The aroma of damp earth and blooming flowers filled the air, strikingly contrasted with the dust and smoke that lingered in Ghaith’s memories––yet in this bustling city of Swansea, he found a temporary refuge, a world away from the Damascus he knew, the city where his life irrevocably changed.
“Can I ask why you left your family home?” I asked.
He hesitated, explaining that he tries not to dwell on those memories as they are too painful. “But sometimes I can talk.” And talk he did.
Echoes of War
The Syrian Civil War began in 2011 in the city of Deraa, ignited by a group of schoolchildren protesting against Bashar al-Assad’s regime. Their arrest and torture sparked widespread protests, and anti-government groups quickly spread across the country. Almost half a million people were killed.
He was 14, a time when boys should be preoccupied with football scores and first crushes, but in 2011, the whispers of unrest had already begun to snake through the streets of Damascus, echoing the protests erupting in Deraa, where schoolchildren dared to challenge Assad’s regime. Those whispers soon became roars, engulfing the country in a brutal conflict that would claim so many lives. Amidst this growing chaos, Ghaith remembers sitting with two friends, trying to find a moment of normalcy in a world rapidly crumbling. They were talking about the same simple things boys all over the world talk about to pass the time.
Suddenly, he felt arms encircle him, and before he could comprehend what was happening, he was thrust into a car. His friends were tossed in beside him, their bodies pressing against his. The men blindfolded him, scratching his cheeks and ripping his hair. All he felt was the warmth of his friends and the hardness of the car floor as they sped away.
Imprisoned in Darkness
When the vehicle finally stopped, Ghaith was hurled into a cramped room measuring just one by two metres. The air was thick with foul stench, reminiscent of decay.
Ghaith was terrified — he had heard the chilling tales of young boys being kidnapped and coerced into becoming child soldiers for local gangs and extremist groups. Confused and terrified, he couldn’t fathom what he had done to deserve such a fate. All he knew was that the impact of boots and fists was excruciating, fireworks of pain exploding with each blow.
For two or three days, they kept him in that room, where they shaved his head and beat him mercilessly. Often, he was unconscious before the beatings began and always unconscious by the time they ended.
When his blindfold was finally removed, he discovered the room was so dark that he could only see dirt, blood, and the unmoving bodies of his friends.
Brutal release
Eventually, his friends were released, and Ghaith was also thrown back into the sunlight. After days of darkness and stagnation, the brightness and fresh air overwhelmed him. The men shouted as he stumbled away, “We never want to see you again. Stay away from the city.”
Ghaith’s face was ruined, the beatings having left thick welts on his skin. Ashamed of his appearance, he couldn’t bear the thought of returning home to his mother, fearing her worry. But he had nowhere else to go.
For three months, he could hardly move. His back felt as though the bones had been shattered, and nothing in his body seemed to be working properly. Every breath was agonising. Yet, he still couldn’t comprehend why he had been targeted.
Each time Ghaith recalls the kidnapping, he winces. He cannot bring himself to confront the exact memories of what he endured. Some things he will carry silently for the rest of his life.
Unspoken Pain
“This is why my parents had to send me away… There’s so much I feel but cannot express,” he said.
I paused, hesitating to ask the question that hung between us. “Home…” I began softly, “is that even possible?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “No,” he replied, the word heavy with resignation.
He was born a refugee to a family of refugees. His Palestinian grandfather had fled to Jordan, his Jordanian father had moved to Syria, leaving them without official documents. As Ghaith explained, once you leave Palestine, you cannot return.
A heavy silence fell. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he expressed a thought I wasn’t expecting that seemed to weigh heavily on him. “Sometimes,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a profound sadness, “I think… I think my mother made a big mistake in bringing me into this world,” he says. “Growing up, I always felt different from the Syrian boys. I never understood why other children treated me as an outsider, even though we spoke the same language.”
A weary young man
After Syria, Ghaith briefly lived in Turkey, Greece, and France but was unable to find refuge. He is one of the ten million people classified as ‘stateless’, with no country willing to accept him as a citizen.
He believes that in five years, the situation in Syria will improve, allowing many Syrians to return home… but he knows he never will. He has been a refugee his entire life, a word that has become synonymous with his very being. He carries it like a shadow, a constant reminder of the home he can never return to, a home that, in some ways, he never truly had. Yet, a flicker of hope remains – a fragile ember in the face of overwhelming darkness.
As our conversation drew to a close, Ghaith looked weary and drained. Vulnerable. He looks far older than he is.
Editors note, Shebs Alom
This is the second of four intriguing articles Amy Aed shared with me about the compelling interviews she conducted with refugees in the U.K. and discussed why their journeys ought to be publicised. Once again, Amy explored the theme of survival as a journey. Her aim and my hope is to convey these experiences through the lenses of safety and self-determination, reflecting our objective of inspiring readers about how travel impacts identity and purpose.
If you are looking for more cultural stories, visit our website’s Art and Culture page.
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Amy Aed
Amy Aed is a Welsh journalist with over a decade of experience reporting from some of the most remote corners of the world. Her work focuses on telling untold stories that intersect culture, adventure, and social issues
Copyright © 2025 Voyagers Voice Ltd, All rights reserved
This article was written by Amy and is based on the personal testimony Ghaith gave her when she interviewed him over several weeks. Ghaith is a Syrian refugee living in the U.K., who has shared his journey with the knowledge and has given consent for publication. The account is drawn from the interview conducted by Amy, during which Ghaith provided details about his experiences. Whilst every effort has been made to accurately represent his story, certain details, including specific dates, locations, and personal identifiers, may be inaccurate. The views expressed in this article are those of Ghaith, and do not necessarily reflect the official stance of Voyagers Voice. The purpose of this piece written by Amy is to focus attention on the obstacles that refugees face, such as conditions that exist in some asylum-seeking institutions. It is essential to note that, whilst we aim to give reliable and unbiased information, the article does represent Ghaith’s own story and experiences, which are unique to him. Voyagers Voice has made the necessary efforts to verify the contexts offered in accordance with our editorial standards. However, due to the delicate nature of refugee and asylum situations, certain information may have been altered or deleted to protect the persons concerned, follow ethical journalism practices, and avoid legal ramifications.