Returning to Syria: A journey of hope and heartbreak

LWF staff Ali Alsamrah shares impressions from his return to Syria

For ten years, I dedicated myself to community development inside Syria, working tirelessly to help rebuild lives amid turmoil alongside different humanitarian actors. But as the conflict deepened, the challenges became unbearable. In 2020, I was forced to leave, seeking refuge beyond the borders of my homeland.

My family had already made their way to Jordan years before, trying to start a new life just after the war began. When I joined them, Jordan became my second home—a place where I could continue my mission. For four years, I volunteered with LWF Jordan, standing alongside host communities and Syrian refugees in Zaatari camp and Zarqa, offering support, guidance, and hope. But no matter how much I gave, a part of my heart remained in Syria.

Then, an opportunity came to return—not as a refugee, but as a humanitarian worker with LWF Syria, carrying with me the experience and determination I had built over the years. With a deep sense of purpose, I crossed the Jordanian-Syrian border, stepping back onto the soil of my homeland.

“The country has missed you”

For a time, I worked in Damascus, standing with my people and leading programs that aimed to restore dignity and hope. But then, in December 2024, the conflict escalated once again. The streets that once felt like home became unsafe, and LWF made the difficult decision to ask me to leave for my safety and security. With a heavy heart, I departed, knowing that my work was not yet done.

But then, something unimaginable happened—the regime fell. The moment I had long dreamed of was finally here. Without hesitation, I returned, eager to take part in rebuilding a nation that had endured so much.

The roads, the air, the familiar voices—it all felt like stepping into a long-lost dream. And then, I saw a sign: 

"The country has missed you."

I walked the streets of my hometown for hours, rediscovering its soul through the voices of its people. A friend, eyes brimming with emotion, told me:

"This moment of joy makes up for 14 years of suffering."

Another, unable to hold back his tears, said:

"The happiness I feel today equals the joy I felt on my wedding day after an eight-year love story."

This is Damascus. This is Syria. A land its people love more than they love themselves.

The real work starts now

When I returned, what I saw was a mix of hope and sorrow.

The streets of Homs, where I once walked every day, had changed so much. Some buildings still stood, but the scars of war were evident. The neighborhood I lived in was mostly destroyed. Yet, I saw my neighbors rebuilding their homes, brick by brick. In those moments, I felt that Homs, despite everything, still held a part of its spirit.

I stood for a long time in front of what remained of my home, recalling the memories, but also feeling the determination of the people to rebuild their lives. Despite the devastation, there was a living will in their eyes that said: "We will not stop."

But we know joy is just the beginning. The real work starts now.

Nothing prepares you for the weight of witnessing your homeland in pain.

Can you imagine a family of five surviving on less than $30 a month? A student squinting at their books by candlelight because even electricity—a basic necessity—is now a luxury? A family, displaced by war, finally rebuilding their home, only to watch it crumble once again in an earthquake?

An entire generation of children has grown up knowing nothing but crisis. For them, fear and uncertainty replaced childhood games.

This is Syria—a country that once welcomed everyone with open arms. Today, Syria needs solidarity and support from the international community—whether through humanitarian aid, support for refugees to return, or fostering opportunities for rebuilding and recovery. It's about creating pathways for healing and restoration, both for Syrians who have been displaced and for those still within the country.

Decades of hardship will take generations of resilience, dedication, and relentless effort to repair, not just roads and buildings, but the hearts and spirits of the people.

Today, as a Program & Communication Senior Officer with LWF Syria, I have the privilege of standing alongside communities, implementing programs that do more than rebuild structures—they rebuild lives.

I invite you to be part of this journey. To bring light to a home, to bring relief to the sick, to help rebuild people before we rebuild places.

Because Syria deserves a future that is brighter than its past.