Lost holidays… memories accompanied by hope of returning to Serekaniye

With the arrival of both Eid al-Fitr and Newroz, joy no longer feels the same for the displaced people of Serekaniye. These occasions now pass heavy with longing and pain, after forced displacement changed the course of life since October 9, 2019, when more than 150,000 families were forced to leave their cities and villages amid the Turkish military offensive and its allied factions on the cities of Serekaniye and Tel Abyad (Gire Spi).

Eid is no longer just a day of joy; it has become an annual moment to revisit memories and measure the absence left by forced departure in every detail of life.

Before displacement: holidays full of life

Before the years of displacement, Eid in Serekaniye had a special character. At dawn, families would wake to the sound of takbirs, preparing to visit cemeteries south of the city, where prayers were recited for the deceased. After that, visits and greetings would begin among homes, extending from relatives to neighbors, reflecting the cohesion of society in all its components.

In the evening, the city would grow more vibrant. Parks such as Mishwar and Serob, and the city corniche, would fill with families. Children ran joyfully and played in Martyr Berivan Park in the city center, while laughter echoed in every corner. Holidays were occasions for meeting, love, and renewing social bonds.

Displacement: when joy faded

Displacement abruptly cut off these details. People did not only lose their homes; they also lost the traditions that gave meaning to Eid. Families fled in haste, leaving behind the graves of their loved ones, alleys that carried their names, and places where they used to gather every year. As they scattered across Jazira, Kobani, Raqqa, or displacement camps, holidays gradually lost their spirit.

Violations and demographic change: A reality imposed by force

The suffering of the displaced was not limited to losing their homes. It was accompanied by a series of serious violations affecting residents and their property. Homes were destroyed or seized, and many properties passed into the hands of new settlers, while those who remained faced various forms of extortion and pressure.

In recent years, the city and its countryside have witnessed clear demographic changes, including the settlement of alternative families and the imposition of a new administrative and service reality. This included linking the area to Turkey’s Urfa province, adopting the Turkish currency, opening affiliated institutions, and the presence of bodies run by Turkish intelligence. These changes deepened the fears of the displaced and made returning to their previous lives more difficult.

Holidays in camps: incomplete joy and constant longing

Today, more than 200,000 displaced people spend their holidays in tents, shelters, or with relatives in other areas, under difficult conditions far from their former lives.

In camps such as Washokani, Serekaniye, and Newroz, people try to create a simple festive atmosphere despite harsh realities. Some families prepare whatever food they can, and children wear new clothes if available, but joy remains incomplete.

Visits are no longer the same, nor are the long rounds between relatives. Many families have been separated, and some cannot even gather. Even cemeteries, once the first destination of Eid, are now distant and inaccessible.

Many holidays have passed while they remain far from their city. Over these years, time has not felt normal; each day in camps or shelters carries a heavier burden.

Holidays repeat, but the same feeling persists: endless longing and postponed hope. Children who left at a young age have grown up knowing their city only through stories and photographs preserved by their elders.

Memory resisting oblivion

With every holiday, the displaced recall details of their former lives, as if trying to protect them from fading away. They speak of Serekaniye’s streets, Eid mornings, the sound of mosques, and evening gatherings in parks.

These memories are no longer just nostalgia; they have become a means of resilience and a way to connect new generations to their roots.

Places such as the city corniche, Serob and Mishwar parks, and areas like Asfar Najjar, Ain Kabrit, and Ain Hisan were once gathering spots during holidays and outings into the natural landscapes that characterized the city, known for its springs. Today, these places have become memories recalled on every occasion, seen in the eyes of their children, with hope of one day returning together.

Hope of return: The awaited holiday

Despite everything, hope remains alive in the hearts of the displaced. With every holiday, one wish is renewed: that the next one will be in their city, among their homes, near the graves of their loved ones. They await the day they return to Serekaniye not as visitors, but as rightful inhabitants to revive the traditions taken from them.

Displaced resident Samia al-Jassem from the village of Kaniher wishes for a safe return to her hometown despite her home being destroyed and looted. She says: “They even stole the concrete blocks from my house.”

Similarly, Sumaya al-Awad from the village of al-Halabiya hopes for a safe return that ensures security and dignity. She says: “I am ready to live with my children in a small hut, with just water and bread, in order to return to my home.”

Fatima Mohammed also congratulated all Syrians on Eid al-Fitr and expressed her wish to return to her home in Serekaniye and reunite with her family and neighbors in the village of Bir Nuh, hoping for safety and peace for all.

For them, the meaning of Eid is incomplete without return, a return that restores joy to its rightful place and gives life a chance to begin again, especially following the January 29 agreement, one of whose provisions stipulates the safe return of displaced people to their cities and homes.

ANHA