"May God Bless the Hand that Works": Stories from Displaced Syrian Farmworkers during Covid-19

بارك الله في اليد التي تعمل
“May God Bless the
Hand that Works”
Stories from Displaced Syrian
Farmworkers during the
COVID-19 Pandemic
Illustrated by
Sophia Neilson
Written by Mackenzie Klema
and Ann-Christin Zuntz
Based on interviews by
Shaher Abdullateef, Salim Faisal Alnabolsi and Esraa Almashhour

Illustrations by
Sophia Neilson. To learn more about Sophia’s art,
follow her on Instagram and Twitter @soofillustrates.
Printed by Altan Ozyurt Matbaacilik, Ankara
500 copies, May 2021
For more information about the Refugee Labour under
Lockdown Project, please visit
https://www.onehealthfieldnetwork.org/refugee-labour-under-lockdown
Partners
Çankaya Mah. Üsküp Cad. 16/14
Çankaya - Ankara, Turkey
+90 (553) 211 38 97
Funders

This research has been funded by the Arts and Humanities Research
Council (AHRC) and the Modern Slavery and Human Rights Policy and
Evidence Centre (Modern Slavery PEC).
The Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) funds world-class,
independent researchers in a wide range of subjects: history,
archaeology, digital content, philosophy, languages, design,
heritage, area studies, the creative and performing arts, and much
more. This financial year the AHRC will spend approximately £98
million to fund research and postgraduate training, in collaboration
with a number of partners. The quality and range of research
supported by this investment of public funds not only provides
social and cultural benefits and contributes to the economic success
of the UK but also to the culture and welfare of societies around
the globe. Visit the AHRC website at: ahrc.ukri.org, on Twitter at
@ahrcpress, and on Facebook search for the Arts and Humanities
Research Council, or Instagram at @ahrcpress.
The Modern Slavery and Human Rights Policy and Evidence Centre
(Modern Slavery PEC) was created by the investment of public funding
to enhance understanding of modern slavery and transform the
effectiveness of law and policies designed to prevent it. With the
high-quality research it commissions at its heart, the Centre brings
together academics, policymakers, businesses, civil society,
survivors and the public on a scale not seen before in the UK to
collaborate on solving this global challenge. The Centre is a
consortium of six academic organisations led by the Bingham Centre
for the Rule of Law and is funded by the Art and Humanities Research
Council on behalf of UK Research and Innovation (UKRI). Read more
about the Modern Slavery PEC at www.modernslaverypec.org.
Acknowledgements
This graphic novel would not have been possible without the cooperation
of 80 Syrian, Jordanian, Turkish and Lebanese intermediaries and
employers, who agreed to be interviewed remotely for the Refugee Labour
under Lockdown Project. The authors would like to thank the Arts and
Humanities Research Council and the Modern Slavery & Human Rights Policy
& Evidence Centre, for funding this project and thereby bringing
together academics and practitioners based in Scotland, Turkey, Jordan
and Germany. We are also very grateful to Kate Robertson, Middle East
Advisor and Syria Programme in Region Coordinator from the Council for
At-Risk Academics (Cara), whose support made it possible to
include displaced Syrian academics into this research.
Disclaimer
The views expressed in this novel are those of the authors and not
necessarily of the Arts and Humanities Research Council and Modern
Slavery PEC.

The Refugee Labour under
Lockdown Project
The COVID-19 pandemic has brought untold devastation to millions
of lives. But the impacts of COVID-19 are not equally distributed.
Marginalised populations, including people of colour, persons
with disabilities, indigenous people, the elderly, women and
children, refugees, and migrants, are more at risk of getting ill,
and more vulnerable to the socio-economic impacts of COVID-19.
Internally and externally displaced Syrians have been deemed
particularly vulnerable during the pandemic. Ten years of conflict
have forcibly displaced 6.2 million Syrians within Syria itself,
with another 6.7 million Syrian refugees worldwide. Most of them
have taken refuge in neighbouring Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, and
Iraq, countries with their own ongoing economic challenges and
fragile healthcare systems. In Middle Eastern host countries that
do not give Syrians legal protection as “refugees”, lack of access
to formal employment and public services pushes them to work in
the informal sector. In agriculture, jobs as day labourers come
with crowded living conditions, child labour and hypermobility
within seasonal migration circuits. Forced Migration Studies
scholars have framed the problem as one of insufficient labour
market integration in countries with weak economies and ambivalent
asylum policies, but they overlook processes of economic
globalisation which have compelled Middle Eastern agricultural
production chains to increasingly depend on cheap, exploitable
migrant labour. The problem is not refugees’ economic exclusion,
but rather the contentious terms of their inclusion into labour
markets that need seasonal and mobile workers.
As COVID-19 lockdowns throw into disorder traditional modes of
working around the world, leaving millions unemployed, the
“Refugee Labour under Lockdown” project explores how COVID-19
related movement restrictions, and disruptions to agricultural
supply chains and workers’ access to fields and greenhouses, have
affected the working conditions and livelihoods of displaced
Syrians in agriculture in the Middle East and their relationships
with intermediaries and employers.
This project brings together researchers from the University of
Edinburgh’s One Health FIELD Network, Syrian and Jordanian
academics affiliated with the Council for At-Risk Academics, and
Turkish researchers from the not-for-profit Development Workshop
Cooperative.

