In the wake of violent clashes in the southern Syrian city of Suweida earlier this month, thousands were forced from their homes when sectarian fighting erupted between Druze militias, Bedouin factions, and pro-government forces.
The violence, triggered by the abduction of a Druze merchant and retaliatory attacks, culminated in Israeli strikes on Syrian military targets under the pretext of defending the Druze, a small but influential minority that also has members in Lebanon and Israel.
The result: over 1,700 civilians and fighters killed in just 10 days, widespread power and water outages, and a deeply fractured community.
Despite the ceasefire deal between Syria and Israel after foreign mediation, displaced people from both sides continue to suffer from the trauma of the experience. The damage is far from over.
Syria’s Suweida province continues to suffer a humanitarian crisis, with hospitals struggling to cope.
Despite the government denying that there is a siege on Suweida, the situation remains extremely difficult amid shortages in water and electricity, food, and medicine.
Bedouins displaced in Daraa
Eyewitness accounts of Bedouin families in Suweida describe the brutality of the crimes against them, which drove them to seek shelter in the town of Saida in the Daraa Governorate, east of Daraa city, along the Damascus-Amman road.
Displaced families receive aid through a collaborative governmental and humanitarian effort. This assistance, which includes food, medical supplies, and shelter materials, is provided by multiple sources such as the Ministry of Emergency and Disaster Management, the Ministry of Social Affairs and Labour, various humanitarian organisations and associations like the Syrian Red Cross, and other local initiatives.
Abu Ahmad Al-Baddah, 52, hails from the large Bedouin family in the Al-Maqous neighbourhood. The father of seven explained how a false rumour of a Druze man’s car theft quickly spiralled into a hostage crisis when forces loyal to Druze leader Sheikh Hikmat al-Hijri retaliated by hijacking eight cars and kidnapping their Bedouin drivers.
“In response, 15 Druze were taken hostage in return for the Bedouin drivers,” Abu Ahmad, a cattle farmer and father of seven, told The New Arab.
Al-Maqous was attacked with 23mm anti-aircraft weapons, and clashes continued until both sides released the hostages. Still, the next day, the Druze militias continued firing at their neighbourhood until midnight.
“A shell destroyed two rooms and a balcony in my home,” says Abu Ahmad.
“When Israel started bombing and the army withdrew, everything went to hell,” he says.
Abu Ahmad fled with his two sons, his cousin’s children and his livestock. But then tragedy hit when their car was attacked near Tishreen Square in Suweida.
“My son Mahmoud and my brother Abdul Aziz were martyred, and my other son was shot in the arm and leg,” he recounts. “My cousin Amer miraculously survived.”
Abu Hussein, 56, from the al-Maqous neighbourhood, lost two brothers and five cousins in the attack. “They didn’t just kill them, they dissected them with razors,” he says, voice heavy with grief.
“They slaughtered them from behind like animals. We buried what we could find.”
He estimates around 30 people were killed in al-Maqous alone. “They burned homes, looted everything. If we hadn’t managed to get the children, women, and elderly out in time, no decent family would’ve survived.”
Um Khaldoun, 49, was displaced from the village of Ara with her five children. She still cannot understand the reason for the assault.
“There were no disputes with our Druze neighbours, yet they attacked every Bedouin neighbourhood with shells and machine guns,” she says.
“The elderly and the children who couldn’t escape were killed in their homes, and children.”
She fled on foot for three hours through the night, reaching the village of Abu Walad in neighbouring Daraa.
“We lost everything, our livestock, our land, our homes. We left with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
Now displaced, she questions how they can ever return.
“How do we go back after all this killing, theft, and torture? Tribes seek justice. We cannot pretend this didn’t happen.”
Yet she adds, her voice softening, “Killing is forbidden, always. Both sides, ours and al-Hajri’s, committed massacres. But what was done to us can’t be forgotten.”
Um Taha, 38, from Shahba city, lived through one of the worst episodes. “They gave us a deadline to leave, then attacked before the time was up. I saw a family of six executed against a wall... a 13-year-old boy, a young girl, shot from head to toe.”
