Ahmet, 80, is an Arab Alawite from the Turkish border province of Hatay. He used to be a truck driver. His family’s story is typical of the many clans that the Turkish-Syrian border cut in two like apples decades ago. Here is how he tells his story: “My grandfather Yusuf and his brother Sahin were dispatched to Yemen to fight in Ottoman ranks. Both defected from the army, unaware of each other. Grandpa Yusuf had been wounded when he defected. The brothers met in Syria by pure chance. Sahin was ready to carry his elder brother on his back all the way back to Antakya. Grandpa Yusuf, however, told his brother 'to go alone and save himself' as he would probably not survive. Sahin was haunted by a guilty conscience for having left his brother behind. Even on his deathbed, he uttered his brother’s name. Years later, a man from Syria came to the village, saying he had come to find relatives from the Haddur clan. He said he was Yusuf’s son. We couldn’t contact him again after he left.” Ahmet’s grandson chimes in: “Please, don’t mention our surname. Al-Qaeda people are around in Antakya, the situation is critical. We don’t want to become a target as a family.”
The Syrian crisis has revived bonds between Syria and Hatay, which joined Turkey through a referendum in 1939. As the bloodshed in Syria escalated, divided families began to look for each other. The turmoil has hurt not only the Alawites in Hatay’s districts of Antakya and Samandag but also Sunnis in the third district, Reyhanli, as well as Sunni Arabs in Kilis and Akcakale along the border and Kurds in Mursitpinar, Ceylanpinar and Nusaybin further to the east.
