PHOTO ESSAY
Seven years of torture by Assad’s executioners: ‘I will never forgive them’
From our special correspondent in Syria – Accused of belonging to the Palestinian group Hamas, which was then Bashar Al-Assad’s bĂȘte noire, Mohamar Ouda was arrested by the Syrian army in Yarmouk in 2015. He spent seven years in prison, where his executioners inflicted all kinds of torture on him that still haunt him day and night.
Issued on: 08/01/2025 -
AFP
Mohamar Ouda in front of his devastated home in Yarmouk on January 4, 2024.
© Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Once, they thought he was dead. Ouda was thrown on a pile of corpses. For two days, he remained there, among the remains of prisoners who had finally succumbed to their torture.
"I only lost consciousness," says Ouda, who languished in Syrian jails for years. "When I woke up in the middle of all these dead, I heard [the jailors] say: 'Look, he's still breathing! He's moving his head!'"
Mohamar Ouda was imprisoned by the Syrian regime for seven years. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Rendered unconscious, but not quite dead. Ouda had been unable to endure yet another torture session by the executioners of the "Palestine Branch", a prison in Damascus known for its cruelty. He may also have fainted due to hunger. "I have diabetes. They gave me honey and put me back in my cell."
Seven years being tortured and starved. Ouda was arrested at the age of 54 by the Syrian army in the Palestinian refugee camp of Yarmouk, not far from Damascus, on July 7, 2015. He was then accused of possessing weapons and of belonging to Hamas, an enemy of the Assads because it had supported rebel groups during the Syrian civil war.
The repression was fierce against those who lived in "little Palestine". Hundreds of people were arbitrarily arrested. Some are still missing.
Read more'Palestinians by blood but Syrians at heart': Residents of Yarmouk refugee camp dream of revival
‘I suffered all kinds of torture’
Ouda’s flesh bears the marks of his years of incarceration. His cyan gaze is a constant reminder that he was tortured: He lost an eye. "They hit my head with a bar. It opened me up all the way here," he says, lifting his cap to reveal a huge scar on the right side of his skull. "They tore out all my toenails."
Ouda stops. He sobs. The painful memories never leave. How can he not be haunted, when for years everything was aimed at humiliating and breaking him?
But Ouda wants to continue telling his story, to bear witness to an inhumanity unimaginable for ordinary mortals.
"Since I was diabetic, they were forced to feed me. And that made them angry. They tortured me even more afterwards."
He struggles to find the words. The horror is unspeakable.
"I saw all kinds of torture. I suffered all kinds of torture. I saw people die." He chokes back a sob. "They didn't need us to talk during interrogations, they wrote whatever they wanted in their reports. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't sleep at night."
His health deteriorated rapidly in 2022. "Because I was sick, they threw me out on the street." He weighed only 45 kilos.
Ouda asked a passerby to lend him a phone. Despite the years of incarceration, he had not forgotten his wife's number. "When she picked up and I told her who I was, she didn't believe me. She screamed, 'You're a liar, my husband is dead!' And then she hung up."
After seven years without news, it was indeed impossible to believe that Ouda was still alive. Few detainees ever returned home before the sudden fall of the Assad regime on December 8.
An estimated 15,393 people died under torture, according to the Syrian Network for Human Rights. But Ouda did not give up. His only thought was of seeing his wife again; he needs her. So he decides to contact his sister.
"She told me that everyone thought I was dead. We had to send my photo to my wife for her to believe me. She kept saying, 'You were dead, you were dead.' And she was crying."
Mohamar Ouda's house is located in one of the most destroyed parts of the Yarmouk camp. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
After being reunited with his loved ones, Ouda only wanted one thing: to settle back into his house in Yarmouk. But when he tries to do so, he is immediately summoned. Someone has seen him and probably reported him.
Under the Assad regime, every move Syrians made was spied upon and denunciation was encouraged. The former prisoner realises he needs to hide; he knows that if he is re-arrested, he will never make it out again.
Ouda and his wife are looking for a new apartment in Damascus. Far from the camp. He says he gets by, he "tinkers" here and there. He manages to survive.
In addition to the psychological after-effects of his detention and his litany of suffering, Ouda must live without his three children. "My first wife (Ouda has multiple wives) left with them when I was arrested. She supported Bashar al-Assad. I haven't seen them for ten years." He cries again. His gaze darkens.
Read more'Death camp': the haunting history of Syria's Sednaya prison
The kitchen of Mohamar Ouda's partially destroyed house. © Assiya Hamza France 24
‘I demand that they be judged for their crimes’
With the fall of the regime, everything has changed. Or almost. Ouda is now full of hopes and dreams. He has even rediscovered Yarmouk and started to clear out what remains of his house, which was largely destroyed by the years of war.
