A tale of two brothers

Feature: Nasr and Sabr were determined to leave Syria and reach Sweden to claim asylum. But getting there was a gamble with death itself.

Analysis

5 min read

Imogen Lambert

25 April, 2015

Reaching Sweden was the challenge of a lifetime for Sabr (left) and Nasr [al-Araby]

When Nasr Jaafari said goodbye to his brother Sabr, he could not be sure if he would ever see him again.

It was 2012, a year into the Syrian conflict. Fighting was escalating around their home in Yarmouk, the Palestinian refugee camp on the edge of Damascus.

Nasr, 23, had never before even dreamed of emigrating to Europe. He was studying tourism at university, and hoping to build a life as a tour guide in Damascus.

But when violence escalated, staying was no longer an option.

He decided to seek asylum in Sweden. Sabr, a car dealer, five years older than Nasr, stayed behind. They didn't have enough money for them both to make the trip together, and as the older brother, Sabr felt it his duty to look after the family.

Nasr left with his brother-in-law, heading north towards Turkey. Dodging snipers, bombardment and military checkpoints around Homs, they made it to the border and smuggled themselves across.

Neither of them had visas, and it wasn't long before they were arrested in Turkey and deported back to Syria. It took them three attempts to get a foothold.

Finally, they made it to the town of Mersin, a large seaport on the Mediterranean coast. Nasr was to stay there for nine months. He learned some Turkish and found a job as a roofer, working 15 hours a day for a dollar an hour.

Life was so tough that he considered returning to Syria, but he knew he would be arrested by the Assad regime's notorious security forces for avoiding conscription.

If they killed us, no one would hear or know.
- Nasr Jaafari

But when Nasr met a young woman from Yarmouk, everything changed.

She and her family had decided to smuggle themselves to Greece by boat. Nasr decided that this was his chance.

As they waited on the western coast of Turkey for the boat to show up, the small group of migrants had to watch one of the smugglers beat up a woman who was panicking about the trip. Nobody intervened - the smugglers had pistols.

"If they killed us no one would hear or know," said Nasr.

The sea voyage from Turkey to Greece is shorter than the notorious Libya route, but no less terrifying. During Nasr's journey, packed into a flimsy inflatable boat with 34 other people, the engine broke down.

"The women were so scared and the children were crying," he said.

"There was a baby just one month old. The girl from Yarmouk fainted and her little brother started crying because he thought she had died."

Fortunately, one passenger was familiar with boats and was able to fix the engine, and they continued on to Greece.

The next calling point was the sleepy tourist town of Mytilini.

As soon as he arrived there, Nasr was picked up by police. They kept him in custody for five days then let him go. By the time he reached Athens, he had ran out of money.

There were many people in Athens who were ready to take advantage of vulnerable Syrians. But Nasr was lucky. He met a smuggler from Damascus who lent him money to complete his journey through Italy to Sweden.

The catch was that Nasr would pay him back when he gained asylum.

Half a world away

While Nasr settled into his new life in Sweden, Sabr fled to the refugee camps in Lebanon after having lost everything in Yarmouk.

He realised that there was no future for him in Syria, borrowed some money and began to look for a smuggler.

Sabr took what Frontex, the European Union's border agency, refers to as the Central Mediterranean route - boarding a rickety boat from Libya to Sciliy, on Italy's southern flank.

But to get to the coast of Libya was a challenge in itself. He started by taking a flight to Sudan, then making the 2,000km trek across Africa.

Once he was in Libya, things got hairy. The group he was with were captured by a militant group who suspected the refugees of being part of a rival faction.

They were transferred to a prison in Mallitah. It took an intervention by the Palestinian embassy and an official from the Palestinian militant group Fatah for him to be released.

Weeks later, he and 482 other people boarded a tiny inflatable boat to face the gruelling fourteen-hour journey from Libya to Sicily: the most dangerous migration route in the world.

The International Organization for Migration reports that 1,727 migrants have died on the route so far this year.

The boat was picked up by the Norweigan navy, and the migrants were transferred to a detention centre.

But the Italian authorities "turn a blind eye" to refugees fleeing to Europe, he told al-Araby al-Jadeed. He took a train to Milan and met Nasr. It was the first time they had seen each other for almost two years.

Nasr and Sabr have now been granted asylum in Sweden, but their younger sister was denied a visa. Their Uncle Fadl's wife and children are in Turkey, hoping to come to Sweden soon under family reunification laws.

The Swedish government has offered the brothers residency, a language programme and help to integrate in their new country. Nasr now teaches Swedish to other migrants.

We asked if he would consider returning home.

"I would like to go back to Syria for a visit, but I haven't seriously thought about going to live back there in the future," he said.

"The war will last a very long time, and when it does end, the country will not just go back to how it was before."