Aliya’s mornings in Palmyra no longer begin with coffee or preparing her children for school. They begin with fear.
“Just a fever in one of my children is enough to turn my day into a nightmare,” she says. She knows that a trip to the city’s only hospital means hours of waiting, crowded corridors and the possibility of returning home without her child seeing a specialist. Once, she waited four hours with her young son in pain, only to be told that the doctor was absent and she should “come back next week” – a week that could mean the difference between recovery and serious complications.
Palmyra – the historic city and former capital of an ancient kingdom – now faces an existential challenge unrelated to its stone ruins. It is a crisis threatening the lives of thousands who live there. The city, deep in Syria’s desert, is suffering from a severe health emergency, with its sole hospital standing as a symbol of institutional failure. As urban populations expand, global studies show that public health pressures grow – non-communicable diseases rise, environmental risks increase and health systems often fail to keep pace. In Palmyra, this failure has become acute.
A broken health system
Palmyra’s health crisis is not an isolated case. It reflects a broader collapse affecting marginalised areas. With damaged facilities, a shortage of qualified staff and a lack of essential medicines – conditions familiar in post-conflict zones – treatable illnesses turn into slow death sentences. The crisis threatens not only public health but also human capital, undermining any hope of sustainable development or universal health coverage, goals promoted by bodies such as the World Health Organization and the World Bank.
Aliya, a resident of Palmyra, tells +963: “My day starts with fear. If one of my children gets a fever, the journey into hell begins. The hospital is like a crowded market – people everywhere, shouting, despair in the air. I go knowing I may wait for hours and return without seeing a specialist. Once I waited four hours while my youngest cried in pain from an ear infection, only to be told the specialist wasn’t there.”
She adds: “Medicines are another disaster. The hospital pharmacy is often empty, even of basic painkillers or antibiotics. We buy from private pharmacies at impossible prices. Many women I know cut tablets in half or stop treatment early to save money. We are not treating illnesses – we are just dulling the pain until it either passes or gets worse.”
Around two years ago, she recalls, her son Ali suddenly developed breathing difficulties.
“I rushed him to the hospital, but the X-ray machine was broken. They told me to take him to Damascus, more than 150 kilometres away. I hired a private car at huge cost. My son couldn’t survive the journey. He died in my arms before we arrived. He died because there was no working X-ray and no equipped emergency unit. His soul disappeared into the wind – and my guilt is that I gave birth to him in this city.”
Ahmad, another resident, tells +963: “I am a dialysis patient. My life is a slow journey towards death.” The hospital’s dialysis centre has only three machines serving dozens of patients. Each patient is assigned two days a week, but breakdowns and delays are common. “Sometimes my session is delayed by six hours. I sit and wait, knowing toxins are building up in my body. If my condition worsens, there is no specialist – only a resident doctor. A consultant visits once every two weeks, which is nowhere near enough.”
He adds: “We are left to suffer alone. Families bear enormous costs. Government support exists, but it is insufficient. Many patients stop attending because transport and follow-up cost more than they can afford. We hear about international organisations supporting health care in conflict zones, but here we feel completely forgotten. Sometimes I wonder why planners don’t come and see this for themselves. We need recognition before anything else – recognition that we exist and that we are human. We need a proper kidney centre, enough machines, resident specialists and transport for those who cannot travel. Above all, we want to feel that our lives matter. Right now, we feel like a burden to be quietly removed.”
A violation of the right to life
Human rights activist Adham Abdul Rahim from Palmyra says: “What is happening here is a blatant violation of the fundamental right to life and health, guaranteed by international conventions. This is no longer just a lack of services – it is the systematic destruction of the means of dignified living. The shortage of hospitals is not a statistic; it is a political and economic decision that deprives an entire population of basic rights, deepening the historical marginalisation of this region.”
He tells +963 that Palmyra should be declared a health disaster zone, requiring urgent international and regional intervention. “Building new structures is not enough. Experiences elsewhere show that pouring money without addressing poor management and the lack of incentives for medical staff wastes resources. We need a comprehensive plan – rehabilitate and fully equip the existing hospital, build an additional health centre and ensure resident doctors through real financial and housing incentives. Local communities must also be empowered to monitor services, because the collapse of trust between residents and authorities is one of the most damaging consequences.”
A hospital worker, who asked not to be named, describes the situation starkly:
“Working here is like trying to put out a massive fire with a cup of water.”
The hospital’s budget is nowhere near sufficient for the scale of the crisis. Resources and staff are heavily concentrated in Damascus and major cities, leaving Palmyra neglected.
“Even when modern equipment arrives,” he adds, “we face another problem – no engineers or technicians to maintain it. Hiring specialist doctors is slow and complex. Many refuse to come due to poor living conditions and lack of job security.”
He continues: “There was cooperation in the past with organisations like the World Health Organization and relief agencies, but support has declined sharply in recent years. Universal health coverage is the backbone of any resilient system, as World Bank reports stress. But applying it in an area hit by displacement and economic collapse requires political and financial commitment far beyond what is currently available.”
