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Emergency workers battle wildfires in Syria

Emergency workers battle wildfires in Syria

Al Jazeera06-07-2025
Emergency workers battle wildfires in Syria NewsFeed
Syria's Civil Defence teams are battling wildfires sweeping through northeastern Syria, with the coastal region of Latakia among the worst hit. Emergency workers expressed concerns that unexploded ordnance from the war might be contributing to the rapid spread of the flames.
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‘We belong to this land': Syrians navigate landmines to battle wildfires
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‘We belong to this land': Syrians navigate landmines to battle wildfires

Qastal Maaf, Latakia, Syria – Abu Jameel Muhammed's weathered hands, blackened by soot and ash, trembled as he patted the scorched earth around what remained of his beloved olive tree. At 80, the Syrian elder had survived a brutal civil war, economic collapse, and international sanctions – but the sight of his charred courtyard companion reduced him to tears. 'Villagers rescued me as flames approached my home … I survived, but my only daughter on this land was consumed by fire. It was the last thing left for me here,' Abu Jameel said haltingly, his voice breaking as he referred to the cherished tree that had graced his small home in the Qastal Maaf area of Syria's coastal Latakia province for decades. The elderly man lives alone in what has become the epicentre of wildfires that have ravaged Latakia for more than a week, surviving on money sent by daughters who married and moved abroad – a common story in a country where economic devastation has forced millions to seek opportunities elsewhere. 'My home was the smallest but sweetest in the village… I surrounded it with rose bushes and had one precious olive tree in the courtyard. Now all is gone,' he told Al Jazeera, after the blaze consumed much of his village and forced thousands into displacement. The scene around Abu Jameel's destroyed home reflects a broader catastrophe unfolding across Syria's Mediterranean coast. Wildfires have consumed more than 14,000 hectares (34,600 acres) of land over the past week, according to Syria's Minister of Emergency and Disaster Management, Raed al-Saleh, who spoke to Al Jazeera by phone from the front lines. A landscape transformed by fire The steep, narrow roads leading to villages in Latakia's highlands are covered in layers of black mud and ash, making access treacherous for emergency vehicles fighting the wildfires, which have continued despite the best efforts of the Syrian Civil Defense. The air is thick with acrid smoke that burns the throat and stings the eyes, while the once-green mountainsides have been transformed into a moonscape of charred earth and skeletal tree remains. Civil Defense volunteer Muhammed Baradei, 32, emerged from a cordoned-off area in Qastal Maaf during a rare break from battling the flames. His uniform was stained black by ash and humidity, and beads of sweat mixed with the soot covering his forehead and forearms. 'I cancelled my leave when fires started near Latakia. I came from Idlib province to help,' Baradei said, describing a roughly 100km (62-mile) journey that would have been unthinkable during Syria's civil war, as it meant crossing the line between the regime of former President Bashar al-Assad and the opposition. 'We faced unexploded ordnance from past conflicts, steep terrain and shifting winds. Crews from multiple provinces contained many hot spots, but new fires kept igniting.' The inferno, which broke out on July 2, has been fuelled by high temperatures reaching about 35 degrees Celsius (95 degrees Fahrenheit) and strong, dry winds characteristic of Mediterranean summers. But this year's fires carry particular significance for Syria, marking the first major natural disaster response since the fall of longtime dictator al-Assad, and the regime his father established more than 50 years ago, in December. Landmines ignite fires Beyond the immediate challenges posed by steep terrain and unpredictable winds, firefighting teams face a uniquely Syrian hazard: the deadly legacy of more than a decade of conflict. 'One of our greatest challenges was encountering unexploded ordnance and remnants of war,' said Wesam Zeidan, 29, a Civil Defense volunteer who drove from Hama province, far to the southeast of Latakia, to join the firefighting efforts. 'These posed grave risks, forcing us to work with extreme caution and delaying access to affected zones.' According to the United Nations, Syria remains one of the world's most contaminated countries in terms of explosive remnants of war, with an estimated 11.5 million people living in areas affected by explosive hazards. The UN also estimates that there are 300,000 landmines still spread across Syria, ready to be ignited by people unknowingly setting them off. Just between December and June, 369 people were killed as a result of what the UN terms 'explosive ordnance-related accidents', including landmines and other explosive devices left behind by the war. These explosives can also be set off by fires raging in their vicinity. The hidden dangers, scattered across the landscape during years of fighting, now complicate every aspect of the firefighting response. Minister al-Saleh, who joined teams on the front lines, described the scale of damage to Syria's forests as 'heart-wrenching'. According to a statement from the Ministry of Emergency and Disaster Management, at least 12 people have been injured in the firefighting efforts: 10 volunteers suffered severe exhaustion, respiratory distress, fractures or contusions, while two civilians sustained minor burns. 'During my field visits, I saw tremendous efforts to save Syria's forests. Yet challenges grow with intense winds and buried landmines,' al-Saleh stated, highlighting the intersection of natural disaster and conflict legacy that defines much of Syria's contemporary challenges. Years of mounting fire risk Syria has grappled with increasingly severe annual wildfires that have stretched the country's sanctions-hit resources thin even as they were already strained by more than a decade of conflict. The 2020 fires were the worst ever recorded in Syria's history, consuming tens of thousands of hectares across multiple provinces. This past experience, Baradei noted, drove villagers to evacuate promptly as flames approached their homes. 'This significantly lowered the possibility of casualties,' he said. However, the dispersed nature of small, sometimes unofficial settlements scattered throughout the highlands has hampered firefighting efforts, he explained. Zeidan said dense forests and a lack of firebreaks have worsened the spread. The absence of firebreaks – vegetation-free zones intentionally created within forests to block wildfire spread and provide safety areas for ground crews – has been attributed to years of governmental neglect. 'No sooner do we extinguish one fire than another ignites. Due to the dry season, unprecedented heatwaves and intense wind speeds, new hot spots keep erupting,' Zeidan said, his exhaustion evident after days of round-the-clock firefighting. Wind speeds increased dramatically on the second day of the fires, prompting multiple Syria Civil Defense centres and firefighting units from several provinces to mobilise. While they initially controlled numerous hot spots, flames had spread to new areas by the following morning, creating a cycle of containment and reignition that has defined the past week. 'Now the situation is different' The change in Syria's political landscape has fundamentally altered the firefighting response, according to volunteers and officials. During the 2011-2024 civil war, residents from opposition-controlled areas couldn't enter government-held provinces due to security concerns and military checkpoints. 'Before the Assad regime was toppled, we couldn't visit these forests. We didn't care that much when we saw similar news of fires in past summers,' Baradei explained. 'But now the situation is different. We are here and we have to do something.' This newfound unity has mobilised firefighting teams from across Syria's Civil Defense and Forestry Department. Syrian, Turkish, Jordanian and Lebanese aircraft hover above the blazes, providing aerial support for containment operations – a level of cooperation that would have been impossible under the previous government's international isolation. Despite the threats posed by buried landmines and unexploded ordnance scattered across the landscape from years of conflict, Baradei said morale among Civil Defense teams remains high. 'We are acutely aware of how dangerous these wildfires are for Syria,' he said. 'These forests are part of our shared heritage. This is precisely what drives us … because we all belong to this land.' This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.

