The text below is a letter that a young Syrian girl living in Zaatari refugee camp has written to the world.

My name is Heba and I’m 17 years old. I was born in Deraa. I’m Syrian, only Syrian. My bitter reality repeats itself every day as the Syrian dream evaporates. My heart bleeds every day and my dreams are shattered.

I used to be happy. I used to have a dream, but it’s been blown away by the winds of this camp. My dream was to go to university and study pharmacy. It was a big dream, but it got smashed. It was on my mind and in my heart, but it’s been reduced to ash.

Now, I’m just sad. All those beautiful, tender feelings are gone. The smile is now choked down. Now, all you read on Syrians’ faces is pure misery.

I came into the camp not a long time ago, I found it strange, but now it has become familiar. It was full of hope. It seemed like a good, but bitter experience for most of those living here.

Life is beautiful. There are a lot of things that I wanted to fulfil and I felt at first that I wouldn’t be able to do so here in this camp.

But now, I think I can. Yet I still want to go back to Syria and get my life back.

To anyone who has the power to affect my country’s future and resurrect broken hopes, I ask you:

Children of Syria A UNICEF update

A Syrian girl’s plea to the world: “Don’t you feel our pain?”

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Vulnerable Syrian girls seek opportunities for vocational training

By Razan Rashidi

Damascus – On Tuesday morning, Widad, 19 was waiting impatiently for her best friend Douaa, 18, in the ally outside her house.

Finally Doua arrives, smiling and apologizing for the delay. “She is always late and I lose my mobile credit trying to wake her up every day,” complains Widad good-naturedly. It could be a scene from daily life anywhere, but this is Damascus, the capital of a country where 6.8 million people are affected by the continuing conflict.

Three times each week, the two friends commute together to the UNICEF-supported vocational training institute in Jaramana, a suburb of Damascus. A journey that used to take around 20 minutes now takes at least two hours due to increased security measures.

“We have to take two mini-buses and sometimes we wait for more than half an hour to find empty seats,” says Douaa.

The friends study at a centre run by the European Institute of Cooperation and Development and the Syrian Arab Red Crescent. On offer are training opportunities for vulnerable adolescents including secretarial skills, electrical training, English, digital design and nursing.

“More than 300 adolescents aged between 15-25 have received training at the centre this year, including many displaced as a result of the unrest,” says Nidal Bitar, manager of the institute.

Just when Widad proudly finished high school and joined a technical university last September, her neighborhood was the focus of intense military operations. Widad’s family had to flee their apartment, seeking refuge in a relatively safer area with extended family. “I went to university for a month then my parents decided it was not safe anymore for me to commute to that area,” says Widad.

With the deterioration of the security situation in many places around Syria,

Girls take part in a session at a UNICEF-supported vocational training centre in Damascus.

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“My dream is to get back to Syria and change things so it all gets back to normal and we live in peace and harmony. When I grow up, I want to be a police officer. Perhaps I’ll be able to establish some order in my country.” Alaa, 9, Zaatari refugee camp, Jordan.

Two-year old Yazen plays on a homemade swing inside

the tent that is his home at Saweery, an informal tented

settlement close to Lebanon’s border with Syria.

Faces of the children of Syria

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access to education and learning opportunities has become increasingly limited, especially for girls.

Many of the girls at the center have been displaced, especially from other Damascus suburbs. With support from staff and peers, they manage to adapt to their new environment, making friends and looking for better future. The center not only provides skills and learning, but also a safe space for adolescents to communicate and feel a sense of normality.

“The best part is the break,” laughs Dalia, 17, who fled from fighting in another part of Damascus. “I made many friends here. Even when we don’t come to the centre we communicate via Facebook.” The students encouraged the center to start their own Facebook page, which they manage themselves.

To recognize girls’ rights and highlight the unique challenges girls face around the world, the UN has named October 11 as an International Day of the Girl. This year’s theme is ‘Innovating for Girls Education’.

“Today more than ever in Syria it is vital to equip vulnerable girls with skills they will need for the future,” says Mohamad Kanawati, Adolescents’ Development and Participation Project Officer with UNICEF Syria, who worked on the design of the vocational training programme.

“It is important that progress is accelerated for the most marginalized girls, with a focus on their learning and empowerment. By making available the practical tools girls need to improve their own lives, and by engaging them in efforts to improve their communities, we are investing in the strength and future of the society,” says Kanawati.

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Every day we demonstrate in Deraa or Damascus, everytime we say words that only Syrians who are suffering terrible injustice understand, don’t you feel our pain?

Don’t you want to fulfil Syria’s dream?

Syria is calling for help. We want to fulfil our dreams. Can’t you hear us? What happened to your feelings? Can’t you see us on your TV screen? Don’t you want to help us?

We just want our dreams to come true. We need you to help us. I want my dream to come true. I want to build the Syria of the future. I want peace to come back to my country and I want all Syrians to be reunited.

I hope that my dream will come true…

A Syrian girl’s plea to the world: “Don’t you feel our pain?”

