Hariri, an Arab woman living in the same camp, shares a story no less painful:
“Summer or winter, it’s the same suffering,” she says. “Even our children can’t get a proper education like they did in Ras al-Ain. Life here is too hard, especially for the elderly.”
Despite the torn tents, piles of rubbish and the spread of disease among children, Nadia insists they will not leave Syria: “We’re staying. We hold on to the dream of going back home, no matter how long it takes.”
For the Sake of Return
In a corner of the Washokani camp near Al-Hasakah, where there is no shade from the summer sun nor roof against the winter cold, sits Mohammed al-Abdullah, reflecting on a reality he never chose.
“It’s been six years now in the camp,” he tells +963. “There’s no work, no rest, no proper day or night. Even the simplest things we need for life are missing. They took our land and our homes, yet we stay patient for the sake of a safe return for ourselves and our children.”
For Mohammed and others, patience and the constant demand for their right of return are daily acts of quiet resistance against the realities of exile.
Amid all this suffering, the displaced raise their voices to the world, calling for protection of their human right to return safely to their homes.
“The greatest revolution we are fighting today,” says Ghazala Daoud, “is our struggle to return to our homes, but it must happen under UN supervision and with the presence of human rights organisations.”
Mohammed echoes her plea: “We ask the United Nations and international organisations to protect our right to return safely. It is our natural right.”
Pain in Numbers, Reality in Waiting
According to the Committee of the Displaced from Serê Kaniyê, about 87% of the city’s population has been displaced since 2019. Many of them now live in northern Al-Hasakah camps under what rights groups describe as dire conditions.
Figures from Hevdestî Association (Taazour) show that Washokani (al-Tuwaina) Camp hosts around 16,250 people (2,260 families), Tal al-Samen Camp 6,960 people (1,247 families), Serê Kaniyê (al-Tala’i) Camp 16,691 people (2,615 families)
Despite these harsh realities, the displaced residents have not lost faith in their right to go home. Each still carries a key, a small symbol of steadfastness and defiance in the face of forgetting.
