‘Here I am a man’: Supporting a family at 13 years old
Through half-lit hallways and the crowded night market, 13-year-old Ahmad heads to work.
“I finish school, I come here to work,” he says.
Once he arrives at the shop, he plugs in the machine and it roars to life, disks spinning to polish pieces of brass. Ahmad carefully holds each one against the sandpaper, then drops it into a bucket with a loud ‘thunk.’ The sound in the tiny room is deafening, but Ahmad doesn’t seem to notice. Here, he’s all business.
“In Syria I feel like a boy, but here, I am a man,” he says.
He certainly has a man’s responsibilities. Ahmad’s father was killed in Syria, leaving behind Ahmad, his 10-year-old sister and their mother. As a teenager, Ahmad is now effectively the man of the house. No time for playing, very little time for school.
Each night he helps his uncle in an electricity shop where polished bits of brass and fine glass turn into ornate chandeliers, literally fit for a queen.
When asked about the work, Ahmad’s uncle glows with pride. He pulls up his phone and scrolls through a series of photos.
“This one I made for one of the Saudi princesses,” he says.
Damscus is known for its handcrafts. Ahmad’s uncle was a master at his craft and highly respected before he had to flee. Now, he works in a small, dusty room. His only worker is his young nephew.
“Life here is so difficult and hard. It takes a long time,” he says.
But if the contrast from a Saudi princess to the tiny shop is striking, it’s an even harder turn following Ahmad back to his home. He lives in an old office building –the tiny cubicles have been converted into homes for more than 500 Syrian refugees.
Inside the cramped space, kitchens are also used as bathrooms. Families hang bits of fabric over the frosted plastic doors to gain some small amount of privacy.
Ahmad’s mother greets him, looking impossibly young. She’s 29. At an age when many young women are still figuring out their career path or hoping to start a family, she has been married, had children and then watched it all fall apart as her husband was killed. She fled in the night with her children, first to Za’atari Camp and then to an apartment in Jordan. Now, she watches her son on his endless cycle between work and school, worried about his future, but left with no choice.
“I am proud of him, but it makes me sad, because he is not getting to live his age,” she says.
But for Ahmad this time is just an age, a passing point between his old life and adulthood, bridged by an electrical shop and a school.
“It is hard to work and study, but I don’t have a choice. And some day I hope to be a doctor or an engineer,” he says.