There was little possibility that the frail Syrian woman in her 70s could make the arduous, illegal trek across the steep, mountainous territory separating Syria from Turkey, but she nonetheless stood with a few young men hiding on the Syrian side, who were waiting for a Turkish soldier to move away from the opening in the coiled razor wire before dashing through it.
After half an hour or so, she gave up. “My daughter,” she told me, “can you bring me back a sheet of plastic, or a blanket, just an old, worn blanket. Please,” she pleaded. “Look, my clothes are wet.” She tugged at her loose black abaya and white headscarf, talking through tears. “I’m soaked, there are 15 of us, we are sleeping in the mud and we have two blankets. May God have mercy on you!” (Syria’s Wounded Refugees: Tales of Massacre and Honorable Soldiers)
There are thousands of refugees, entire families of several generations, who have fled their homes in northwestern Syria, mainly the village of Jisr al-Shughour, and sought refuge near the Turkish border. The lucky ones sleep in their cars or in pick-up trucks they normally use to transport agricultural produce to nearby markets. Many have fashioned makeshift shelters from sheets of plastic, burlap bags, or tree branches. Others still, like the old woman, have nowhere to shelter from the bitter night chill, nor from downpours like that on Sunday and Monday nights that turned the makeshift camp into a muddy mess. They sit in the dirt of plowed fields and orchards full of apple, plum and flowering pomegranate trees. Some brought their livestock with them; others were able to grab a pot or two, while many escaped with just the clothes on their back.
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