TEAM MEMBERS
Dr Ann-Christin Zuntz, University of Edinburgh (Principal
Investigator)
Professor Lisa Boden, University of Edinburgh (Co-Investigator)
Mackenzie Klema, University of Edinburgh
Dr Shaher Abdullateef, Cara Syria Programme, Academic Centre for
Development and Peace Studies
Dr Esraa Almashhour, Academic Centre for Development and Peace
Studies
Dr Salim Faisal Alnabolsi, Academic Centre for Development and
Peace Studies
Sophia Neilson, University of Edinburgh
Sinem Sefa Akay, Development Workshop Cooperative
Bürge Akbulut, Development Workshop Cooperative
Selin Ayaeş, Development Workshop Cooperative
Ertan Karabıyık, Development Workshop Cooperative

Remote research during a pandemic
This graphic novel is based on remote semi-structured
interviews with 80 Syrian agricultural workers in Turkey,
Jordan, Lebanon, and northern Syria, which we conducted
between November 2020 and January 2021. In addition to
the interviews, we asked our Syrian participants to
document their daily lives for us through “work diaries”,
i.e. pictures and videos shared on WhatsApp.
The “Refugee Labour Under
Lockdown” project is led
by Dr Ann-Christin Zuntz,
a Lecturer in Anthropology
of Development at the
University of Edinburgh.
Sinem Sefa Akay, a
Turkish researcher,
conducted interviews
with agricultural
intermediaries and
employers in Turkey
and coordinated
contributions from
the Development
Workshop team.
Read more about our remote ethnographic research methods
and the results of the “Refugee Labour Under Lockdown”
project here:
https://www.onehealthfieldnetwork.org/refugee-labour-under-lockdown

Participants in this study were recruited through the
professional networks of Dr Shaher Abdullateef and Dr
Esraa Almashhour, both Syrian agricultural scientists,
and Dr Salim Alnabolsi, a Jordanian economist.
While interviews
with Syrian
workers were
conducted in
Arabic by our
Syrian and
Jordanian
colleagues, data
were analysed
jointly by our
entire team.
This graphic novel
was designed and
illustrated by
Sophia Neilson,
a Scottish artist
with a study
background in
Social Anthropology.
The text was written
by Mackenzie Klema, an
international development
researcher and practitioner.

SYRIA has been in a civil war since 2011.
What began as peaceful, pro-democracy protests
calling for President Bashar al-Assad’s
regime to resign has turned
into a brutal, decade-long
conflict that has left
more than half a
million people dead
or missing.
The war has internally
displaced more than 6.2
million Syrians, mostly
to northeast and northwest
Syria, the only
governorates that
remain outside
government control.
TURKEY
TURKEY
Humanitarian needs within
Syria are incredibly high.
95% of people lack adequate
healthcare and 70% lack regular
access to clean water. 80% of
the population now lives in poverty.
LEBANON
Lebanon has the world’s highest per
capita concentration of refugees.
Today, 1 in every 5 people in Lebanon
(1.5 million total) is a Syrian
refugee.
Lebanon is not a signatory to the 1951
Geneva Convention and the government
has taken an increasingly restrictive
policy stance toward refugees. Since
2015, the government has ordered UNHCR
to stop registering Syrian refugees and
asylum seekers are now denied entry to
the country. The government’s “no camp”
policy also prevents the establishment
of formal Syrian refugee camps.
Since fall 2019, Lebanon has been in
the worst economic crisis since its
1975-1990 civil war. The crisis has
caused soaring currency inflation
and widespread protests.
lebanon
jordan
jordan
SY

Arrows on the map represent displacement
journeys for the Syrians interviewed in this
study. Green dots are birth locations in
Syria and red dots are current sites of
refuge in northern Syria and neighboring
host countries.
TURKEY
Turkey has a population of 3.6
million Syrian refugees, making
it the country with the largest
absolute number of refugees in
the world.
Turkey is a party to the 1951
Geneva Convention, but not to
its 1967 protocol, and doesn’t
recognise Syrians as “refugees”.
Instead, Syrians are under
“temporary protection”.
RIA
Footnotes:
SYRIA
**UNHCR: The United Nations
High Commissioner on Refugees
(UNHCR) is the UN agency
mandated to aid and provides
legal protection to refugees.
See more at www.unhcr.org.
JORDAN
More than 95% of Syrian
refugees in Turkey live outside
of refugee camps (officially
called Temporary Shelter
Centres).
Large numbers of Syrians have
found employment in agriculture,
particularly in the southeastern
provinces bordering Syria.
There are 660,000 Syrian refugees in Jordan,
less than 20% of whom live in official
refugee camps.
Jordan is not party to the 1951 Geneva
Convention, but UNHCR is allowed to register
refugees and administer services in refugee
camps and urban areas.
Since 2015, Jordan has closed its borders to
Syria, prohibiting Syrians from seeking
asylum in the country.
Syrian refugees may be deported for being
unregistered or working without a work
permit.
**The 1951 Refugee Convention (also called the Geneva Convention) and its 1967
Protocol are the key multilateral treaties governing protection for refugees
worldwide. The Convention defines who a refugee is, establishes the rights of
refugees, and clarifies the responsibilities of the nations party to the
Convention with regard to providing asylum.

Doing ethical research during the pandemic
Doing research with vulnerable Syrian populations, in the midst of an
ongoing pandemic, brings with it particular ethical challenges. The
Syrian participants in this study are doubly vulnerable: as displaced
people in countries with ambivalent refugee-reception policies, and
as disposable workers in the informal economy. At the same time, the
involvement of Syrian academics who have been displaced themselves
has encouraged us to reflect more on the emotional toll that this type
of research can take not only on participants, but also on researchers.
In this project, we approach ethics in ways that go beyond a one-time,
bureaucratic tick-box exercise. We understand ethics as an iterative
and collaborative process, and as an ongoing conversation within our
team, in which the different positionalities of all team members, and
their different ways of relating to the data, are fully acknowledged.
More than distant observers
All of our interactions with team
members and participants happened
virtually, usually over Zoom or
WhatsApp. Still, even from behind
our screens, remote research that
seeks to document displacement and
labour exploitation is a highly
emotional experience. Our research
process was complicated by travel
restrictions, family members
falling ill, and the additional
professional and caring duties
that the pandemic has created for
so many. We have attempted to
practice an ethics of care in our
relationships with one another,
and with our Syrian participants.
This included regular debriefs
with all Syrian and Jordanian
interviewers, who were at the
forefront of data collection
for this project.

