I WAS clearing up my hand phone gallery last night and came across photos from a humanitarian mission that I led inside Syria in the winter of 2018.
My thoughts wandered about the journey there. Many vital roads had been disrupted by the ongoing nine-year war, making movement difficult. Besides that, unpaved roads meant you would stumble onto potholes and dirt. Travelling during winter would mean driving over mud and water puddles.
Most roads in Syria do not have streetlights, making it dangerous to be out after 5pm. The sights you get to see too can make your heart shatter.
Usually, in between the beautiful fields and mountains, there will be endless rows of tents . These tents are makeover shelters for millions of internally displaced people (IDPs) who were forced to leave their homes to seek safety elsewhere.
Ruined buildings along the roadside gave me an eerie and indescribable feeling, knowing that there were families inside.
I wondered where they were now. What were they doing when the airstrikes came? Were their bodies buried under the rubble? Or did they have time to save themselves, leaving everything they owned to burn to the ground? Did they witness the death of their loved ones?
Maybe they tried to save those injured and trapped under the rubble but only to witness them die? The thought of it was so devastating. The reality of being an IDP is waking up in the morning not knowing if there would be food that day or even live constantly with the fear of being killed.
For survival, they would build makeshift shelters from anything such as canvas, old rugs, wood or metal for years on end under olive trees or anywhere else.
They, who once lived in houses with a steady income and enjoyed life just like us now, can only sit and wait for an uncertain future.
I remember an opportunity I had to visit a family at a camp in the countryside of Aleppo in 2018. We were on our rounds to distribute food packs that early winter afternoon. As soon as our car turned into a small unpaved road, I saw a long row of shelters built in between trees. Between the road and the shelters I could see children and men on muddy land.
The lorry that carried our food packs had arrived earlier and a long line of men were already waiting. A few men passed me, waving their hands and saying thank you after receiving the food packs.
I felt delighted seeing them smile. Knowing what they have to go through, it makes allthe effort we put in so worthwhile. I walked closer to a group of children from the camp who were watching us from the time we had arrived. They opened up after I started a conversation.
Although the weather was cold, they were not wearing decent shoes. Some were even barefooted. Instantly, I looked down to see myself. I had on me a three-layered warm attire while wearing a coat. A knitted hat and a pair of waterproof winter boots.
I took a deep breath as I heard my name being called by Abu Qusay, our representative in al Bab, Syria. I started walking towards him as he led me towards one of the shelters.
A man carrying a rifle escorted us. Things were very uncertain in this region and our safety was a big priority. I stepped inside what seemed to be a courtyard that was muddy and slippery.
We had to walk carefully to avoid falling. It had several small tents and a square shelter that I was later told was made from clay.
Two families lived there and shared a kitchen that was only a tent made from nylon. No cement flooring. Just soil. Samira, the owner of the tents, insisted on us coming into her small room made of clay. We went in and sat on the floor. The space was small and it had a wood furnace in the middle.
After talking for a while getting to know where she came from and about her life as an IDP, I received a phone call from Dr Husamudin, our representative in Istanbul, who said: "Ustazah, you have to come out now! We have to leave immediately. This place is not safe!"
I took a deep breath and turned towards Athirah and Atiqah, our team members, and told them: "We leave now!"
They were startled and confused but they followed me out as I excused myself from Samira. As in any mission we must always expect the unexpected at all times.
The writer is chairwoman of Syria Care, a humanitarian organisation