Syrian refugee Mohammad Eid fled Damascus after his mother and brother were arrested for marching in pro-democracy demonstrations at the outbreak of the Syrian uprising in 2011. His mother spent almost a decade in jail, says Mr Eid. His family heard nothing about his brother until they received a death certificate four years ago. “You see why I cannot return to Syria,” says Mr Eid, 39. He is one of thousands of <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/mena/2023/05/23/jordan-has-exceeded-its-capacity-for-refugees-says-foreign-minister/" target="_blank">Syrians living in Jordan</a>. With <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/mena/2023/05/17/jordans-economy-recovering-but-reforms-needed-imf-says/" target="_blank">economic pressures in Jordan</a> piling up, their prospects appear grim, even after <a href="https://www.thenationalnews.com/mena/2023/06/05/syria-civil-war-talks/" target="_blank">Syria's return to the Arab League</a> last month. Mr Eid makes $420 a month working at a fruit and vegetable grocer owned by another Syrian in Yasmin-Badr, a drab district of Amman where some refugees have found low-paying jobs. In Damascus, he made up to $3,000 a month trading cars, far more than the average income in the country. He pays $280 a month to rent an apartment in Sahab, a low-income area just south of Amman. He, his wife and three children survive not least due to help from Syrian and Jordanian neighbours. They bring the family large bags of rice, sugar and other staple foods. “There are kind people everywhere,” Mr Eid says. He says any other employer might have dismissed him because revenue did not justify keeping him on. “Sales are very slow,” he says. Jordan closed its borders to Syrian refugees in 2014 as the civil war intensified and more people fled Syrian army bombardment of Sunni urban and rural centres, which formed the backbone of the armed resistance to President Bashar Al Assad, who belongs to the minority Alawite sect. From 2011 to 2014, about 760,000 registered Syrians entered Jordan. An earlier generation of fleeing Syrians settled in Yasmin-Badr in the 1980s as the area become a magnet for newcomers who had escaped a crackdown by the current President’s father, Hafez Al Assad, which culminated in the 1982 Hama massacre. The refugees, old and new, tend to come from territories with a more established commercial and cultural heritage than Jordan. But family and clan ties between the two countries pre-date the remnants of the Ottoman Empire a century ago. Youssef Obeidat, a Jordanian mechanical engineer who a few months ago opened a manakish shop in Yasmine-Badr, says he practised his craft while he was at university with a Syrian pastry maker. “The Syrians rise up earlier than everyone else and work non-stop,” says Mr Obeidat, who works at the shop with his Jordanian partner. He says he does not make manakish the Syrian way because it requires more meat or cheese. “Customers won't pay for it, especially in these times,” he says, referring to the economic stagnation in Jordan. Even some Syrians with capital have struggled to keep their businesses running. A high-end Syrian restaurant in Yasmin-Badr called Al Kamal closed earlier this year. Hatem, a salesman at a nearby sweet shop, says the business is struggling to convince customers to pay for high-quality pistachios, ghee, dates and other primary ingredients. Hatem, who makes $500 a month, was in 11th grade when he fled his hometown of Inkhil in southern Syria in 2013. In 2017, his family obtained an opportunity most his compatriots could only dream of when he, his father, mother and three siblings were granted asylum in the US. “A day before we were due to board the plane, my father changed his mind,” says Hatem from the empty shop. “I don’t really know why.” Up the street, a Syrian shawarma and felafel shop had some customers at lunch. Alaa Hariri, one of several employees, fled southern Syria to Jordan 10 years ago, when he was 14, after Syrian army bombing near their home killed his brother. He says he is able to survive on his $420 per month salary because the Syrian shop owner lets him and other workers sleep in a spare room at the site free of charge. When he was in Syria, Alaa did not go to school. He was working as an assistant to his bricklayer father. Asked about the future, he simply said nothing.