Horizontal partnerships
& valuing Syrian expertise
In this project, we avoid extractive
forms of research that use academics
from affected communities and study
countries as “research assistants”,
frequently exploiting their labour,
while downplaying their contributions.
All team members in this project were
involved in all stages of the research
process and are credited as co-authors
on all publications. We firmly believe
that Syrian academic expertise is an
overlooked resource in designing
culturally sensitive and sustainable
humanitarian responses to Syrian
displacement. By including Syrian
agricultural scientists in this study,
we help ensure that our findings are
relevant to improving labour
conditions for Syrian agricultural
workers during the pandemic, and to
rebuilding Syrian agriculture in
the long-term.
RETHINKING CONSENT
Social science handbooks urge
researchers to seek informed
consent from their
participants in writing.
However, the conditions of
remote research, and the
limited literacy of many
Syrian participants, make
it impossible to ask them
to sign written consent forms.
To ensure that all
participants freely agreed to
take part in interviews and
data collection, and were
fully aware of how their data
would be used, we devised a
staggered consent protocol:
several days before the
interview, all participants
received participant
information sheets and consent
forms in Arabic via WhatsApp.
We also sent them an Arabic
voicemail that explained
their role in the project
in lay terms. At the
beginning of each interview,
the interviewer explained the
consent process again. In this
way, seeking consent became a
conversation, rather than a
one-way interaction, with
participants.

“Knock on the door before you come in”
DATA PROTECTION
This drawing is based on a photo, taken in September 2020,
that was shared with us by our partners from Development
Workshop. It encapsulates one of the ethical challenges
that we face in this project: the need to respect and
protect Syrian refugees’ privacy and boundaries of intimacy.
Publishing ethnographic data about refugees’ work in the
informal economy may put them at risk of prosecution by
host country authorities and provoke acts of retaliation
from agricultural intermediaries and employers. From
previous research, we also know that Syrian women are
often uncomfortable with sharing pictures and videos of
themselves with researchers, especially men. Instead of
sharing ethnographic data with the wider public, they form
the basis for this graphic novel. To protect the identity
of our interlocutors, names have been changed and some
characters have been conflated.

Si eue
hadw.
T
eae
in,
us pr
eint, n
w i i...
T ste
e t tl...

Before the pandemic,
our team used to
travel to the
Middle East for
our research.
We did not fully
appreciate what a
privilege this was
at the time...
ANN
SHAHER
In December 2019, Ann and Shaher visited Nabil at
his home in slahiye, in southwestern Turkey.
Ann and Shaher reminisce fondly about
their visit to Nabil’s house... after a long
day of fieldwork, his home felt very peaceful.
Whilst
technology
has allowed
our team to
keep doing
research
with Syrian
farmworkers
during the
pandemic,
NABIL, 38
Household size: 4
Occupation in Syria: Agricultural engineer
Birthplace: Zawiya mountain, Syria
Current location: slahiye, Gaziantep, Turkey
nothing can
replace the
taste of the
sweet tea they
drank in his
house…

Back in Syria, Nabil was an
agricultural engineer for
rural development projects.
He has a
master’s degree
in agricultural
economics and was
planning to
complete his PhD
before the
war started.
In Turkey, he hasn’t been able to find a job as an engineer, as
the work permit is too expensive and it isn’t easy for Syrians to
get skilled jobs.
Instead, Nabil has taken up beekeeping.

Nabil learned beekeeping
through an International
Organization for Migration
(IOM) livelihood programme
training in 2019.
They gave him all of the
materials he needed to get
started.
Development organisations have
increasingly sought to foster
refugee self-reliance through
livelihood training programmes,
with the goal of improving
refugee welfare and promoting
a transition away from dependence
on short-term humanitarian aid.
But many refugee self-reliance
projects haven’t had success in the
long-term because they rarely
address the extenuating legal, social,
economic, and environmental conditions
that keep Syrian refugees at the
margins of local labour markets...
Taken at face value, the concept
makes sense,
“Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime…”

ريحان
Ann remembers the basil, , that Nabil had growing
in little plastic buckets on the stairs to his house
because it reminded him of Syria.
“This house is comfortable, but I don’t own the
window, and I don’t own the front yard where I
can put my chair and drink my tea.”
Ann and Shaher sat in
Nabil’s house and drank tea
sweetened by the honey from his
bees, and he told them about his
beekeeping...
In 2019, he had 9 beehives
and sold his honey for
100 TRY ($14.25)/kg in the
local market. He also worked as
a supervisor at a local school,
but he still struggled to pay
the rent for his family’s house.

One year later, in
December 2020, Nabil
sends Shaher photos
and videos, via
WhatsApp, of him and
his Syrian co-workers
taking care of their
beehives.
Nabil travels between
Mersin and İslahiye to
visit his bees, but
the pandemic has
made beekeeping
more difficult.
Ongoing movement
restrictions make
it hard for him to
access markets and
sell his honey,
and thus he has
had to decrease
his production.

Nabil tells us he has honey
for when we visit him next...

When Leila was a young
girl in Syria, her
family grew cotton
and wheat on
their land in
the countryside
south of
Aleppo.
Leila, 16
Household size: 10
Occupation in Syria: Student
Birthplace: Southern Aleppo Province, Syria
Current location: Zahlé District, Lebanon
Soon after the war started, there was heavy shelling in the area and
her father was injured, so her family decided to flee to Lebanon.
Ten years later, Leila is 16 years old and her family of ten lives
in a small two-room apartment in the Beqaa Valley of Lebanon.

Leila’s father can no
longer work due to his
injury, and her older
brother has been
disabled since birth.
So Leila and her mother
Muna must provide for
the family by working
in agriculture.
Muna
When the pandemic started, Muna temporarily lost her job
during the nationwide lockdown.
At the same time in Lebanon, the currency inflation soared, meaning
that food and basic items became incredibly expensive to buy.

