Syrians living in the UK have told of their delight at the collapse of the Assad regime – and how they can now finally dream of a return to their homeland.
Razan Alsous, 42, and her husband Raghid Sandouk, 56, came to Britain with their three young children – one aged just 10-months – in 2012. A car bomb had exploded outside the Damascus office of Raghid, the lights went off and workers crawled on the floor in darkness to take cover amid the carnage.
Within two days, they fled to the UK, where they set up a business in two years and integrated themselves into a welcoming community. Because they had UK visas at that time thanks to Raghid’s work in Syria, they were able to instantly leave as war raged.
They have family still in Syria and now, after 12 years, can finally plan to see their loved ones and visit the place they once called home.
“First of all, we just feel relieved,” Razan told the Mirror. “It’s unbelievable that mission impossible, to collapse the regime, has happened.
“It’s been more than 50 years where you cannot speak out about – or even think bad about – the regime.”
Yesterday (Fri) thousands took to the streets across Syria after Friday prayers to celebrate the end of the brutal Assad regime, which spanned 53 years back to 1971, when Hafez al-Assad became president under the Ba’ath Party following the 1970 Coup.
Tens of thousands poured into Umayyad Square in Damascus on Friday, outside the Umayyad Mosque, singing songs cursing the Assads while families mingled with rebels.
“We’re already talking now about visiting Syria and looking at what routes could be possible and if the border with Jordan is open,” Razan said. “It’s wonderful to even be able to think about visiting because we would love to go and see my family and introduce them to our children, and to see my home after what’s happened.”
Razan explained how they “lost everything” in the war in Syria and soon found themselves settled in Sowerby Bridge, West Yorkshire. Despite Razan’s degree in pharmacy and her husband’s experience as an electronic engineer who ran his own company in Syria, they struggled to find work before setting up multi-award-winning cheese and dairy company Yorkshire Dama Cheese, with the name inspired by their two homes – Yorkshire and Damascus.
“The welcome we’ve had in the UK has been brilliant,” she said. “So we have two homes. My children have been brought up here but also want to know where they are originally from.”
They told of the fear in which they lived before leaving Damascus. People would be killed for being an ethnic minority or “investigated” if they had any links with the Western world, she said. “But you know that to be investigated is a one way track to prison – and then death,” Razan said.
“My uncle, who still lives there, said the lockdown has been lifted and that life seems maybe 60% back to normal. I’m not expecting life to be rosy, that’s not realistic, but at the same time we should be optimistic. We need now to focus on rebuilding Syria and widen our vision, and think of the benefits for everyone.”
Amr Shayah, 38, a married father of Hisham, six, said he was unable to capture his emotional state such was the relief at the demise of the Assad regime.
“If I had to choose one word, it would be ‘dream’ – a happy dream that my family and I are finally living,” said Amr, who lives in Greenwich, south east London, but is originally from Aleppo. Starting with what happened in Aleppo as the first city being fully freed from the Assad regime, I have been living in a dream I don’t want to wake up from. Up to this moment, I still can’t believe this – that Syria finally being free – is a reality. It’s an incredibly emotional moment.”
He said he remembers the “martyrs who sacrificed their blood, souls and lives” since the outbreak of war in 2011. Large scale pro-democracy protests broke out in 2011 over the rule of dictator Bashar al-Assad, as part of the wider Arab Spring uprisings in the region.
“The situation under Assad’s regime was terrible,” said Amr. “Electricity was available for only two hours a day, but now it’s 18 to 20 hours daily. People feel relieved that their living conditions are improving, and that’s just one example. It’s a step forward toward a better future – a return to aspects of normal life that Syrians haven’t experienced since 2011.”
He says he would “love” to return to Syria but has to consider his refugee status in the UK and whether he would be allowed back in should he go. Amr arrived in the UK in 2022 and is married to personal trainer Aya.
Amr came on a student visa, gaining a Masters degree in human rights and is now a case worker for Revoke, a grassroots organisation which advocates for young, displaced people.
“Deep inside me, I long to return and help rebuild my country and city,” he said. My wife and I can’t wait to go back and see my beloved city, but to make an affirmative decision to return, we need to wait and think logically, and think about everything thoroughly and wisely.”
His son has been at school for two years and he and Aya work full time and have integrated themselves into British society in Greenwich.
“To my wife and I, the fall of the Assad regime wasn’t even on our calendar,” he added. “Now that it has happened, it has upended the family’s plans for the future. We didn’t think Syria would be free – but now it is.
“What I am certain of is that I can see myself in Syria again in the future, alongside my family and loved ones, helping to rebuild and continuing the fight for freedom and liberty. We are stepping into a new reality, one that will undoubtedly come with challenges and obstacles. Still, I firmly believe that my peers and I have a major role to play in Syria’s future, and we want to be part of it – a new future where Syrians are in charge of their own country, united by our shared aspirations.”
Jamal Ahmed, 33, who lives in Nottingham, can barely recall visiting Syria as a child. His parents fled in the 1970s when dictator Hafez al-Assad took power.
Jamal’s family was politically opposed to Hafez and was forced to flee to Saudi Arabia because of the threat of being arrested and killed back home. Jamal grew up in exile before living in Turkey, from where he arrived to the UK in 2019 to study a Masters degree in public health at Nottingham University, and he now works as a commissioning officer for adult social care and health for Nottingham Council.
He told the Mirror: “It’s hard to put into words what I felt when I heard the news that Assad’s regime was no more. It was like Eid, like the biggest celebration you can imagine. That night, no one in my family could sleep. We stayed up, glued to the news, laughing, crying, and embracing this impossible feeling of joy.
“It was surreal—too good to be true, almost as though we were afraid that if we blinked, the news might vanish, and we’d wake up from the dream. Happiness flooded me, yes, but it was not pure or simple. Beneath the joy, there was a gnawing ache of homesickness, a longing for a home I had never really known.”
He described his “tangled” relationship with Syria having not lived there, but how it has “always been my home in my heart”.
“I was born and raised in a different country, yet Syria defined me—through my name, my passport, my identity. But it was also the place I never felt safe enough to visit, let alone live in. For Syrians like me, who grew up in exile, this moment is even more bittersweet.
“It’s the hope that the people of Syria can finally live without fear, without the shadow of oppression. But at the same time, it’s a reminder of everything we’ve lost a long time ago – family, memories, a sense of belonging. I have no family left in Syria now. Some fled like I did; others were lost to the war. The idea of going back feels impossible…
“Syria might be free of Assad, but I don’t think it’s safe to live in – not yet. And for me, it’s more complicated. I’ve built a life here in the UK, a life that wasn’t easy to create. Uprooting that and returning to a country I’ve never truly known would mean starting over again – this time, in a land where I have no family, no roots, only the faint echoes of a history I never lived.
“I would love to visit my country and learn more about where I come from. I’ve grown to be foreign to my land, so visiting Syria is something that I am planning to do, but not stay there.”
He described the life he has built for himself in Nottingham, where he works and has best friends that feel like family, and where he has a sense of stability and of home and belonging.
“The UK gave me what Syria, even after the overthrow of Assad, cannot yet offer: the freedom to dream, to feel secure, and to live without fear. Thinking about returning to Syria now feels like trying to reconcile two worlds—one I’ve been forced to imagine and one I’ve actually lived in.
“I built my life on the understanding that there was no future for me in Syria. I made choices, big and small, with that reality in mind. Now, for the first time in over 13 years, I find myself contemplating something I had buried long ago.”
