After years in jail, Syrian mother eyes new life

Hasna Dbeis said she was two months pregnant when she was detained in August 2014 in the Eastern Ghouta suburbs of Damascus, accused of working with rebels; an allegation she denies. (AFP)
Updated 26 May 2019

After years in jail, Syrian mother eyes new life

  • The Britain-based Syrian Observatory for Human Rights says around 200,000 people have gone missing since the civil war started in 2011
  • Nearly half are believed to be held in government jails

MAARAT MASRIN, Syria: After giving birth and raising a toddler during four years in a Syrian prison, 30-year-old Hasna Dbeis is now free — and determined to forge a new life for her family.
Dbeis says she was two months pregnant when she was detained in August 2014 in the Eastern Ghouta suburbs of Damascus, accused of working with rebels; an allegation she denies.
She was shuffled around various detention centers, including one where she saw her father and brother for the last time.
“They were tortured in front of me,” she told AFP, her face veil revealing tired eyes.
She is one of tens of thousands of Syrians jailed during the conflict for opposing President Bashar Assad.
The Britain-based Syrian Observatory for Human Rights says around 200,000 people have gone missing since the civil war started in 2011.
Nearly half are believed to be held in government jails.
Dbeis said she was kept in solitary confinement for 40 days at one stage, in a cell littered with garbage.
Insects crept up the walls, and the screams of inmates being tortured rang around her, she recalled.
She was allowed out of jail only once, when she went into labor.
“A newborn came into my life and I didn’t know what to do,” she said, clad in black.
After giving birth to Mohammad, Dbeis was transferred to the notorious Al-Fayhaa prison in Damascus.
The facility housed other mothers, including Iraqi women detained on suspicion of working with the Islamic State jihadist group, she said.

Dbeis shared a cell with her newborn and a 20-year-old Ethiopian woman.
Her cellmate, who other inmates called Lamees, would help her sew clothes for the little boy, she said, but also care for the infant when Dbeis was being interrogated.
Guards usually entered her cell at around midnight to take her to another room where she was beaten and suspended by the wrists, she said.
The first time, she recounted, “the interrogator started by taking off my veil. He looked at my hair, brought a knife, and started cutting” it.
“Then he started beating me,” she said.
Her hands were cuffed behind her back, she said, and she was left hanging from her wrists for hours.
She also contracted tuberculosis, she claimed, and had to be kept away from her child for more than four months while she received treatment.
By the time she recovered, her son — then nine months old — thought Lamees was his mother.
“He didn’t know who I was,” Dbeis said.
For three years, her hope for a better life dwindled, as she watched Mohammad grow up in a cell, the sound of other children playing echoing in from outside.
“I used to dream of walking in the street with my child and entering a store to buy him clothes like normal mothers do,” she said.
In April 2018, she was released.
She did not return to Eastern Ghouta, which had fallen under government control that month, after regime bombardment and a crippling siege.

Instead, she boarded a bus that took rebels and their families from the Damascus suburbs to opposition-held territory in the northern province of Aleppo.
Dbeis remembers the first time Mohammad saw a stand selling tomatoes.
“He ran toward it, grabbed a tomato, and started gobbling it up,” she said.
“He’d never seen a tomato before.”
But catching up with one of her sisters in the neighboring province of Idlib brought new trauma.
Dbeis was told that her mother was dead and that her husband had been killed by regime forces.
Two of her sisters were detained by the government, and the fate of her father and brother — who she last saw in jail — was unknown.
“After hearing about my family’s heart-wrenching fate, I decided to start a new life,” Dbeis said.
She remarried and moved to Idlib, a region outside regime control ruled by Syria’s former Al-Qaeda affiliate.
But four months after her wedding, her 25-year-old husband was hit in the stomach by shell shrapnel, leaving him unable to work.
In a desperate bid to provide for her family, she joined a sewing workshop employing former female detainees.
“The money I make, I spend on my home,” said Dbeis, who makes children’s clothes.
But her life is under renewed threat.
Since late April, heightened bombardment of Idlib by the regime and its ally Russia has sparked fears of an imminent full assault against the jihadist stronghold.
“I don’t want the regime to enter Idlib and throw me back in prison,” Dbeis said.


