The ferryman of Istanbul helps Syrian refugees

ISTANBUL — In ancient Greek mythology, Charon was the ferryman who carried the dead from the land of the living into the underworld. In modern-day Istanbul, Nasir is a ferryman for Palestinian Syrians looking to escape violence in the Middle East and find refuge in Europe.

One of Nasir’s recent charges was his friend Ahmad, who in January 2014 left Syria with his wife, his twin daughters and a niece. For three months – while Ahmad called relatives abroad for financial support – Nasir hosted Ahmad and family at The Adar Center, an educational facility Nasir set up in Turkey. After Ahmad had gathered the funds he needed for travel, Nasir connected him to a smuggler who put Ahmad and his family on a ship to Athens.

Nasir’s work, though unpaid, is busy. While more than 2,500 Europeans – many having entered the country through Turkey – are inside Syria waging jihad with the Islamic State, thousands of Syrians are crossing that same border from below as they head to Europe, looking for peace.

From Istanbul, the refugees go by boat to Greece. There, they hope to gain access to Sweden, where an estimated 36,000 Syrians have sought asylum since 2011. The country holds mythical status for refugees: If their asylum claims are recognized in Sweden, Syrians get permanent residence, the right to work, health benefits and a home. Their children learn Swedish and go to school alongside classmates preparing for college.

‘The second exodus’

Nasir and Ahmad both grew up in Yarmouk Camp, a Palestinian district in the Syrian capital of Damascus. In 1987, they shared a block in Sednaya, a nearby facility for Syrian political prisoners, for being part of the same non-violent opposition.

When Ahmad got out, he wanted a quiet life. He worked as an agricultural engineer and started a family. But the revolution of 2011 made it impossible. Ahmad soon found himself back in jail, this time in place of his brother, whom soldiers accused of supporting the opposition.

When Ahmad was released two months later, there was nothing left for him. His brother was by then in prison. And Ahmad’s own record meant he couldn’t so much as pass the police without risk of another detention.

Life in Yarmouk had also become desperate. Jabhat al-Nusra, a branch of al Qaeda, beat out Syrian government forces in late 2012. During the shelling that followed, almost all the residents fled. The residents refer to this time as “the second exodus.” When the government later sieged the camp and blocked aid, many died of hunger. An imam issued a fatwa allowing people to eat dog meat to survive.

Ahmad said goodbye to Syria, his family’s second homeland. He bribed a border guard to let him into Lebanon. His wife, Huriya, followed him with their twin girls, 4, a niece, 12, and another girl, 9, whose mother sent her away for a chance at asylum in Sweden.

Lebanon is a harsh place for Syrian Palestinians, and Ahmad could not get work to pay the rent. In the first days of April, Ahmad, Huriya and the four girls boarded a plane to Istanbul.

Haggard and scared, they arrived at the doorstep of The Adar Center.

Nasir set up the center to educate Syrians in Turkey. Many of the children he helps are in limbo for months or years, with parents who are trying to get to Europe.

“Adar” means “house,” named for the home Nasir misses. His family house in Yarmouk Camp is now filled with fighters who burned his collection of books for heat and stacked his shelves with Kalashnikovs.

Ahmad sheltered with Nasir for three months, reaching out to other family for support. Finally, Ahmad said, a relative in Sweden agreed to back his cause: 7,000 euros for each adult and older child, and 3,500 each for the twins.

After Ahmad had his funds organized, Nasir took him to Aksaray to see the smuggler who would get the family to Athens.

Ahmad had been an engineer, a journalist and an actor. He looked at the man he now entrusted with his life: Unshaven, brown teeth, and plastic sandals placed on the wrong feet.

A tentative journey

On the day they were to sail, Huriya, Ahmad’s wife, dressed the children in an extra layer so they’d have a spare. Suitcases would slow them down if they had to run. Huriya kept a hand on her bra where her gold was secured. Ahmad had Saran-Wrapped his money for the journey.

The smuggler assured the passengers a 20-minute ride to the seaside. Twenty-four people were to ride in a minivan with no seats and blacked out windows. Huriya said she surrounded herself with the girls to prevent any strange man’s touch.

Then the driver let slip that the port was in Izmir, seven hours west. Ahmad pulled his flock out of the van and lunged at the smuggler. Women enveloped children in thin black robes while men shouted. Some wanted to set off, no matter the deception.

Nasir brought Ahmad’s family home, along with nine others whose passage was sponsored by the same relative. The women prepared a meal and the men sat in the night, arguing among themselves. Ahmad reasoned that if they were packed like pigs on the van, they should expect worse on the boat. Still, they had no choice but to return to the smuggler. He had been paid in advance.

When Ahmad and his family finally hit shore headed for Athens, it was with a Syrian captain at the helm of the ship. The smuggler knew the boat would not return and so gave the man free passage for driving. Upon arrival, the Greek Navy arrested him and held the other Syrians in a detention center for several days. Upon their release, they found another smuggler and got fake passports. They flew to France and then Sweden.

Ahmad, Huriya and the four girls are in Stockholm waiting for their claim to be processed. Each day, several new Swedish words penetrate the girls’ Arabic.

Ahmad fills his days watching the news and on Facebook, but the pastimes accentuate his isolation.

“We just eat and wait,” Ahmad told Nasir. The family lived in a resettlement camp at first, but then moved in with Huriya’s sister, who smuggled to Sweden in 2012.

For two months, Ahmad has depended on an allowance given by the Swedish Migration Board. After such high expectations, the letdown is bitter. Sweden is remarkably open to asylum seekers, but the system is backlogged. Housing assignments include remote towns where educated immigrants do menial work.

There’s no more Nasir can do for Ahmad now. He is called again to the East shore. A 12-year old is arriving at Ataturk Airport, headed for Europe. The boy doesn’t know a soul in Istanbul.

Xanthe Ackerman is a writer based in Istanbul and a Senior Fellow with the Syria Research & Evaluation Organization.