Vulnerable Syrian girls seek opportunities for vocational training

10 October 2013

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Children of Syria

By Toby Fricker

ZARQA, Jordan — The sound of children singing can just be heard above the steady rumble of traffic. “I wonder if it’s your face that is glowing or the moon above the trees,” they sing. It’s a traditional Arab folk song.

This is Zarqa, a busy and bustling city, just north of Jordan’s capital Amman. It’s made up of Jordanians, Palestinians, Iraqis and now Syrians.

Down a non-descript street is the Family Guidance and Awareness Center. Inside the four storey building vulnerable families can access a range of services, from psychosocial support, to recreational activities for children.

On the top floor, 11 year-old Abdul-Rahman, his sister and two brothers are still singing. They arrived in Jordan one year ago after fleeing their home in Damascus, Syria. Since then, they’ve moved four times around Zarqa. The center provides them with some consistency and comfort whilst living in a foreign city.

“I enjoy it here and I spend my time doing useful things, like painting, reading and telling stories. I don’t feel sad, I’m happy here,” said Abdul-Rahman.

Today they are singing and drawing with their Jordanian peers who also attend regularly. Mohanad a 24-year old Jordanian is one of the centers ‘animators’. They’ve been trained to work with children who have experienced prolonged periods of stress, such as conflict and displacement.

“At first when children join us they have a bleak outlook. Then we help them to get out of their isolation, integrate with society and make friends inside the center,” said Mohanad.

Abdul-Rahman and his siblings have done just that. They now have friends among the Syrian refugee population and local Jordanians.

According to Mohanad, the long-term benefits of taking part in the activities are clear to see. “They start to talk to us about themselves and their secrets. We can then help to develop their talents,” he said.

There are now 23 ‘family and child protective places’ that follow the same formula as the Zarqa center, with a total of 55 due to open soon. They form one component of UNICEF’s wider psychosocial support strategy for vulnerable children in Jordan and across the region.

Around 70 percent of some 520,000 Syrian refugees live in Jordan’s towns and villages. The centers provide a vital service for vulnerable women and children who can be hard to reach.

The programming is made possible due to funding from the Government of Germany, UK aid and the Italian Corporation.

Improving community support and spirit for vulnerable families across Jordan

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Abdul-Rahman (right) sings with his siblings at the child protective place in Zarqa.

Refugees by numbers*

Lebanon 786,000

Jordan 540,000

Turkey 503,000

Iraq 196,000

Egypt 126,000

North Africa 15,000

Total 2,165,000(UNICEF estimates that 50% of these

refugees are children.)- Figures have been rounded

*UNHCR registered refugees and individuals awaiting

registration as of 10 October 2013

10 October 2013

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Children of Syria

By Chris Niles

ERBIL, Iraq — Imagine what it’s like to sit idle all day; with trauma behind you, and uncertainty ahead.

Too many children and young people are playing a waiting game in Baherka refugee camp in northern Iraq, wondering what the future holds.

“I stay in the tent like a housewife,” Silva, 20, says sadly. With nothing to do, her days drag.

This was not the life she had planned. Before being forced out of her home by the conflict in Syria she was flourishing in her second year of university.

Education on hold

For her the likelihood of continuing her studies in Iraq is remote, because the annual cost of tuition is thousands of dollars a year—far beyond her reach.

“I hope to go back to Syria to finish my university degree,” she says. “I don’t have any chance to study here.”

Silva’s sister Heba, 13, is in the UNICEF-supported school in Baherka camp.

UNICEF is providing schooling for more than 5,000 children in the Erbil region in grades 1-9. More than 800 children are being educated in Baherka.

The school works in two shifts every day. “It’s very hot,” Heba says. She likes school and hopes to become a doctor.

Silva would like to get a job to help support her family, but she has so far been unsuccessful. So she stays where she is.

The family tent is small. Carpet covers the ground and thin foam mattresses are stacked high along the walls. A small water jug sits in the corner.

As we sit talking, other girls slip in, taking off their shoes and sitting on the floor, some of them cradling younger children.

Missing small things

Kinda, 16, hasn’t been out of school for long. Despite the conflict, she was studying in Syria when her family decided a few weeks ago to escape. In some ways Kinda is lucky. Her father has a job in Duhok, a city about three hours north of Erbil, but she says there isn’t enough money.

“At home I had a lot of books and music,” she said. “But I couldn’t carry them when I came to Iraq.”

Liloz, 12, has a blue exercise book in which she’s spelt out, in English, numbers from one to 20. Liloz wants to continue to study English because of teacher she once knew. “I loved my English teacher. She taught me how to believe in the future.”

Belief in the future seems elusive at the moment. For the younger girls the question is, what happens when primary school ends?

Education, for Syrians, is the key that opens the door to a full life. What if these girls remain on the wrong side of that door?

“Girls are half of society, I tell girls all over the world to study. Education is your ammunition. You can fight your own battles with education,” Silva says.

With gaps in their education, girl refugees worry about their future

Children celebrate the opening of the UNICEF-supported primary school in Baherka refugee camp in northern Iraq. The school operates in two shifts of three hours every day.

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“I hope to go back to Syria to finish my university degree.”

10 October 2013

For more information:Juliette ToumaUNICEF Middle East and North Africa

jtouma@unicef.org menaro@unicef.org

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