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Wildfires reopen earthquake wounds in Turkiye's shattered Hatay province
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time09-07-2025

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Wildfires reopen earthquake wounds in Turkiye's shattered Hatay province

Antakya, Turkiye – The darkening sky and thick, acrid smoke carried by scorching winds filled residents of Turkiye's Hatay province with dread. 'It was like waking up, but you're back in a nightmare,' said Hatice Nur Yilmaz, 23, her voice trembling on the phone as she described seeing flames from her container home in Antakya, Hatay's largest city. Yilmaz studies at Osmangazi University, in northwest Turkiye's Eskisehir, almost 400 miles (643 kilometres) away from Antakya. But she was back in her family's temporary home – Antakya is still rebuilding following the earthquake – when the fires broke out in Hatay. And, despite the home being untouched this time, it brought back some of the scars of the past. 'We looked at the sky … confused at first. Smoke billowed from the mountains. The wind picked up and the flames kept rising,' Yilmaz recounted, describing 'the same panic, the same suffocating fear'. Turkiye has been battling wildfires since the end of June, but a particularly bad outbreak at the start of July has killed at least three people and displaced more than 50,000 others. Hatay, in southeastern Turkiye, has been particularly badly hit, stirring painful memories for survivors of the earthquake that devastated this region two and a half years ago. On February 6, 2023, Yilmaz had been fast asleep in her family's now-destroyed home when the magnitude 7.8 earthquake struck near dawn. The quake and powerful subsequent tremors killed more than 53,000 people in Turkiye and destroyed or damaged hundreds of thousands of buildings across the country's south and southeast, including the family's home. About 6,000 people are also believed to have died in neighbouring northern Syria. More than two years after the quakes, Yilmaz's family is among nearly half a million people still displaced, according to the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies. 'As soon as I saw the news [of the fires], I called my uncle's wife because their house was very close to the fires,' Yilmaz said. 'She was weeping. She said, 'We're gathering what we can, they're telling us to flee.'' Yilmaz's uncle had moved to Gulderen, on the outskirts of Antakya, to get away from the city centre of Antakya, where reconstruction work is continuing. The fires consumed fragile threads of normalcy that survivors had painstakingly rebuilt. 'Gardens with fruit trees, vegetables, all burned … but thankfully not their houses'. 'A neighbour's haystack was gone. Animals trapped, perished,' Yilmaz relayed from her call with her relatives. Chaotic self-reliance The wildfires are believed to have been caused by a combination of factors – including human activity and suspected arson – coupled with high summer temperatures in the mid-30 degrees Celsius (95 degrees Fahrenheit) and dry conditions. As flames first engulfed the hillsides, residents reported taking immediate action with improvised methods. Neighbours formed bucket brigades using well water and garden hoses, while others scrambled for generators to power pumps due to electricity cuts. For Ethem Askar, 42, a steel contractor from Antakya's neighbourhood of Serinyol who was involved in volunteer initiatives during both catastrophes, the parallels in disaster response are inescapable. 'Just as it was late in the earthquake, it was the same in the fire,' he stated bluntly, adding that during one of the fires, it took hours for the emergency services to send enough helicopters to put out the blaze. 'If there had been a proper first intervention, this scale of devastation wouldn't have happened,' Askar said. To compensate, Askar and other residents attempted to help out. 'Our group, about 45 volunteers – the same ones who did debris removal, food distribution, teaching children after the quake – we mobilised again,' Askar said. 'The initial response is minimal, then, when it's almost too late, more resources arrive. By the next day, the fire was massive.' He described frantic evacuations, a grim replay of digging through rubble. Firefighters were able to evacuate residents and their animals from highland villages and relocate people to student dormitories and animals to other stables, but the villages sustained significant damage. But Ilyas Yildirim, the chief of Hatay Metropolitan Municipality's fire department, denied any delay in the firefighters' response. 