"Today, everything is going well, Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah). I wish for a happy and peaceful life. I would like to go and see my mother, who lives in Germany. Inshallah (If Allah wills), I will rebuild, little by little, and come back to live here," he says, in what was once the summer living room of his house.
It is a project that is undoubtedly key to his own rehabilitation. Like many Syrians, Ouda displays impressive resilience. The regime has not broken him.
"I won," he says.
Emotion overwhelms him again when asked about his tormentors. "I demand that they be judged for their crimes. And even if they are not judged on earth, I believe in the Last Judgement. I will never forgive them."
Mohamar Ouda in what remains of the summer living room of his house in Yarmouk. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
'Palestinians by blood but Syrians at heart': Residents of Yarmouk refugee camp dream of revival
From our special correspondant in Yarmouk, Syria – The Yarmouk Palestinian refugee camp near Damascus was devastated by the Syrian civil war. The scene of violent clashes between Bashar al-Assad's regime and rebel militias, including the Islamic State (IS) group, little remains of a once-thriving area but ruins and desolation. Yet a number of its inhabitants have chosen to return, hoping to rebuild their “little Palestine”.
Issued on: 06/01/2025
By: Assiya HAMZAFRANCE24
AFP
A levelled part of the Yarmouk refugee camp seen on January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
It's an apocalyptic landscape, with ruined shells of buildings almost as far as the eye can see. Facades that are somehow still standing are riddled with bullets. The Palestinian refugee camp of Yarmouk, in the southern suburbs of Damascus, bears the scars of 13 years of brutal war in Syria. With the fall of the regime of Bashar al-Assad, the remaining inhabitants of the camp dream of seeing their “little Palestine” reborn.
“In 1957, UNRWA (the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees) distributed land so that the Palestinians could build housing,” says Fahmi al-Mouhab, whose parents fled Galilee in 1948 during what he calls the Nakba, or catastrophe, the forced Palestinian exodus following the creation of the state of Israel.
“People lived in tents. There was nothing. No water or electricity,” he says.
Fahmi al-Mouhab never left the Yarmouk camp, even at the height of the war on January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Wearing a traditional keffiyeh scarf, 60-year-old Mouhab talks about the history of the camp, a 2.5-square-kilometre area, from the comfort of his cousin Mona's living room. The small space, with pristine white walls, is furnished with burgundy sofas decorated with yellow motifs and two coffee tables covered by embroidered doilies. The well-kept decor almost makes you forget the devastation outside.
Mona al-Mouhab on the porch of the house that she rebuilt in 2021 in Yarmouk on January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Mouhab remembers the early years of poverty when the isolated community had to fend for itself, with no help from the Syrian government, “without even transport to get to Damascus”. But then things began to change. “More Palestinians arrived and shopkeepers established shops with the stocks they had brought with them from the exodus,” says Mouhab, a former painter. “Little by little, there were jewellery and clothing stores. They created a real economy.”
Although Yarmouk was not officially recognised by the authorities as a refugee camp, UNRWA built schools and dispensaries. Built on land just 8km from central Damascus, the camp eventually became one of the capital's most important districts, a thriving commercial centre that attracted Syrian investment. The area increased in population and by 2011 totalled 160,000 Palestinians at the height of Yarmouk's prosperity.
Fahmi al-Mouhab's Syrian residency card on January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Years of suffering under Assad
Mouhab is at times interrupted by his family members, who don't let him finish his sentences, but he remains unperturbed.
Mona al-Mouhab, on the other hand, is itching to tell her Yarmouk story. “We're not used to freedom of expression,” she says. “Before, when Syrian television came to the camp, we hid so as not to talk because we were afraid.”
Fahmi takes the opportunity to slip away for a smoke in the alcove.
“We suffered a lot. In the beginning, there were no toilets,” Mona says. “The children would come home covered in mud every evening because the streets were unpaved. My father had to dig a well so that we could get water, and my sisters and I had to haul up buckets of earth” as he dug.
“We worked very hard so that our children could go to school. Today, they are lawyers and writers. They've succeeded.”
Mona al-Mouhab left the Yarmouk camp in 2012 to escape the bombings. She moved back in 2021. Picture taken on January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Mona pauses. Her round face, surrounded by a white hijab, lights up with a broad smile as Fahmi reappears. After settling back at the end of the sofa, he reminisces about the dark years of the 1980s. Bashar Assad's father Hafez al-Assad was still in power, and he had a visceral hatred of Yasser Arafat, then leader of the Fatah movement and the Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO).
At the time, the Assad regime considered Yarmouk an opposition stronghold and many Palestinians were imprisoned. “There were roadblocks at the entrance to the camp and the shabihas (literally “ghosts”, or government militias) questioned everyone,” Fahmi recalls.
