A member of Kurdish security forces standing guard as women and children fill water containers at the al-Hol camp. — AFP
ALI is 12 and has spent half his life in what is essentially a prison camp for families linked to extremists in northeastern Syria.
His dreams are modest – he longs for a football, not freedom.
“Can you get me one?” he asks, as if requesting the Moon.
Five years after the fall of the Islamic State (IS) group’s “caliphate”, over 40,000 women and children remain detained in camps run by US-backed Kurdish forces.
Half of these detainees are children, living in conditions marked by violence, deprivation, and abuse.
With no clear plan for their future, these children face a grim reality in camps like al-Hol, a sprawling, barbed-wire facility rife with fear and suffering.
The al-Hol camp expanded significantly as IS lost its last stronghold in eastern Syria. Women and children suspected of being linked to the extremists were transported there, where they now endure a harsh existence in overcrowded tents with limited access to water and sanitation.
A file photo of a woman carrying a child as she walks through the al-Hol camp in Syria’s northeastern Al-Hasakah Governorate. The al-Hol camp is the largest of two in northeastern Syria holding the families of Islamic State fighters. — AFP
Many children, like Ali, have never seen a television or tasted ice cream, and few have access to education.
Some are separated from their mothers once they reach 11, a practice condemned by international law but defended by Kurdish authorities as necessary to prevent radicalisation.
Conditions in al-Hol are dire.
“Al-Hol is a suffocating place for children to live and grow up,” says Kathryn Achilles of Save the Children. “They have endured acute deprivation, bombardment, and have now been in the camp for almost five years. They need more.”
The camp’s makeshift market and communal kitchens offer little respite from the harsh conditions.
Aid workers report rampant violence and abuse, with some children mimicking violent behaviours, such as making a throat-slitting gesture.
The plight of the children is perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect of life in these camps.
Many suffer from trauma-related issues, such as sleep disorders, bed-wetting, and aggression.
“I try not to let my kids socialise to keep them out of harm, but it is almost impossible because the camp is packed,” says Shatha, an Iraqi mother of five. “Every time my kids go out, they come back beaten.”
The camps also face significant security challenges.
IS cells still operate within al-Hol, contributing to a climate of fear and violence.
In 2022, two Egyptian girls were found murdered in the camp, and reports of other children being sexually abused or harassed are not uncommon.
“They may not know they are hurting each other,” says a health worker, indicating that a cycle of abuse and trauma is perpetuating itself within the camp.
The situation is complicated by the presence of IS loyalists who continue to exert influence.
Some inmates receive pensions from IS, and armed men occasionally raid the tents, enforcing a reign of terror.
“They enter tents at night and kill people,” Ali whispers, revealing the depth of fear that grips the camp.
The Kurdish forces, who bear the burden of managing these camps, face significant challenges.
“It’s a major problem... a burden both financially, politically and morally as well,” says Mazloum Abdi, head of the Syrian Democratic Forces.
With no clear solution in sight, the Kurdish authorities continue to call for the repatriation of foreign nationals, a plea that has largely fallen on deaf ears. Many countries are unwilling to take back their citizens, leaving the Kurds to deal with a humanitarian crisis not of their making.
For many mothers, the fear of their sons being taken away to “rehabilitation centres” is a constant worry.
“I can’t sleep at night. When I hear sounds outside, I fear they are coming for my son,” says Zeinab, an Egyptian mother whose 13-year-old son was taken a year ago.
The separation of boys from their mothers is seen by some as a necessary measure to prevent radicalisation, but it is also a practice fraught with ethical concerns.
The camp’s harsh conditions are compounded by health crises.
Outbreaks of diseases like measles occur frequently, and women resist “Western medicine”, often smuggling in medication or relying on clandestine healthcare.
“She doesn’t have the tools, but there is no other dental care,” complains a Russian woman, describing a makeshift dentist operating within the camp.
Despite the grim reality, some families still hope for a better future.
Kurdish authorities have started to build new sections with improved facilities, suggesting that the camp may be here for the long term.
“We don’t intend to lock anyone up and leave them,” says Jihan Hanan, head of the camp’s civil administration.
Yet, for many, this offers little comfort.
The plight of the children remains the most pressing concern for humanitarian organisations.
“Mothers want their children to go to school, to grow up healthily and hope they won’t be discriminated against because of all they have experienced,” says Achilles.
However, for most of those trapped in al-Hol, the future looks bleak.
“There is no place to go. There is no solution,” says a mother of two.
As the world continues to turn a blind eye, the tens of thousands left languishing in these camps remain in a state of limbo, caught between a past they cannot escape and a future they cannot reach. — AFP