She gestures toward her daughter, who sits silently nearby with hollow eyes. “A six-year-old girl from that family survived. I watched as they danced on her head, laughing, ‘She’ll bleed out on her own.’ By some miracle, an honourable Druze youth rescued her.”
Her voice breaks as she recalls more: “They dragged a groom, married just four days, behind a car through the streets after executing him.”
Later, they were herded into a mosque. “They covered the windows with blankets and set the building on fire. We nearly suffocated, but God saved us. They moved us to a school, and only after two days of terror did a ceasefire happen. We fled with the first group out.”
The Druze in Jaramana
In the Jaramana suburb, southeast of Damascus, a large Druze community continue to live in fear, despite the geographical distance from Suweida.
Salim Dabbous, 33, stands in front of his father’s clothing store.
“I was born in Damascus, but my roots are from Suweida,” he says, pointing at a picture of a man in traditional Druze attire.
“In every house in Jaramana, there’s a relative or friend in Suweida. The story is no longer just about the armed clashes, but a threat to the social fabric itself."
Sheikh Abu Raed Hamza, a community notable in Jaramana, says what happened in Suweida was a result of accumulations of neglect, absence of law, and the proliferation of weapons outside state institutions, confirming that the role of civil society today is to curb emotional reactions and emphasise that coexistence is not a slogan but a necessity for survival.
“Ongoing communication between activists from Suweida, Jaramana and other areas with Druze populations will ensure that the conflict does not drag on; this serves no one,” says Sheikh Abu Raed.
In a modest apartment he rented for a disproportionate sum of money in Al-Homsi neighbourhood in Jaramana, Shadi Nasr, 28, from al-Thughla town in southern Suweida countryside, describes how he was forcefully displaced to Damascus after tensions escalated in his area.
“I never planned to leave, but things got out of control,” Shadi told The New Arab. “The tribes’ call to arms against Al-Hajri gave me no choice.”
He is now displaced in Jaramana near his relatives.
“But the sense of alienation never goes away,” says Shadi, who worked for an internet services provider. “You can say we fled from bullets, but we didn’t flee from pain.”
Amid the bitterness of separation, Shadi maintains daily contact with his family. He says that his mother, who stayed behind in Suweida, cries every time they speak on the phone.
“We’re not living, we’re surviving,” he says.
“There is a leadership vacuum in Syria,” Shadi adds. “The tribes are angry, the Druze factions are out of control, and ordinary people are caught in the middle, paying the price.”
'We fled with nothing': A mother’s escape into a war-torn city
In a borrowed corner of her sister’s empty home in Suweida city, 36-year-old Druze Rasha Al-Atrash clings to safety with her two young daughters. They fled their village, Al-Mujaimer, when armed mercenaries descended without warning.
“Mercenaries entered in huge numbers and started burning cars and robbing houses,” Rasha recalls.
“My two daughters and I escaped in my car, quickly, with nothing but fear.”
Rasha makes homemade sweets to support her family. Her husband works in Oman. She left everything behind just before the clashes erupted.
“My house was robbed. We don’t even know how we got here. We just hid. Then they came in security cars, and burned and broke everything.”
Once considered peaceful, recounts Rasha, Suweida has become unrecognisable. Armed factions and militias roam the streets, reviving nightmares not seen in over a decade.
Over the phone, her voice shakes: “Electricity has been out for 24 hours. They’re saying they want to exterminate Druze, that they committed massacres at the National Hospital. That there’s no medicine, no supplies, that they’re poisoning the water.”
Rumours swirl like wildfire on social media. The few remaining doctors issued a plea: “Don’t pour more fuel into the fire.” They insist there was no massacre, no poisoned water — just fear weaponised through lies.
For families like Rasha’s, the truth hardly matters anymore. They are trapped, afraid to leave, unsure of what’s real, except the hunger, the darkness, and the sound of gunfire outside.
Majd Obeisi is a Damascus-based journalist, writer and screenwriter
This article is published in collaboration with Egab