Before the pandemic started, Leila would
only work during school holidays or on
the weekends.
When Leila’s school
eventually reopened
after lockdown, she
wasn’t able to return.
Her family had
accumulated so many
debts that Leila
had to start
working full-time.

Leila and Muna currently work
in greenhouses, harvesting beans
and stringing the vines up with
thread.
W omen are chosen to do
Their boss requires social
distancing, but Leila and
Muna can still work
together since they are
part of the same family.
As a young
Syrian woman,
Leila feels
uncomfortable
working alongside
so many
men who are
not part of
her family.
this work because they
have
nimble
fingers...

Since the pandemic started,
Leila and Muna’s employer has
paid them less consistently.
His business has suffered from
the pandemic, as agricultural
inputs have become more expensive
and it is more difficult for
him to export his crops.
Even though Leila and Muna’s
family suffers without the
regular income, they are too
afraid to complain. They
have learned this the hard way.
Muna’s previous boss got angry when she brought up the poor
working conditions. When she threatened to report him to the
police, he harassed her and burned down the family’s tent,
which they had pitched on his land.
“W h t acp e cniin... clnt f Go .”

When Leila and Muna arrive home at the end of a long day,
their work is far from finished.
While Muna prepares dinner,
Leila looks after her younger siblings.
She must also wash the cloth masks
that she and her mother use
everyday at work.
There are more chores to do since the pandemic started.
The family cleans their tent every day, and they bathe
the children and do their laundry more frequently.
“M Ar by ruh w
ha d’ h t u
a
h a
.”
Leila has two teenage brothers, but they
don’t help with the housework.
While Leila cleans,
she tries to
remember her
studies, in the
hope that she can
return to school
someday...

Adil, 35
Household size: 5
Occupation in Syria: Student
Birthplace: Zammar, Aleppo Governate, Syria
Current location: Kafr Ruhin, Idlib, Syria
When the Syrian civil
war started, Adil was
25 years old and had
just finished his
university degree
in law.
He was working as
a lawyer and dreamed
of one day becoming
a judge.

Adil and his family
fled their home in
the countryside south
of Aleppo after their
family home was bombed
and his father was
killed.
Adil was displaced to Kafr Houm,
an internally displaced persons
(IDP) camp in rural Idlib, in
northwestern Syria, on the
Turkish border. Adil took up
work in agriculture to support
his mother and his sister’s
daughters. The family needs the
income because the cash support
from UNHCR is too irregular.

Adib found his job through his
uncle, Karim, who is a shaweesh,
an agricultural middleman. Karim
has lived in Idlib for several
years so he knows the agricultural
employers in the area and helps
newcomers find work.
karim
Agricultural intermediaries like
Karim get a cut of each worker’s
wages, but it’s worth it, says Adil.
His uncle helps guarantee that his
employer will pay Adil, and Adil
can complain to him if he has a
problem with his boss.

Karim pays for the minibus
that takes Adil and his
co-workers to the fields.
Karim has to hire more
buses these days because
he wants the workers to
socially distance during
the ride. Higher costs for
transport are deducted
from Adil’s wages.
Adil likes to sit in the trunk
with the hatch open - he hopes the
fresh air will prevent him from
catching the virus.

Adil is responsible for
spraying the olive trees
with pesticides. Women
aren’t allowed to do this
job because it is considered
bad for one’s health.
After hours of work, Adil and his male co-workers take a break
under the shade of the olive trees to eat lunch. They eat
flatbread, tomatoes, labneh (yoghurt-like cheese), and tiny pickled
eggplants brought from home. Afterward, they drink tea and smoke.

Adil has a good voice, so sometimes his co-workers
ask him to sing for them as they rest.
“I am very tired, this is my case now, but I only bend my
head to God, the generous. You come to me everyday with a
thousand stories... as long as you speak to my back, then
this means you are behind me. May you not be harmed by
a person whose face shows tiredness, this life changes
colours, let us look forward to coming days....”

“Fr wla t
e, n r e
t wla...”
Some days, Adil
is too tired to
sing and he sneaks
away to nap
underneath an
olive tree.
He often works
fourteen hours a
day. Sometimes
it feels like
his life is just
work and sleep.

Despite his hard work, Adil worries about how he
can support his family.
During the pandemic, Adil only gets paid 10 TL a day
($1.38). Food is much more expensive now, too.
Food prices in Syria
are now 33 times
higher than before
the war. The World
Food Programme
estimates that 60%
of the Syrian
population is
food insecure.
“ Wha c w i 10 Lr
xp f ea? ”

Adil fears that
his family will get
sick with COVID-19 in
the IDP camp where
they live.
“Bef, ue t
hue,
w,
n h i
d ea.”
Their tent is just one
room, and there are
six of them.
How would they self-isolate if someone
got sick?
When he is
home, Adil
helps his
mother and
sister with
cleaning
and
disinfecting.

Adil has adapted to his new life, but
he hopes he can one day return to his
legal profession to stand before the
court as a defender of human rights
in Syria.

Rafiq has been a shaweesh
for over a decade. Before
the war, Rafiq and his team
used to migrate seasonally
for work in agriculture,
working in Lebanon in the
summer and Syria in the
winter.
Rafiq , 35
Occupation in Syria: Agricultural intermediary (shaweesh)
Birthplace: Sheikh Saeed, Aleppo, Syria
Current location: Qob Elias, Lebanon
“When the war broke out in my country, I stayed in Lebanon with
the workers I supervise, and we were joined by so many others.”
“I yl ec eu, I cl n ln g t Ap.”
In Lebanon, Syrian migrant
workers have long been
crucial to economic
growth, especially in
“unskilled” sectors such
as construction and
agriculture. It has
even been said
that . . .
“Lbn wa
i Si use”

“We began to build a tent for every family seeking refuge in the
camp and helped them with our available means. UNHCR also
offered some help and refugees in the camp supported each other.
Some offered money, a pillow, sheets...”
“We lived there with the hope that the situation would stabilise
in Syria and we could return home. But as you saw, the war
evolved.”
The camp now
numbers
408 people.
“As the shaweesh in the camp, I was tasked by the Lebanese
authorities with monitoring who enters and leaves the camp
and with addressing any dispute.”
“Our relationship is good,
we come from the same
home country.
The female worker is
like my sister,
and the male
worker is like
my brother.”