'There was no delayed response to the fire. Our initial response teams were already positioned in Hatay and intervened immediately,' Yildirim said. 'While additional units deployed to address simultaneous outbreaks at four locations, this operation differs fundamentally from earthquake response protocols,' he added. 'No operational delays occurred during the latest fire incidents.' Echoes of an earthquake Like Askar, Yilmaz has also felt as if her family and neighbours have had to rely on themselves to deal with the wildfires – a sentiment similar to that felt during the earthquake. 'There was no electricity … My two uncles … tried with their neighbours to beat back the flames with buckets and hoses, utterly alone,' she said. News of fires breaking out elsewhere in Dortyol being partially extinguished, then flaring again, has become unbearable for Yilmaz. Fires started in Antakya on June 30 and reached Dortyol by July 4. 'It's overwhelming now, staying here. Returning to this city … it feels shrouded in perpetual dust, a city of ghosts,' Yilmaz said. Hatay Governor Mustafa Masatlı said on Monday that 920 households and 1,870 citizens had been evacuated from nine plateaux. Damage assessments continue. While the fires in Antakya and Dortyol have largely been contained, flare-ups continue in other areas, according to department chief Yıldırım. New outbreaks have been reported in places like Samandag and Serinyol, just southwest and northeast of Hatay, respectively. These flare-ups are keeping the firefighters and rescuers on their toes and draining their energy. Across the Dortyol and Antakya regions of Hatay, about 6,500 people were evacuated as a precautionary measure, Hatay Fire Department's Sergeant Deniz Nur said. 'The psychological toll of continuous instability is immense,' Askar, the volunteer, explained. 'People wake up every single day with the fear that something else will happen,' he said. 'Even if they get new housing – and many are still in containers, like my parents were for months – the underlying anxiety doesn't vanish. 'How can you feel normal? I knew a nurse who lived in her car for three and a half months after the quake. Building roads and apartments doesn't erase these experiences. The trauma is embedded,' he said. 'All of us need serious psychological help even after two years,' Askar added. 'I haven't even started processing it myself. There is no time to cry, to grieve properly … We postponed it. We just keep doing what we can.' Life amid the rubble Once known for its rich multicultural heritage blending Turkish, Arab and Christian influences, evident in its architecture, cuisine and festivals, vast swaths of Hatay, known historically as Antioch, remain defined by mountains of rubble. Yilmaz, the student, recalled better times in her large two-storey former family home, when summers meant meeting childhood friends home from university in cafes along bustling Kurtulus Street, now in ruins. Her parents now live in a 21-square-metre (226-square-foot) container comprising one room and a combined kitchen-living area that they keep tidy, folding clothes into storage boxes to make the most of space. In the summers and during holidays, when she and her three siblings return to Antakya from their universities, the whole family spreads mats out on the floor to sleep. 'The biggest problem is the lack of private space,' she explained. 'I used to have my own room that overlooked the mountains … and we would have lots of guests.' Now, gatherings still happen, but people sit on plastic chairs set up outside the containers, playing cards. 'I long to go out, to travel, to simply breathe as a human being. But the old places I knew are gone, demolished,' Yilmaz said. 'Are there new ones? Where? And even if I knew where, how could I get there? Transportation is just one barrier. These problems are piling up, becoming unbearably heavy,' she added. Yet, amid compounded devastation, an unbreakable bond with Hatay persists. Askar moved to a new house only six months ago after living for nearly two years in a container with his wife, 10-year-old son and his parents. 'All my memories, my life, my childhood, my friends, they are here,' he said. 'People from Hatay cannot live or breathe properly anywhere else. After the quake, I took my father away for three months,' Askar added. 'When he returned, he vowed never to leave again, even if he had to live in a container forever. This land is in our blood.' This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.

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