A Syrian's risky choice to help young Iraqis heal

The psychiatrist persevered, building a rapport with the children, making them feel safe and earning their trust. The Sunni, with cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a graying, neatly trimmed moustache, also had to overcome the sectarian suspicions of the children, most of whom were Christians.

"I was very touched that it didn't take them long to trust me – a Muslim – after what they'd seen and been through," he says.

"The Iraqi Muslims fear each other too much," he says, explaining his reason for working mainly with Christians. If he'd helped Sunnis, he says, he might be perceived as aiding only his own, while Shiites, he feared, might not get past his sectarian identity.

He created an Iraqi-Syrian dictionary to help the children understand the different northern Levantine dialect of Arabic spoken in Syria. Shared meals helped cement the bond between doctor and patients.

Naim's work was "heartwarming," says Sister Therese Msallam, a wiry woman with graying hair that peeks out from under her navy-blue habit. "The children started laughing. They made friends. They had self-confidence again."

The Sisters of the Good Shepherd are one of a handful of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) partnering with the UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) in Damascus to assist Iraqi refugees through vocational training, medical assistance, food handouts, and now, psychological therapy.

UNHCR is working with other UN agencies like UNICEF to establish a system to tackle the problem of psychologically wounded Iraqi refugees. The idea, according to Mai Barazi, UNHCR's assistant community services officer in Damascus, is to help NGOs identify, refer, and treat the most vulnerable.

"It's challenging in Syria because of a lack of NGOs – there are no international NGOs and limited local ones," Barazi says. "The country itself doesn't have an existing system for this."

Barazi said Naim's initiative was exemplary. "He had the will. This is how you should do things in Syria. The more you ask for partners or help, the more complicated it gets, and bureaucratic. A year can pass and nothing happens."

Naim is already refining his technique for the next group of 30 children he hopes to treat after Easter. He wants to get parents more involved in the therapy – to have them supervise drawing competitions, for example, and speak to their children about the tumultuous events that have uprooted them.

"The aim is to let the community help itself," he says.

Noor, meanwhile, appears to be well on the way to recovery. The friendly girl, who has warm dimples and a shy smile, is back at school, although she still insists that her mother walk her there and pick her up.

She credits Naim's sessions with helping her regain a semblance of normality. "He helped me empty my heart of my worries," she says. "He helped me forget a little of what I went through."

Page: 1 | 2