Hope is all that’s left for professional Syrian footballer living in refugee camp
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Version 0 of 1. Shaher Shaheen pulls out a scuffed pair of white Adidas football boots from under his bed. These, along with his training kit and football jersey, are what remain of a professional career with Syria’s championship-winning Al-Karamah, based in his hometown of Homs. The 24-year-old now shares a small hut with five others in a refugee container camp at Nizip, Turkey – an hour’s drive north from the Syrian border. In broken English he describes the war as it reached Homs. At first, he says, “there were small bombs and snipers. Then the army came – tak-tak tak-tak”, he gestures gunfire. He decided to leave the city when president Bashar al-Assad’s army began knocking on doors and forcing young men to take up arms against the rebel militia. “This for me,” he says, “big problem.” Al-Karamah were four-time champions of the Syrian league before the civil war. In 2010, just months before the popular Arab spring uprisings began in the country, Al-Karamah reached the quarter-finals of the Asian Football Confederation Cup. The footballers on his team led a relatively charmed existence compared with other Syrians. “It’s another world,” Shaher smiles as he recalls being flown first class to play in Saudi Arabia. “I had a very big house in Syria – five bedrooms, a big garden, a gym – everything.” The streets of Homs, where Shaher learned to play football as a six-year-old, became the backdrop to mass protests in 2011. Like many footballers on his team, the centre-back took off his boots to join the popular uprising against Assad. But when the government retaliated by sending tanks into Homs, two players on his team were killed. His best friend and teammate, Ahmed Alayek, went missing and has never made contact since. A tear runs down Shaher’s face when he speaks about it: “We spent seven years together – playing football and studying. He’s my best friend. If he’s dead, if he’s in jail … it’s okay. But I want to know.” Shaher has no idea what has happened to his house in Syria. “All things broken, stolen,” he guesses. “It’s not only me – it’s all people from Homs and Syria who have lost everything, but what can you do?” In the camp, Shaher lives in a small concrete hut, sharing two rooms with his wife, Farah, and newborn son, Abdullah, as well as Farah’s parents and brother. Adornments in the hut are minimal. Patterned cloths cover the mattresses, which double as seating and beds. A paper-thin wall separates the two rooms, affording little privacy to the newlywed couple. The family try to make their surroundings hospitable, offering tea with sugar. They explain that the refugee camp in Nizip was at capacity when Shaher arrived and his father-in-law offered to share their hut. Shaher spent a stint living as a refugee in Jordan before selling all his belongings there to buy plane tickets to Turkey. He says: “It’s much better here, in Turkey. It’s a five-star camp, but it’s still a camp.” Staying in shape is his biggest challenge. Shaher’s sportsman’s appetite requires four or five large meals every day. Meat is expensive and he has to rely on the small Turkish market inside the camp, where he buys macaroni and cheese for 1 Turkish lira (around 30p). His training regime has been interrupted though he runs one-hour training classes for children in the camp every day. These have become extraordinarily popular. “The kids keep knocking on the window asking Shaher when he’s coming out to play,” Farah laughs. When he plays in the camp’s makeshift football pitch, a small crowd gathers, chanting his name. With only six months before his passport expires, the January transfer window may be Shaher’s last chance at a career in football. He explains that the Syrian government will not issue passports to young men until they complete a period of compulsory military service. He fears being conscripted to fight a war he doesn’t agree with: “If I go to Syria, they’ll take me to the army at the border.” After playing for a year in Jordan, he was offered a contract in Saudi Arabia last year. “At the point of signing, they asked for my birth certificate.” He explained to them that his birth certificate was in Syria, though he had valid travel documents. But the Saudis called the deal off. Shaher says he’s tired of living in limbo in the camp. He says he’s considered getting on one of the boats that take refugees to Europe, despite having seen them sinking on the news. The only thing stopping him from taking the chance is Abdullah. “I want Abdullah to see me be a footballer. Nothing else. Just that,” he says. I ask him if he really believes he’ll play football again. He smiles and utters a word of hope I hear often in the camp. “Insh’allah,” he says, “God willing.” |