The Forgotten ones in the House of Light

In Damascus, Catholic nuns take care of senior citizens who have lost their families

by Karin Leukefeld,* Damascus

(27 February 2022) In the Beit Nour retirement home in the old city of Damascus, old men spend their remaining years. Almost all of them are alone. Their children have left Syria. Others do not want to or cannot take care of their fathers.

It is a surprise for the men in Beit Nour. A small delegation of sisters from the Catholic Salesian order has gifts for them. Each resident receives a sweater, which is presented in a ceremony. It’s a change from the otherwise sedate and rather uniform daily routine at the senior citizens’ residence in the old city of Damascus.

Beit Nour means House of Light and is run by sisters of the Mother Teresa Order. The nuns come from all over the world to serve the poor and weak in Syria. Four sisters at Beit Nour are assisted by three helpers to care for the 26 residents. Two women prepare the meals in the kitchen. The sisters do not like to be in the public eye. Photos and tape recordings are not welcome. To the objection that the public should know how important their help is, one of the sisters replies: “our work is for God, that’s enough”.

More open, however, are the sisters of the Salesian order who visit the Beit Nour to deliver the gifts. Sister Carol Tahan leads the delegation. She comes from Aleppo and is in charge of the Italian Hospital there, which was founded by the Salesians in Damascus in 1913. Before the war, the “Ospedale Italiano” was one of the most prestigious hospitals in Damascus. But during the civil war, many doctors, medical technicians, therapists and nurses left the country. Since then, there has been a state of emergency, and the clinic relies on donations.

In December, thanks to these donations, they were able to pay out a Christmas bonus of 100,000 Syrian pounds (about 30 euros) to each of the hospital’s employees, says Sister Carol: “Some donate for the continued operation of the institution and for medical equipment that the hospital urgently needs. Others support us to help the poor.” There is “Bernhard”, for example, from Germany, who has been collecting money for years with his association near Munich and passing it on to them, she says. “This year we were able to buy a used CT X-ray machine – for computerized photographs, which are always urgently needed. In addition, we were able to get these warm sweaters for the elderly from the donations.”

The nuns ordered them from a textile company that produced the sweaters especially for the nursing homes. The workers received a good wage of 15,000 Syrian pounds (about 4.60 euros) per sweater. “Because they were able to sew a lot of sweaters, they also earned well,” says Sister Carol. “So the donations help on both sides, the workers and the elderly. And we thank them for their support.”

The Beit Nour is hidden in one of the many narrow alleys of the old city. The high courtyard is covered, creating a hall that serves as a lounge for the men. The Salesian sisters have piled three large stacks of warm sweaters on a table set up like a gift table. About 20 men look expectantly at Sister Carol, who gives a short speech.

At the end of their welcoming speech, one of the men beats his drum. Immediately, the other men join in the rhythm, clapping their hands. From a back corner of the large room, a man slowly emerges and moves to the rhythm, dancing. Sister Carol, also clapping to the drum, joins the dancing man, and together they move around the room for a few steps. Then Sister Carol calls out that it is time to distribute the gifts.

The men return to their seats. The Salesian sisters each take two or three sweaters in blue-gray or brown-white, between which the elderly can choose. When the sizes are checked, they go on to the next person until the dancer also receives his sweater. As good as he is at dancing, however, he is not able to coordinate the movements of his arms. The nurses help him try it on, and finally he stands in the circle of his fellow residents in his new sweater and smiles proudly. He receives spontaneous applause, but this is too much attention for the man. Quickly, and without looking around, he retreats to a room off to the side and closes the door.

While the other men continue to sing and dance with the support of the drum, Sister Carol Tahan finds time for a brief conversation. Some of the old men are bedridden and cannot take part in the celebration, says the resolute woman with the gray habit of a senior Salesian sister.

In the next few days, she will visit the Beit Hubi in the Dweila district, where single women live. There, too, she will present gifts. With the Beit Saadi, a third residential home for elderly is on her agenda. This is larger than the Beit Nour. “There are 170 elderly men living there,” she explains. Some, she says, were diplomats, professors, engineers or respected doctors. “In their rooms hang photos of their lives, of their families and children.”

Loneliness is the worst thing for the elderly, she says. Most of them have no family left in Syria. Spouses are deceased, the children often somewhere abroad. Of most of the men at Beit Nour, Sister Carol knows the story. “Over there on the bench is Gabriel, he’s 75. He came to us at the convent one day because he had lost his daughter, with whom he was staying. He didn’t know what to do. We helped him set up a small business, bought him a trolley with which he could sell sweets, cookies and little things for children near the schools and earn a modest living. But when the war started, he had to stop working, and then he was accepted here at Beit Nour.” The men’s religious affiliation doesn’t matter, she explains. “No one is asked about it; everyone is welcome.”

The next day, everyday life returns to Beit Nour. In the mornings and afternoons, the men sit together. Some play tawla (backgammon), others leaf through books or talk. The drummer from the day before sits next to Abu Majd [name changed], who does not want his name mentioned. In his “former life,” Abu Majd was the owner of some of the best restaurants in the Syrian capital. “I had a restaurant in Abu Rummaneh, the “Sanabel” in Al Qusour, the Vendome in Mezzeh, I had a Chinese restaurant and another in the Old City of Damascus. The “Al Waha” restaurant was on the way to Harasta, it was demolished because a road was built there. One restaurant specialized in potato dishes.” The 60-year-old’s voice is getting quieter and quieter, he seems depressed.

In 2011, he says, there were problems with various companies. He entered into an association with a larger company, but it took over all of his restaurants. After that, he was out of work and lost all his money; his wife left him and he fell ill. A priest helped him to be admitted to the Beit Nour. His family does not support him. Two sons are in the United Arab Emirates and are looking for work there. Only his eldest daughter had visited him, but in the meantime she had also left the country. So he is on his own and actually stranded in the old people’s home much too young.

Life at Beit Nour is good, says Abu Majd. He spends his days with friends. He reads a lot when he is in his room, which he shares with two others. The books available at Beit Nour are exclusively religious, he says. But he also has his own. He is interested in history and politics, and he reads novels. All his life, he says, he has lived in good circumstances. But “eleven terrible years have passed, and I don’t believe in a better future. At Beit Nour, he says, he learned a lot about religions and found a community. “We stick together and help each other.” Despite everything, he is grateful.

Religious songs sound in the background, the men push their chairs into a circle, others retire to their rooms. An elegantly dressed Damascene woman has come and taken a seat in the circle of chairs. She reads from a slim book, now and then the men respond in chorus. The Sister of the Mother Teresa Order indicates that it is time for the visitor to leave. On the way to the exit, one of the men calls out, “Happy New Year. Come again!” Almost imperceptibly, Abu Majd nods his head in farewell.

* Karin Leukefeld studied ethnology as well as Islamic and political sciences and is a trained bookseller. She has done organisational and public relations work for, among others, the Federal Association of Citizens' Initiatives for Environmental Protection (BBU), the Green Party (federal party) and the El Salvador Information Centre. She was also a personal assistant to a PDS member of parliament in Germany (foreign policy and humanitarian aid). Since 2000, she has worked as a freelance correspondent in the Middle East for various German and Swiss media. She is also the author of several books on her experiences from the war zones in the Middle East.

Source: www.nd-aktuell.de, 1^st February 2022. Reprint with the kind permission of the editors and the author.

(Translation "Swiss Standpoint")