The rebirth of Ranir – fleeing toward freedom

The collective struggle for liberation—whether from a tyrant, the occupation of another country, or an oppressive regime—is inseparable from the personal, daily battles of every individual. Syrian women know this well, having fought for over fifty years against tyranny both outside and within their own homes. Ranir knows it, too. As her country struggles to rise from a decade-long war, she is rebuilding her new life on the outskirts of Damascus, far from the watchful eyes of her parents and her ex-husband.

She is twenty-eight years old and a Christian. A gentle smile lights up her face as she waits at the doorway for her eldest son, Alfredo, to return home, as always, with a bag of bread in his hands.

“I was with my ex-husband for seven years”, Ranir recounts. “Then he did something too unbearable to accept—even for me, who had endured so much for all that time. I had accepted his abuse of my body, but I could not accept violence against my children. That was when I decided I would leave and never go back”.

Two years ago, Ranir fled the home she shared with her husband and their two children. “My house was a nightmare. I couldn’t sleep. I lived in fear that at any moment my ex-husband might beat me, abuse me, or harm my children”, she continues. At first, Ranir sought refuge at her parents’ home and asked for help. “But they, as often happens due to traditions that persist, took me back to him”.

She thought it would be the end for her. But just when she saw no way out—except death—Ranir met the Sisters of the Good Shepherd and their safe house.  “When I was still with my husband, I went to church every day to ask God to save me. There was a woman who always prayed beside me, and soon she realized that my husband was beating me. She advised me to go to the Sisters of the Good Shepherd and ask for help”, she says while preparing Arabic coffee on a camping stove—the only one she owns.

She emphasizes “I still remember the first time I went to see the sisters. It was a Thursday. I arrived at the closed convent door and knocked so hard that they finally opened it. But they told me I had to come back on Monday. I started crying desperately, screaming that I couldn’t go back to my husband or he would kill me—and my parents no longer accepted me. That’s when they let me in”.

Here, among the narrow alleys of Old Damascus, Ranir found salvation, just like the hundreds of other women who have been taken in over the past eight years by Sister Safaa Elbitar and Sister Georgina Habach, who are both Syrian.

“I worked in Africa, in Europe, and for a time in Beirut”, Sister Safaa recounts from the convent room where she welcomes us. “I decided to return because I wanted to help my people. I, too, was displaced and a victim of violence during the Syrian civil war and the Assad regime. I knew that pain all too well—who better than me to help those still going through it?”

So, in 2017, together with Georgina, Safaa opened the Convent of the Sisters of the Good Shepherd in Damascus. As she speaks, her emerald-green eyes shine. “For us, opening this place was a revolution”, she says.

 “When they let me into the convent, I didn’t trust them. I was afraid the sisters were on my parents’ side and would soon send me back”, Ranir admits. “But I had no other choice—either I stayed with them, or I would have killed myself and my children”. Slowly, she began to trust them. “Over time, I started to feel safe. I lived with other women who had escaped domestic violence, and soon I began therapy for myself and my children. I had everything I needed—the sisters, social services, a therapist, and a lawyer. Each one of them changed my life”.

In addition to opening the convent, the Sisters of the Good Shepherd have launched several protection initiatives for women and their families. Foremost among them is the anti-violence center and shelter, which—following the fall of the Assad regime—has been shut down for the time being, awaiting relocation to a secret location to prevent it from being dismantled. The shelter also includes a network of rented homes on the outskirts of the city, where women like Ranir can stay temporarily until they are completely safe and independent. “Beyond the shelter”, continues Sister Sanaa, “we founded the Trust Center, Syria’s first psychotherapy center, where social workers also operate to assist anyone in need, regardless of gender or religion. Then we have the Feminist Support Center for children and their parents. We established Family Re-Liberation, the country’s only couples therapy center. And finally, we run Family Guidelines, which helps young people follow the right path and the word of God”.

Safe with the sisters—but not without a struggle—Ranir finally managed to obtain a divorce. “After receiving psychological support, we started working with the lawyer on my legal documents. When I was no longer legally that man’s wife, I finally felt free”, she says. “I remember always telling my lawyer that this is a world made only for men, and she would get so angry. Being with the sisters taught me that there are ways to fight for women’s rights even within Syrian law. That changed my way of thinking. Now I know that this is not just a world for men, not just a society for men. I will not sit here waiting for a man to win my life for me”.  Tears are welling up in her eyes as she speaks.

The maximum stay at the shelter is usually six months, but if needed, each woman can ask the sisters to stay longer. After five and a half months, Ranir decided it was time to leave. “I felt ready. I felt better than I had ever felt in my life, so I knew it was time to go. Sister Georgina had told me I could stay for a year—that it would be better, especially with two small children—but I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it. Today, I am very proud of myself. I fixed up this house on my own, I managed to buy my own phone, and I have taken on every kind of job I could so as to survive and give my children a dignified life”.

Now, Ranir’s dream is to open a beauty salon—but for that, she must wait. Like everyone else in the country, she does not know what will happen with the new transitional government. And as a woman and a Christian, she fears possible restrictions. “I’m not thinking about getting married again, but as a woman alone, I am not well regarded in the city. Just recently, someone stopped me on the street to ask why I was out alone. No one knows what the future holds”.

If she could ask one thing from the new government, it would be that there be an increase in the financial aid given to single mothers. “By law, my ex-husband gives me about $50 per month, which in Damascus is almost nothing—I can’t even buy vegetables for my children. I want the new government to change this law because freedom comes through laws, even women’s freedom”, she concludes.

As night falls over Damascus, Ranir prepares dinner for her two children while, outside, the Muezzin calls to prayer.

The streets are filled only with men—a stark reminder that Syrian women still fear going out at night.

Text and photos by Lidia Ginestra Giuffrida