Many of the buildings in the al-Mouhab family's neighbourhood in Yarmouk have been gutted, January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Given the tensions with the Assad regime, the inhabitants of Yarmouk decided in the 1990s to focus on the camp’s economic development and turned away from politics.
But in 2011 the Syrian civil war, which saw diverse factions challenge the Assad government, upended the status quo in Yarmouk. Although the camp’s inhabitants argued for a neutral stance in the conflict, different Palestinian factions began to take sides. In December 2012, fighters from the Free Syrian Army and al-Nusra Front, the Syrian branch of al Qaeda, entered Yarmouk.
The camp’s various Palestinian groups were quickly routed. “People supported the revolution because they felt close to the Syrians. They looked after the wounded and hid fighters,” says Fahmi. “Then the fighting intensified on all sides. We had to hide in our homes because there were snipers everywhere.”
‘People used to eat grass’
On December 16, 2012, the Syrian air force fired a missile at the Abdul Qadir al-Husseini mosque, where hundreds of people had taken refuge. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Assad's regime bombed Yarmouk for the first time on December 16, 2012, a date Mona and the other inhabitants of Yarmouk will never forget. A missile killed dozens when it hit the Abdul Qadir al-Husseini Mosque, where more than 600 displaced people had taken refuge. This precipitated a mass exodus from Yarmouk, as 140,000 inhabitants fled the violence, leaving everything behind.
The exodus included Mona and Mayssa, Fahmi's wife. Fahmi himself didn't leave – he says the thought never crossed his mind. He stayed, like 20,000 other people. “The strikes were indiscriminate. Sometimes it was impossible to go out for days,” he says.
Abdul Qadir al-Husseini Mosque
Abdul Qadir al-Husseini Mosque © © Assiya Hamza France 24
And so began the darkest days in the history of Yarmouk. Located just a few kilometres from central Damascus, the camp became a strategic position for rebel groups. The regime responded by imposing a total blockade. No NGOs were allowed in. Food became scarce, prices soared, and then famine set in.
“People were eating grass and prickly pear leaves. I know a family who ate cats and dogs,” says Fahmi. According to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights (SOHR), more than 200 people died of hunger. “We had water for one hour a day and to heat ourselves, we burned everything we could find,” he recalls.
‘I was happy to come back and rebuild’
Jihadist groups took control of the camp in 2014. A year later, al-Nusra Front was ousted by the Islamic State (IS) group. The inhabitants of the camp were witness to further horrors, including atrocities committed by the IS group.
When the Syrian regime regained control of Yarmouk in 2018, only 200 inhabitants remained, according to the UN.
Many thought no one would ever return to live in this devastated place, which had endured years of being shelled day and night by aircraft and artillery. But they underestimated the resilience of its inhabitants, who have gradually returned over the years even though nothing has yet been rebuilt.
Children play in front of the Abdul Qadir al-Husseini mosque in Yarmouk on January 4, 2025. © Assiya Hamza, FRANCE 24
Mona returned in 2021. There was almost nothing left of her house. “There were just a few walls, and the ceiling. But I could no longer live in my five square metres in Damascus,” she says, explaining that landlords in the capital wanted “millions” for rent. “I was happy to come back and rebuild.” Unable to return to the land of their ancestors, the inhabitants of Yarmouk cherish their “little Palestine”.
“My life and my heart are here, not elsewhere. Even if I watch YouTube videos of my grandparents' village, it all started here,” Mona says. “Our children were born here. I'm happy to be here, even if I'm also sad to see all the destruction. Hamdulillah (Praise be to God), we are well off compared to those who have nothing left.”
The Yarmouk Palestinian refugee camp near Damascus
The inhabitants are rebuilding their homes by themselves with simple bricks. Yarmouk, January 4, 2025. © © Assiya Hamza France 24
Today, around 3,000 families live in the camp, a total of around 9,000 people – some living in absolute squalor. This landscape of desolation and ruins is reminiscent of the images of Gaza, some 300 kilometres away.
“The Israelis were inspired by what happened in Yarmouk to destroy Gaza,” Mona surmises.
Like their Syrian brothers, the Palestinians of Yarmouk celebrated the fall of the “Butcher of Damascus” on December 8. “We took part in this revolution. Our children have known nothing but war,” says Mona. “Now we want to live in freedom.”
It is a message of hope hammered home by her cousin. “We'd like to rebuild, to start a new life, without injustice, with rights,” says Fahmi, who dreams of opening a small business.
“Life is a struggle. My blood is Palestinian – and my heart is Syrian.”
This article has been translated from the original in French.