Doaa was touched.
At night, while Doaa relaxed from a hard day’s work, her thoughts would return to Syria. She spent her evenings flipping through news channels, waiting for the segments about the war. She texted back and forth with her closest friend, Amal, who was still in Daraa, and asked for any news. Doaa told Amal how she wanted nothing more than to come back home. But Amal warned her, “It is better that you don’t, Doaa, the situation is getting worse. It is dangerous for everybody. I don’t even go to demonstrations anymore now that you’re not here.” Doaa’s text conversations with Amal always left Doaa feeling conflicted. The danger of returning to Syria didn’t frighten her, but leaving her family without her support did. She couldn’t abandon them. She realized that she was needed here more than she was back there.
Meanwhile, Hanaa could tell that Doaa was longing for Syria, so Hanaa hid Doaa’s passport and kept a close eye on her stubborn daughter. Hanaa saw text messages on Doaa’s phone from friends back home that urged her to come back and rejoin their struggle. When Hanaa confronted her about the texts, Doaa assured her that she would not abandon the family. Hanaa then realized that in the months since Doaa had left Syria, she had matured. She had taken on responsibility for her family and was doing her part for them to get by in this life of exile, and that was all that mattered now.
However, the work at the factory was taking its toll on Doaa’s health and she was becoming more fragile with each passing day. When she was anxious and tired, she couldn’t eat, and her anemia returned. Shokri heard about a Syrian business owner, Mohamed Abu Bashir, who said that he could give all three of Shokri’s daughters sewing work for 500 LE ($50) each per month—more than they got making burlap bags. They all quickly accepted the new jobs.
Mohamed had converted a small ground-floor apartment into work spaces for his ten employees, installing big industrial sewing machines and ironing boards in the bedrooms. Saja and Nawara worked the sewing machines to make skirts and pajamas, while Doaa was in charge of ironing.
The girls worked alone in one room and chatted and joked together as they worked. The boss made his rounds several times a day and would often single out Doaa for praise. This made her feel useful and appreciated in her job, despite the fact that the girls’ paychecks never quite added up to 500 LE after some mysterious deductions were made by the owner.
Though Doaa still longed for Syria, after six months she was slowly beginning to find her place in Egypt and was accepting her family’s fate. They had just enough income to cover rent, and with the food vouchers from UNHCR, they were able to buy ingredients for the meals Hanaa prepared. They also slowly paid off the debts they owed to those in the Syrian community who had helped them when they first arrived.
Doaa realized that the longer she stayed in Egypt, the more she felt her old dreams slipping away from her. In Syria, before the war, she was on a path to go to university. She still had one more year of high school left, but now she had no meaningful way to continue her education in Egypt. The best she could do was to attend some classes at a school run by Syrian teachers during the local school’s afternoon shift for refugee students.
Doaa tried to comfort herself by thinking of the progress she and her family had made in Egypt. While they didn’t have much, their situation had improved, and the constant tension that they had felt in Syria began to ease. Little Hamudi, who, when they’d first arrived in Gamasa, would never leave Hanaa’s side, began to make friends and sleep peacefully through the night, his nightmares and anxiety finally receding. Doaa told herself that for now all she wanted was peace and happiness and food on the table for her family.
FIVE
Love in Exile