Rafiq provides Lebanese landowners with labour. Most of the
Syrian workers have never even met their employer - they only
interact with Rafiq.
Rafiq currently
employs 110
women and 35
men, as well
as 50 children,
some of whom
started working
in agriculture
as early as
9 years old.
Rafiq’s team also includes
pregnant women. Rafiq
explained to us,
“If they don’t work,
they will go hungry.”
He tells us about a time
when one of his female
workers gave birth while
at work.
Men get paid a daily wage of
15,000 LBP ($1.34), while
women and children get paid
10,000 LBP ($0.89).

To manage his workforce, Rafiq
also employs three assistants
and an accountant. These
helpers drive workers to the
fields and supervise them.
“A c i nsiii
i mna n l
r fiil.”
Rafiq makes a living from
a commission on his workers
wages, 1,000-1,500 LBP
($0.12) per person.
The pandemic and currency
inflation have reduced
Rafiq’s income by more than
75%. Before the pandemic,
he made $3,000/month. In
winter 2020, he only made
$700.

The economic crisis in Lebanon, made worse by COVID-19
lockdowns and the August 2020 explosion in the port of Beirut,
has hit Syrian refugees hard.
The municipality has forced the workers
to reduce their shifts by 50% due
to the lockdown. And, because of the
rampant currency inflation, Syrian
farmworkers can barely afford basic
expenses. Rafiq explained to us...
“Before the
pandemic, the
exchange rate was
1,500 LBP/1 USD,
now it's
8,550 LBP/1 USD.
We used to
buy a pack of sugar
for 18,000 LBP -
now it's 90,000 LBP.
At the same time,
workers' wages
are worth less.
A woman used to
earn the equivalent
of 5 USD, now
her wages are worth
1.5 USD.”
Rafiq offers his workers an advance payment if they need it.
“We give them as much as we can , we help each other until
God helps us improve our conditions.”

Rafiq feels frustrated by the lack of support for his workers.
Since agricultural businesses have suffered during the
pandemic, Lebanese employers hire fewer workers, and sometimes
they cannot afford to pay their wages.
The Lebanese government does little to support Syrian
farmworkers either. Rafiq wishes that there was paid sick
leave or health insurance for workers, especially during
the pandemic. If his workers get sick, they are responsible
for their own medical bills.

Rafiq has a difficult line to toe,
between making sure the landowners
receive a good supply of labour,
and ensuring the rights and
wellbeing of his workers.
Rafiq feels a
strong kinship
to his workers,
whom he lives
alongside in
the camp.
“There is no difference between them and myself.
I have breakfast with them and we chat, I arrange
weddings between some of the female workers and the
young men from the camp. A shaweesh is like family
elders, I am the person that workers call in the
middle of the night if they’re sick. We are one family,
there is bread and salt between us.”

Fadwa used to be a housewife
in Syria, and she sometimes
farmed in the orchard
next to her house
because she loved to
be surrounded by the
greenery.
These days, her family lives in
slahiye, Turkey, and she works
with her husband in
agriculture.
Fadwa, 46
Household size: 6
Occupation in Syria: Housewife
Birthplace: Latakia, Syria
Current location: slahiye district
Gaziantep, Turkey

“I c us
i i
Fadwa suffers from a
herniated disc in her back,
and she is the oldest female
worker on the farm. She
insists on working every day
from 6 am - 5 pm, with only
one 10-minute break.
n
wat f
w”

In the winter months, Fadwa and
her husband are paid to harvest
olives.
Many women use
their head scarf
or face veil to
protect themselves
against COVID-19.
Fadwa stands on an old
metal drum so she can reach
the olives in the tree.
A large cloth spread out on
the ground below catches the
olives as she picks them by
hand. Fadwa’s back hurts
from moving the metal drum
through the olive grove.

Fadwa sits on a tarpaulin
with other female workers,
removing leaves,
sticks, and
the bad
olives.
After the olives are
harvested, it’s time to
sort them.
A toddler plays in the pile of olives while the women work.

Fadwa’s husband sits nearby
sorting olives with a group
of men,
who smoke
cigarettes
and chat as
they work.
Sometimes, Fadwa is able to do the sorting with a metal sieve.
The tool
makes the job
go much faster.
Another woman pours
the olives onto the sieve,
and Fadwa guides the
leaves and sticks through
the cracks.
All bagged up
& ready to go!
The good olives fall down onto a tarp and then are put into burlap
sacks to be loaded onto a truck.

On other days, Fadwa’s employer
drops off a truck of dried red
chili peppers at her home.
Together, the whole
family can process a
ton of chilis in
a day. Fadwa and the
other women sit
together and remove
the stems.
For sorting
100 kg of
peppers,
Fadwa earns
35 TRY
(about $5).
The peppers are a
regional specialty
of the southwest
of Turkey.

Fadwa isn’t sure how many more years she can go on working in
agriculture
… her back hurts at the end of each day.
But she always remembers
the Arab proverb,
“The hand that
works is better
than the hand
that does not
work, and the
hand that
does work is
loved by God
and His
Messenger."

Ibrahim, 49
Household size: 6
Occupation in Syria: Driver and farmer
Birthplace: Rural Hama, Syria
Current location: Dayr ‘Allah, Jordan
Ibrahim and his
family of six live
near Irbid, Jordan,
in an informal tent
settlement next to
the greenhouses
where he and his
adult sons work.
Before COVID-19, the
family moved more
than three times
per year for work.

Because of the pandemic, we cannot visit
Ibrahim in person, so he gives us a tour
of the camp, while his son films him with
his smartphone.
birds’
Singing
“Ti i hu.”
“Ti i baro,
ha ’ wa .”
“Ti i cnt
e wa f
n n con.”
Arabic
pop
music
“I p 8 D
($1.25)
f wa
.”

