The woman who refused to become a refugee

Lina Ghoutouk, 35, remembers vividly the moment she decided she would not be a refugee. It was May 9 and she was sitting in a Dutch-language classroom in Belgium. Six months earlier, the government paused asylum procedures for Syrians after the Assad regime was toppled. The uncertainty was a humiliating experience.

“It was extremely insulting to have your fate put on hold for an unlimited time,” she said. “I suddenly felt: what am I doing with my life? Why am I learning Dutch?” She left the school and never returned. That day, she decided she would return to Syria.

Ms Ghoutouk, a human rights researcher, had been attending a summer course in Belgium in the summer of 2024 and staying with family there when Israel started began its assault on Lebanon. She was in fragile health at the time and feared for her safety if she returned to Beirut, where she had lived since 2013. She also couldn’t return to Syria, where she was at risk of arrest under the Assad regime, so she filed for asylum in Belgium, a procedure that can take months or years.

Her decision to return to Syria this year filled her with trepidation. As a secular Syrian, she worried about the new government’s extremist past as well as insecurity after the first mass sectarian killings took place on the coast in March. Nevertheless, she cancelled her asylum procedure in Belgium, also motivated by being close to her husband again, who works between Syria and Lebanon.

In September, she landed in Damascus and began working at an international charity, focusing on resuming health and education services. It will cost $216 billion to rebuild Syria, the World Bank estimates. “In Damascus's countryside, you can drive for hours and hours and all you see is destruction. Empty buildings without windows, without doors, without anything, without even the metal inside. It’s like a movie,” she said.

Living prices have also soared. Like many Damascenes, Ms Ghoutouk paid to install solar panels to cope with long power shortages. Security is now also a worry amid revenge killings. She carefully plans her trips, doesn’t travel by car at night, and warily eyes men carrying guns around the city.

Another new phenomenon, she said, is the appearance of beggars and homeless people in the streets. “They have very strange eyes – like homeless people in underground trains in Europe who suffer from drug addictions or mental health problems. I had never seen eyes like that in Syria or Lebanon,” she said. “The level of violence that people experienced in Syria is huge. You see it in their faces.”

It is no surprise to Ms Ghoutouk that few Syrians are choosing to return, despite encouragement by European states. “Migration stories are very personal,” she said. “I’m surrounded by a huge support system. But what about people with kids who feel pressured into returning? It costs a lot to set yourself up again in Syria. There’s no electricity. There’s no schools. I really think Syrians should return, especially those who have something to give to the country. But the worst thing is for vulnerable people to feel pressured into making unsafe decisions.”

The restaurateur who sees great potential for investment in the new Syria

British restaurateur Anas Zein wasn’t sure he’d be allowed back into Damascus in January, when he caught the third flight to Syria’s capital after the Assad regime’s collapse.

Armed with only his father’s Syrian ID card issued in 1974, and none of his own documents, he was told by a Syrian officer on landing that there were three red flags to his name.

On his last attempt to enter in 2007, he was detained at the airport and interrogated for a week before being sent back to the UK. He hoped things would be different this time, now that the regime that drove his family out of Syria 40 years ago was gone.

“We’re going to turn [the flags] back to green,” the border officer laughed, letting Mr Zein through. The relief and euphoria of liberation from dictator Bashar Al Assad was palpable.

Mr Zein, 41, felt like he belonged to the country he was born in for the first time. “That was the most amazing feeling. The sense of identity that you suddenly feel,” he said.

Since then, he has been back to Damascus and his family’s hometown in the southern province of Deraa four times on extended trips. He wants to be part of the country’s recovery by doing what he does best: setting up businesses.

Using his father’s assets in Syria he bought a piece of land and is working out ways to invest in the country when international sanctions are lifted.

“I've waited 40 years to reconnect with Syria. What’s a better way to reconnect than to invest – so that it's not just words, you’re actually there investing in local communities, employment and the national economy … shaping its next chapter,” he said.

Birmingham-based Mr Zein runs a chain of restaurants, Damascena, which has six branches in the UK and Portugal, with another expected to open in Europe soon. He sold his first import-export business in 2011, while still in his 20s.

Among his new ideas is to set up high-quality dairy farms supplying milk across Syria. “I love milk, myself. I'm a heavy coffee drinker. But every time I had milk in Syria, I got ill,” he said.

Mr Zein can only start investing once the US Caesar Act sanctions are lifted and international banking with Syria resumes. Yet he has noticed people’s lives improving each time he returns. “I can see the economic revival. It's real,” he said.

But he is also aware of the risks and challenges. The peace that has reigned since Mr Al Assad’s departure is fragile, with bursts of sectarian violence. Israel’s continued air strikes in Syria in the name of protecting the Druze and destroying former regime sites also creates uncertainty that will deter development.

Mr Zein always felt a strong attachment for Syria but also “really hated” the country after being detained and turned away in 2007.

Now, he is more “more optimistic than anybody” about its future. “I have a country now. I have my identity back after 41 years. It's the most extraordinary feeling you can imagine. I can't really describe it,” he said.