Threads and Needles

The idea of leaving her two-floor house on the outskirts of the village of Sayjjar, just 8 kilometers away from the city of Idlib, never crossed Lama’s mind, not once. The house, according to Lama, was years of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, poured into every block of concrete that made up the house.

Life for the 39-year-old Syrian woman who has been married to her loving husband Osama for 20 years, with her teenage daughter, Bayan, was simple before the war. Her husband operated the small gas station that they built and owned next to their house. Though she occasionally helped with finances, the thing most dear to her heart was working the lands they owned. Lama also enjoyed carrying the legacy of her father-in-law, who was the village chief, and whose house was open to the far and near. She loved hosting people at their house.

Their house was a home. Home to their small family of three. Home to Osama’s mother, and his 10 siblings. Home to Lama’s parents, and her 5 siblings. Home to Bayan’s friends, who also happen to be her cousins. Home to their aunts and uncles. Home to those who happen to pass by their house, on their way to the village center, where they’d stop by for tea, and Lama’s mouthwatering Ka’ak Bi Zeit (a type of biscuit made from olive oil).

Lama’s house in Sayjjar

They often say that home is not a place, it’s a feeling. While that remains true for many, Lama, 6 years after fleeing Syria, is yet to feel at home in Turkey.

Though the Syrian revolution began in 2011, it was not until 2015 that Idlib was under military attacks by government and non-government forces. Even when the Russian shelling on Idlib was the harshest it had ever been, Lama’s family did not want to leave Sayjjar.

When asked why they did not leave when the military forces reached Idlib, Lama says, “It just did not feel right. Sayjjar was everything that I have ever known. I was born here. My parents were born here. My grandparents were born here, and so were their parents. We were thinking so long as Sayjjar was outside the radar of attacks, we will remain.”

Indeed, Lama’s family stayed true to their word. It was not until three of their relatives were seriously injured during a massacre that was carried out by Russian forces in 2016, that they packed their bags and crossed the Syrian border illegally to Turkey, by foot. Her journey, along with hundreds of Syrian families, was laborious to say the least. Crossing rivers, forests and days filled with hunger and thirst with nothing to feed on except a glimpse of hope, they finally reached their destination.

The Turkish-Syrian border that Lama and her family crossed.

Life in Turkey has been starkly different for Lama ever since. Apart from the language barrier forcing her to take Bayan, who learned Turkish impressively fast, with her wherever she went, Lama laments over the tough conditions she faced adjusting to the grueling ways of the strange land. “I think the hardest transition was starting to work because I never worked back home. In Syria, the income of one person, my husband, was enough to sustain us financially, but here in Turkey, that is not enough. We need multiple individuals from our family to work to be able to pay rent and bills. If you did not have the will and courage it requires, you would not be able to live here,” she shares.

“The first job I got was in tamyeez because I did not have a degree or a skill set,” Lama states. Tamyeez is menial-pay work involving fixing and cleaning up tailored clothes, such as cutting off loose strings with scissors. Lama worked in tamyeez for almost a year before moving on to tailoring in sweatshops, where she swiftly became deft on the sewing machine. Over the past five years, she has mastered nimbly intertwining thread through thimble and needle through yarn to make intricate, beautiful clothing.

However, her work is mercilessly long and wearying. “I go from 8 am and work until 1 pm with only a 15-minute break to drink a cup of tea. After 1 pm, I have an hour break to go back home to eat lunch and rest a little. Then I go back to work until the clock hits 7 pm, and when I come back at night, I have to start cooking, cleaning and all of the housework,” she notes. Each excruciating day has taken a toll on Lama’s health; she suffers severe back and hand nerve pain.

The girls Lama works with in the sweatshop are mostly Syrian migrants, who are underpaid and heavily discriminated against. They are deprived of sukorto, which includes insurance and compensation upon retirement, while Turkish women are provided this despite doing the same job. Syrians receive military salaries instead, which is the lowest possible pay. “I take 4,000 Turkish Lera for working on the sewing machine, while a Turkish woman would at least take 6,000 Turkish Lera for the same work,” Lama discloses. The fact that there are few better-paid jobs for desperate Syrian refugees in Turkey to choose from is used to rationalize their exploitation.

Lama’s situation represents the lives of millions of migrant women in developing countries worldwide. Owners of sweatshops operating from Western countries hire female workers because they are seen as cheap labor that can maximize profits and be drawn in or dropped as needed. Women’s manual dexterity and docility, conditioned by culture, their lack of awareness about their rights, and their seemingly limitless supply have made them the choice factory workers of local and transnational corporations.

Strikes and efforts to organize for better work conditions and pay in sweatshops are harshly punished, often with police help. Organizers are fired, threatened with dismissal, and blacklisted such that they can’t find work elsewhere. When unions are formed, companies often close factories and move to locations that do not enforce labor regulations. Governments participate in suppressing strikes because they compete with other economically struggling countries for foreign investment.

When asked about her dreams for the future, Lama remains dismal. “You stop thinking about the future, you only think about how we will go back to our house, to our livelihoods, to our country. Will the Syrians return to their former lives? I do not know. This shall remain indefinite to us. However, I pray that God relieves Syria, and for us to be safe,” she says, with tears glistening in her eyes.