“Cl l e
hue n nt”
“H i rn, y
c e n w
rn.”
“O , h
w wa
?
F fe
h e
lae.
I wl t
ga
t ea wa.”

Greenhouses
toilet
“home”
satellite
dish
Plants
&
HERBS
water tank
Generator

Ibrahim and
his sons make
1 JOD/hour
($1.41).
Meanwhile, the
local Jordanian
workers earn 20%
more, and the
employer gives
them breakfast.

Ibrahim cannot afford to give all of his children an
education, so he chooses to educate his daughter.
But for his
daughter, he
thinks
education is
a weapon to
protect her
and her future.
He believes his sons are tough
and able to cope with the hard
life of being a migrant
farmworker.

Ahmed is from
Idlib, in
northwestern
Syria, where
he used to
be a farmer.
Since 2012,
he has made
a living as
a seasonal
agricultural
worker
in Turkey.
AHMED, 53
Household size: 8
Occupation in Syria: Farmer
Birthplace: Jisr al-Shughur, Syria
Current location: Adana, Turkey
Ahmed didn’t speak
any Turkish when he
first came to Turkey,
so he relies on a
Turkish intermediary,
called “elci” or
“dayibas”, to find
work.

Ahmed and his family migrate regularly for work.
TURKEY
Islahiye
gaziantep
Adana
al-Shughur
Syria
They spend summer in Gaziantep province,
harvesting peppers and pistachios,
the autumn in slahiye,
harvesting grapes,
and the winter in Adana,
picking citrus fruits…
Ahmed and his family need to get permission
from the local authorities each time they
travel between provinces. This is one of the
many legal challenges for Syrian workers who
move with the agricultural seasons.

During the citrus harvest,
Ahmed becomes one human
link in a smooth assembly
line that involves picking,
sorting, carrying, and
packing lemons and oranges
and loading them onto
lorries.

During the citrus
harvest,
there are
no fixed hours.
Loading the lemons
always takes
longer...
than loading
the oranges.
Because lemons have thorns.

“Growing up to be a
farmworker...”
Ahmed has two sons, aged 13 and
14. because Since the family schools needs have the income. gone
remote due to COVID-19, Ahmed’s
sons join him in the orchards.
Ahmed worries that the work
m
is too tiring for their
young bodies.
But their family needs the
income...

* *
Some of Ahmed’s co-workers have
been hospitalised with COVID-19.
**
***
* *
There are sometimes sick people
on the bus.
Ahmed and his sons wear the
same face mask to work
every day.
*
But Ahmed’s employer doesn’t care. “Who dies, dies...”

Even though Ahmed and his sons work in the fields almost
every day, they are paid less now.
The family copes by cutting costs.
At the market, they buy the cheapest vegetables.
The intermediary gives
Ahmed a "wage card" at the
end of each day, which
serves as proof of his
labour that day. When it's
time for him to get paid,
Ahmed turns in his wage
cards to the intermediary.
The family hasn’t eaten meat for over a month.

Despite the hard work,
Ahmed and the other
Syrians find ways to
make the days easier.
As the workers wait
for their bus to
take them home, they
dance to pass the time.

Before the war, Suhair lived
in rural Hama, Syria with her
husband and children. She
tells us that she used to
have a very privileged life.
Suhair , 38
Household size: 7
Occupation in Syria: Housewife
Birthplace: Rural Hama, Syria
Current location: Kafr Hum Camp,
Syria
In 2014, her husband was
arrested by Syrian police.
She still does not know
whether he is dead or alive.
Suhair was pregnant when her
husband disappeared, so the
child has never met her father.

Due to the bombings, Suhair and her six children were
displaced to rural Idlib in northwestern Syria.
Her family now lives in an IDP camp and she works in
agriculture, picking olives and vegetables.
There are many risks for women working in agriculture
in northern Syria …

Sometimes there are bombings
close to the fields where
Suhair works.
There have also been cases of
kidnapping.
Sometimes the farmworkers have
clashes with the Syrian army.
Suhair was most afraid when she was pregnant. She was nervous to
climb the ladders to pick olives. Sometimes she also works near
to where the men spray pesticides. She knows of other women
in her work group who have had miscarriages. But she was
lucky and her baby was born healthy.

What pains Suhair most is
that she can’t send all of
her children to school. Her
15 year-old son must stay and
watch the younger children at
home when she goes to work.
Her adult son Khalid now works
in the fields with her.
Khalid was 12 years old when
the war started, now he is 21.
“This war has lasted for almost
ten years now, there is no
stability. For those children
who were at the beginning of
their education , they dropped
out. Also, because of the
difficult living conditions,
they started working with
their parents so they could
contribute to the family
income, and many schools
were destroyed in the
bombings.”

Being a single mother is hard, especially during the pandemic.
“I worked every
day in the last
month , my body
is exhausted.”
Despite the back-breaking work, Suhair only earns 5-8 TRY
(less than $0.95) per day. So she sold the family’s mattresses
and carpet that they used for sleeping. Without these items,
Suhair’s family is colder in their tent during the winter,
but what else can she do?

“I am selling our
possessions one
after the other…”
She hasn’t been able
to feed her children
meat in more than
six months.
“I can see meat
in my dreams...
the children beg
me to buy it.”
“The area where we live is full of widows
and martyrs. Women have to work to
provide a living for their children .”
Nonetheless, Suhair still keeps hope that her husband is alive
and the family will be reunited someday.

Before the pandemic
hit, Zahid and Aaliyah
used to move four times
a year with their six
children as part of the
seasonal agricultural
migration circuit in
Jordan.
Zahid and Aaliyah, 33 & 31
Household size: 8
Occupation in Syria: Farmers
Birthplace: Rural Hama, Syria
Current location: Madaba, Jordan
Due to the family’s
frequent relocations,
their children don’t
go to school and
their older sons
sometimes help on
the farm.
But when the Jordanian government imposed strict national
lockdown orders, the family couldn’t move anymore. The
family was without work for five months and they
accumulated 1,100 JOD in debts ($1,550).