‘Braking’ boundaries: Palestinian women seek new chances

Updated 9 min 21 sec ago

‘Braking’ boundaries: Palestinian women seek new chances

  • Palestinian women are pushing boundaries in the traditionally conservative city of Hebron
  • ‘(Society) has changed a little. There have been some developments, but not enough’

HEBRON, Palestinian Territories: As the 30-ton truck weaves through the crowded Palestinian streets, groups of men stop and gawp at the diminutive figure of Dalia Al-Darawish in a purple headscarf seated behind the wheel.
Darawish is preparing for an exam to become one of only a handful of qualified female Palestinian truck drivers, a test the 26-year-old sees as about more than just driving.
“It is symbolic,” she said. “It shows we can do anything — that as a woman you can work, drive a trailer or whatever.”
The mother-of-two is among several Palestinian women pushing boundaries in the traditionally conservative city of Hebron in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, amid a growing assertiveness of women’s rights.
Darawish said she had faced criticism from both sexes as she trained, but the men were far more vocal.
“They are some who supported, a minority,” she said. “But then there are people shouting in the street, ‘No, why are you driving a trailer?!’”
“Whenever I made any mistake you would find men shouting, ‘It’s impossible (for you)’.”
At the driving center, she shakes slightly as her black-moustached examiner Issam Bedawi explains the test.
After briefly demonstrating her ability to detach and re-attach the trailer, the two clamber up into the carriage and drive off.
Recent months have seen protests in the West Bank after a 21-year-old woman was allegedly killed by her family members after posting a photo with her soon-to-be fiancé on Instagram.
The demonstrators are demanding more protection for women, but also a more prominent political movement for women’s rights.
Palestinian women still often give up their careers to care for children.
A World Bank study last year found that 58 percent of skilled women between 25 and 34 were unemployed, compared to 23 percent of men.
The general unemployment rate for women (44 percent) is double that of men, according to official Palestinian statistics.
Wafaa Al-Adhami had long dreamt of being an artist, but didn’t have the opportunity to study growing up.
But five years ago and with the kids older, she returned to her passion, studying hours of videos about artists on YouTube.
“Painting and art courses are expensive and I had no time,” she said. “So I loved educating myself.”
“Every artist has their own style, and I wanted to find mine,” she said.
From her living room table with an array of children passing through, she developed a specific layering technique for her work, pouring the paint onto the canvas before sculpting and manipulating it.
The result is a 3D texture that she says is unique among Palestinian artists.
Her inspiration ranges from Palestinian icons such as the Dome of the Rock mosque in Jerusalem to more Jackson Pollock-inspired surrealism.
A recent 40-work exhibition was a big hit.
Elsewhere in the city, 31-year-old Asia Amer has set up what she believes is Hebron’s first women-only restaurant.
The idea behind the Queen Restaurant, she said, is to give women a space to feel at home.
Those who normally wear the hijab can remove the headscarf if they wish.
“I felt that it was the right of women to have a place they can relax in — where there are no restrictions or people watching her,” she said.
“I am proof that Palestinian women don’t just stay at home to cook and look after the children.”
Back at the driving test center, Darawish pulls the trailer to a stop and waits nervously as Bedawi tallies up the score.
“I’m happy to say she passed,” he announces. “Everything I asked of her during the test she did fantastically.”
Darawish doesn’t even know if she will work as a truck driver, as right now she is still looking after her children.
But she said she wanted to help drive change in attitudes.
“(Society) has changed a little. There have been some developments, but not enough,” she said.
“If there had been big movement, men who see a woman driving a trailer would be happy or they wouldn’t say anything at all.”