'We live with the dead': The Aleppo cemetery that's become a haven for quake survivors

Just as the Syrian city's residents were recovering from the civil war, the devastating February 6 earthquake dealt them another blow

A grieving man, who lost family members to the earthquake, in the graveyard in Aleppo. All photos: Hasan Belal for The National

This girl and her family were forced to leave her collapsed house after the earthquake and camp in the graveyard

The cemetery represents a safe haven for some, after the trauma of the earthquake

People came to the graveyard because they say long-term shelter has not been provided by Syria

Grim memories of that fateful night the earthquake struck are still raw

Kifah, 14, studying in the graveyard

It's now a waiting game for many displayed citizens in need of more permanent shelter

Not much aid has reached Aleppo

People are surviving in primitive conditions

Displaced Syrians shelter as night falls

Among congested tombstones and row upon row of concrete crypts, children play a game of hide and seek, shouting and taking cover behind the graves.

Reeling from an earthquake that has wrecked their city, residents of Aleppo in northern Syria — after a decade of civil war — now seek refuge in the unlikeliest of places.

As the sun beams down on the headstones, the Salheen cemetery in eastern Aleppo is no longer a final resting place, but a home to those living and escaping the turmoil after the devastating February 6 earthquake in southern Turkey.

Rania Al Khateeb, 42, spoke to The National as she walked her children through the graveyard, a place that for her signifies temporary safety.

“The cemetery is near to our houses. Our homes were all destroyed, so that’s the reason we stay here. It just happens to be that we now live and subsist with those departed.”

Just as people started to rebuild their lives after spending years trapped in the former rebel-held part of the city, the earthquake struck.

“We’re living with the dead. We don’t know where to go. Everywhere we have been, there is immense damage and destruction, so we are left with limited options.”

Among the densely packed tombstones, children make a racket. Ms Al Khateeb says the night the earthquake struck was the worst in her life.

“My house crumbled; it is now a falling ruin, all broken and impossible to live in. You know we usually wear the veil — in Islamic tradition — but after the fateful tremor, I rushed down to the streets without my veil on. It didn’t matter at that time.”

The memory of that unfortunate night weeks ago is still etched deep in her thoughts.

“That’s how bad it was. My entire neighbourhood was out barefoot, freezing, we came out into the dirty road. It’s hard to even describe it. It’s a scene from a nightmare."

The Syrian government’s immediate response was to open sports stadiums and local spaces for survivors, ensuring a supply of basic food and water, but long-term shelter has not been provided.

While aid has slowly trickled into government-held areas since the quake, in the militant-controlled Idlib region west of Aleppo, aid is much scarcer.

“For us, the priority is just to tend to our children and family, as buildings come and go. We need shelter and that’s why we’re here. Desperately, a roof over our head,” Ms Al Khateeb said.

“It’s better than living in a house which is going to cave in on us at any moment. At the end of the day we have to live among coffins, headstones and mausoleums.

“We’re starving. People are hungry. They need clothes. Look, we don’t even have mattresses or sleeping bags. My son had a nervous breakdown after the earthquake.”

She says her son told her he would never live in a house with a roof again. When she tried to rent a place, the boy refused. "He wants to stay here, it’s safer.“

Ammar Hokan, 50, another Aleppo resident now living in the cemetery, said the families there were "ravaged people, struck by disaster".

“For us here in Aleppo and for Syria, on the night of the quake, it was apocalyptic. We didn’t know what happened when we left our battered houses. Our house is also damaged. We need water and electricity,” he told The National.

“I don’t need to tell you. You can see with your own eyes where we are, what this place is. Our children wake scared in the night. They have a trauma, it won’t be repaired.”

Nearby, at the Helok camp just east of Aleppo, survivors live in a public park. Small tents offer some shelter from the winter cold.

For Kifah Muazzen, 14, this is home for her family and hundreds of others affected by the earthquake. She spends her time studying; she wants to be a doctor.

“On the day of the quake, we were asleep. It was 4.17am when it happened. Our house was shaking, our metal door was jolting from side to side. My father grabbed us, told us to go downstairs, I didn’t even have time to put on my veil or jacket," she said.

“As we came down two floors fell, we were lucky we weren’t trapped underneath. Barely escaping, we managed to make it to the car, but it was safe despite big chunks of concrete falling on it. It didn’t start at first, but then after moments it turned on and my father took us to the garden.”

She says that as they drove down the road, buildings were collapsing around them.

“We spent the day in the garden, and at night we slept in our father’s car.”

For Kifah, a pupil in year eight, the disaster has motivated her to study so she can help people.

“I wish that I was a doctor, so I could assist these people and save lives.”

Her school is closed, but Kifah still reads her books and studies every day, with the hope of securing a better future for herself and her family.

“The school is shut, but I still gather my books and things and then I manage to study with what I have. The earthquake has stopped life in this city. Just in case if the school restarts I will be up to date with the lessons.”

When asked about the state of her life now, Kifah replied: “Every night I feel we are going to have another earthquake; I wake screaming sometimes. I’m scared to sleep; I fear that I won’t wake up.”