Finally, Zahid and Aaliyah
found a new job in Madaba,
in central Jordan, through
a family friend.
They were hired by an
employer that owns a
large poultry farm.
Their boss gave them a shipping container to live in, rent free.
While generous, this reliance on employers for basic needs can
create relationships of dependency or put refugees at risk
of eviction...

Every morning, Zahid and Aaliyah go to work with the chickens.
The scale of the poultry
farms in Jordan is much
bigger than back home in
Syria. Their boss
currently raises more
than 5,000 chickens.
In the chicken house, Aaliyah
first feeds the chickens by
putting grain in their feeders.
Next, she sweeps the rooms
where the chickens are held.
Meanwhile, Zahid collects the eggs. This is a man’s job because
it requires grabbing the chickens and removing them from their
roosts. Aaliyah does not like doing this because the
chickens peck at her hands.

For their work,
Zahid and Aaliyah
make 250 JOD ($350)
per month.
The couple is paid less than
their Egyptian co-workers.
The Egyptians are permanent
employees with proper
contracts, and their boss
has chosen them to be the
supervisors at the workplace.
Since their wages at the poultry farm are lower than during the
harvest season with their old employer, Aaliyah works more
hours now than she used to.

Zahid is concerned about the
physical and psychological
stress that the added
work has put on his wife.
Zahid tries to reduce the
pressure on his wife by
helping out more at home.
If he finishes his work
before Aaliyah, he goes home
and does the laundry, bathes
the children, and cleans
the house.
Zahid also helps
by cooking dinner
more often. This
job is not a big
chore for him,
since he enjoys
cooking.
“I helped her before Corona, and I am helping her now, because
she is my wife and it's my duty. Marital life is all about sharing,
it's not shameful if I sometimes do the dishes and the cleaning. We
don't have relatives here in Jordan who could help my wife with
the children , that's why I help her with everything.”

In Syria, Faisal studied agricultural engineering,
and later worked as a businessman importing computer
parts into Syria. When Faisal and his family were
displaced from Syria in 2015, Faisal had the
know-how and capital to start a new business in Turkey.
Ann
SHAHER
Faisal, 43
Occupation in Syria: Agricultural engineer; businessman
Birthplace: Damascus, Syria
Current location: Tarsus district of Mersin, Turkey
When Ann and Shaher visited Faisal in
2019, his business had expanded to include
offices in Istanbul and Mersin (Turkey’s
largest coastal port), and a farm in Niğde
province to grow fragrant plants for oils
and perfumes. Faisal was also exporting
his products to Lebanon, Jordan, and the
Gulf states.
Faisal rents
32 acres of
land in Tarsus,
in south-central
Turkey, and now
runs a large
nursery for
decorative
plants and
fruit trees.

Faisal has learned to
speak Turkish, and
he and his family now
have Turkish citizenship.
With his newfound
citizenship, Faisal is
saving up to buy the land
that he was previously
only allowed to rent.
When the war ends, Faisal
tells us that they will
stay in Turkey.
Still, despite
Faisal’s success, there
are challenges for
Syrian business owners
in Turkey.
Faisal relies largely
on traditional horticultural
methods, while his Turkish
competitors can afford
better technology.
He would also like
to export his plants to
Europe, but he struggles
to compete with Turkish
producers in regional
markets.

The COVID-19 pandemic has also brought additional difficulties
for Faisal’s business. Lockdowns have disrupted supply chains
for agricultural inputs like seeds and fertilisers, and have
limited his access to markets. Currency inflation has also
made agriculture less profitable.
Faisal explains that even though there is
less demand for his plants, he still has to
pay to keep them alive, so his profits
have decreased to $1500/month.
Faisal has coped with the losses by decreasing production
and letting some of his workers go.

Faisal employs 20
workers at his plant
nursery in Tarsus. Some
of the workers are day
labourers and others are
more permanent staff.
Most of Faisal’s workers
are Syrian, because they
are cheaper and more
productive, he explains.
MOHAMMED
Faisal feels a sense of solidarity with the Syrian workers.
He provides workers with job training, as well as meals.
He tells us,
“I ls Si
, h wa ls n.”
Mohammed is one of Faisal’s
permanent staff. In Syria,
Mohammed was an engineering
student and his wife studied
special education. Mohammed
arrived in Turkey in 2017. He
paid $1,500 to get smuggled
across the border, and his
wife joined him in Turkey
later.
Faisal offered Mohammed a
permanent position: controlling
the temperature inside the
greenhouses at night.

Mohammed and his wife and baby daughter live at the nursery in
a small container-like house, provided by Faisal, along with
electricity and water, for free. Mohammed and his family are
the only staff to live on-site.
Mohammed is responsible for guarding the nursery at night.
He keeps a security monitor in his house so that he can watch
the nursery in the evening while he watches TV series in Turkish
to improve his language skills, since he doesn’t have time
to take classes.
In 2019, Mohammed made 2,020 TRY/month ($244). He explained
to Ann and Shaher that, with the free housing, this is a very
good job for a Syrian refugee in Turkey.
But Mohammed still makes only the Turkish legal minimum wage,
and he doesn’t have health insurance...

Mohammed must stretch his salary thin. Every month, he sends
$100 “south” to his family back in Syria.
His parents in Syria
are retired, and he
also has three
brothers back home.
Before the pandemic,
Mohammed’s cousin
travelled from Turkey
to Syria to collect
the remittances.
“Eyd I h ie
cl i f...
wrs n i t
f r ’ lae.”
Mohammed misses his family, but he does not plan to go back
to Syria because his parents tell him the situation is
still very bad.

The stories of Faisal and
Mohammed illustrate how
displacement may entrench
social differences between
Syrian refugees...
While Faisal and Mohammed both
come from educated backgrounds,
their socioeconomic positions
in Turkish society are wildly
different.
Whilst Faisal has found economic opportunity and citizenship
in Turkey, Mohammed and his family are still limited in their
opportunities for upward social mobility.

Hasan, 42
Household size: 8
Occupation in Syria: Teacher & farmer
Birthplace: Southern Aleppo Province, Syria
Current location: Qob Elias Camp, Zahlé District, Lebanon
Back in
Syria,
Hasan was
a schoolteacher,
but he
also did
some
farming
at home.
“I
s
cn-
i
n
lva
ln.”
When the war began, Hasan’s family fled to Lebanon and settled
in an informal refugee camp in Qob Elias, in the fertile Beqaa
Valley. Qob Elias is close to the Syrian border and is
home to more Syrian refugees than Lebanese citizens.

Hasan tried to find a
job as a teacher, but
no one would hire him.
Lebanese schools prefer
to hire Lebanese
teachers.
In the end, Hasan
was employed as a day
labourer in agriculture.
Hasan has a disabled
child, whose medicine
is very expensive, so
the family needed the
income. UNHCR and other
NGOs in the camp provide
cash support to refugees,
but it is not enough.
Hasan found his job
through an agricultural
intermediary. The
intermediary is Syrian,
but he and Hasan have a
difficult relationship.
Before Hasan started
working, he was promised
a higher wage.
But Hasan and the
intermediary only have
a verbal agreement, so
there isn’t much he
can do...

Hasan rides to work in a tractor with other Syrian
workers who live in the camp.
Hasan
At work, Hasan’s responsibilities vary with the season.
In the winter, he harvests mellons and loads them
into the back of a lorry.
Other days, he drives a mechanical tiller to prepare the
fields to rest over the winter months.
Some of the produce from the farm gets exported to a large
market in Damascus … Hasan reflects on how odd it is that
he can’t go home, yet the fruits of his labour can...

Hasan works alongside Syrians and Lebanese, but the
relations between the two groups can be tense. Because
of the pandemic, there is less work, and some of the
Lebanese workers blame the Syrians for taking their
jobs. A Lebanese co-worker hit Hasan during an argument,
but Hasan felt too afraid to complain to their boss.

When Hasan finishes work, he has to make sure to return to
the camp before curfew at 7 pm. The Lebanese government
has instituted movement restrictions and curfews for
Syrian refugees in informal tented settlements in
an attempt to stop the spread of COVID-19.
Back in the camp, Hasan
volunteers to educate the
children. He has set up a
small school, and he helps
the children with
their homework.

Our team asked Hasan about the transition from being a
teacher to being a farmworker full-time. He told us...
“I i’ I’ w i l, u I’ ru
yl. I’ rc bstae ei e ifi
e. Ti j i fl f , f i lw t
p f Lbn .”

To concl ude...
In March 2021, Shaher travelled
to northwest Syria to deliver
agricultural trainings to
internally displaced Syrians.
While almost all academic research is still being conducted
remotely due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Shaher visited
many of the people and places featured in this study.
SHAHER
It was an
important
reminder
to us that
not all work
can be done
remotely,
particularly
in rural,
conflictaffected
communities.

For our Syrian colleagues,
this research project
is deeply personal.
SHAHER’S
MOTHER
During his recent trip,
Dr Shaher met with his
mother, who now lives in
a camp, and whom he had
not seen for more than
five years because of
the war.

The publication of this graphic novel in spring 2021 marks two
grim milestones: on 15 March 2011, major anti-government protests
in the streets of Damascus heralded the beginning of the Syrian
conflict. Ten years later, 6.6 million Syrians live as refugees,
and 6.7 million people are internally displaced. On 11 March
2020, the World Health Organization declared the outbreak of
COVID-19 a pandemic.
After one decade of displacement, most of the protagonists on
these pages still live in legal limbo in Syria’s neighbouring
countries, with little humanitarian assistance, and make ends
meet in the informal economy. Their survival work in agriculture,
often in remote rural areas, might go under the radar of host
authorities and humanitarian agencies, but it leaves traces in
the orchards, fields and greenhouses of the region. During the
pandemic, displaced Syrians, alongside other migrant and seasonal
workers, grow the food for their hosts - they might be barely
visible, but the product of their hard labour ends up in
supermarkets and on people’s plates all over the Middle East.
Despite the pandemic and ongoing conflict, Syrians are busy
rebuilding their lives. In this graphic novel, we have told
stories of struggle, but also of resilience - of Syrian families
and communities supporting one another through acute crises and
protracted displacement. Through the remainder of the pandemic
and beyond, it is Syrians themselves who will be integral to
local, community-led approaches to recovery and renewal.

About the one health
field network
The “Refugee Labour under
Lockdown” project and this
graphic novel were produced by
members of the One Health
FIELD Network…
The One Health FIELD Network
is a multidisciplinary
collaboration of researchers,
development practitioners, and
artists. Started by Professor
Lisa Boden at the University of
Edinburgh in 2019, our team is
diverse in background and
expertise.
We are veterinary epidemiologists
and public health specialists,
social anthropologists,
agricultural scientists, visual
and sound artists, clinical
psychologists, environmental
scientists, and more.
Our team is spread across the
globe, with a core team in
Edinburgh, Scotland, and
research colleagues in Germany,
Turkey, Jordan, northwest Syria,
Iraqi Kurdistan and Lebanon.
Our mission is to achieve One
Health through improving the
long-term preparedness for
threats to food security by
increasing food system resilience
and support sustainable
development in fragile and
conflict-affected states. Our
work has started with a series of
projects focused in and around
Syria.
All of our work is done in
partnership with Syrian academics
supported by the Council for
At-Risk Academics (Cara), a
British NGO that provides a
lifeline to academics at risk.
Learn more about the One Health FIELD Network at www.onehealthfieldnetwork.org and
keep in touch with our work by following @OneHealthFIELD