Desperate for a New Life

Last year, Ahmad Dandoush, 22, along with two dozen others, crammed into a rubber boat designed for eight people. They set off from Turkey, heading across the dangerous waters of the Aegean Sea—an arm of the Mediterranean Sea—for Greece.  

The Syrians, Afghans, and Iraqis who were packed into the boat were refugees fleeing violence in their homelands. Each had paid $1,000 to smugglers, hoping to reach Europe and its promise of a new life. Dandoush, who grew up in the Syrian city of Latakia, was escaping from that nation’s civil war, which has killed nearly 500,000 people since 2011 and caused millions to flee.

“We all knew what happened to other refugees, that some had died,” Dandoush recalls. “We just wanted to get to Greece alive.”

When they reached the shores of the Greek island of Lesbos, Dandoush was among the first to spring from the boat—his first step on what would become a three-month-long journey across Europe by train, by taxi, and on foot. By the time he arrived in Weimar, Germany, last October, the trip had taken him through five countries: Greece, Macedonia, Serbia, Hungary, and Austria. The journey cost him $3,000 and left him 20 pounds lighter. 

Dandoush is one of more than 440,000 migrants who made their way to Germany last year and applied for asylum—protection given by a government to someone who has left his or her country to escape war or persecution. They’re part of the biggest refugee crisis Europe has experienced since the end of World War II (1939-1945). Germany, with its strong economy and generous social welfare benefits, has been a top destination for the mostly Middle Eastern migrants.

Last year, Ahmad Dandoush, 22, and two dozen other people crammed into a rubber boat designed for eight passengers. The migrants and refugees set off from Turkey, headed for Greece. They traveled across the dangerous waters of the Aegean Sea, which is an arm of the Mediterranean Sea.  

The Syrians, Afghans, and Iraqis who were packed into the boat were fleeing violence in their homelands. Each had paid $1,000 to smugglers, hoping to reach Europe and its ­promise of a new life. Dandoush grew up in the Syrian city of Latakia. He was escaping from Syria’s civil war, which has killed nearly 500,000 people since 2011 and caused millions to flee.

“We all knew what happened to other refugees, that some had died,” Dandoush recalls. “We just wanted to get to Greece alive.”

When the boat reached the shores of the Greek island of Lesbos, Dandoush was among the first to spring from the boat. It was his first step on what would become a three-month-long journey across Europe by train, by taxi, and on foot. Last October, he arrived in Weimar, Germany. The trip had taken him through five countries: Greece, Macedonia, Serbia, Hungary, and Austria. It had cost him $3,000 and left him 20 pounds lighter.

Dandoush is one of more than 440,000 migrants who made their way to Germany last year and applied for asylum. (Asylum is protection given by a government to someone who has left his or her country to escape war or persecution.) These migrants are part of Europe's biggest refugee crisis since the end of World War II (1939-1945). Germany has a strong economy and generous social welfare benefits. That makes it a top destination for the mostly Middle Eastern migrants.

Initially, Germans welcomed the migrants. But integrating these new arrivals, most of whom are Muslim, poses one of the biggest challenges Germany has faced in decades. It wasn’t long before a backlash against the migrants began. 

More than 1,000 attacks on refugee shelters took place in 2015, including 92 cases of arson. Political parties that call for closing the door to more migrants have become more popular. Such groups have also held sometimes violent demonstrations to protest the flood of foreigners.

Fears of Muslim newcomers have been heightened by recent terrorist attacks carried out in Europe by the radical Islamist group ISIS—the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, also known as the Islamic State or ISIL. 

The attacks include one in Paris, France, last November, which killed 130 people, and another in March 2016 in Brussels, Belgium, which killed 32 people. Concerns that terrorists might be let in along with refugees have slowed down the screening process in some countries, including the United States.  

Having made it to Germany, Dandoush is one of the lucky ones. Overwhelmed by the arrival of so many migrants, several countries Dandoush passed through have since sealed their borders. About 50,000 migrants are stranded in camps in Greece until European authorities decide whether to admit them. And in March, the European Union—a lawmaking body in Europe—reached a deal with Turkey to send some newly arrived migrants back to that country.

At first, Germans welcomed the migrants. But integrating these new arrivals, most of whom are Muslim, poses one of the biggest challenges Germany has faced in decades. It wasn’t long before a backlash against the migrants began.

More than 1,000 attacks on refugee shelters took place in 2015. That ­includes 92 cases of arson. Political parties that call for closing the door to more migrants have gained in popularity. Such groups have also held sometimes violent demonstrations to protest the flood of foreigners.

Fears of Muslim newcomers have been heightened by recent terrorist attacks carried out in Europe by the radical Islamist group ISIS—the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. (The group is also known as the Islamic State or ISIL.) The attacks include one in Paris, France, last November, which killed 130 people, and another in March 2016 in Brussels, Belgium, which killed 32 people. Concerns that terrorists might be let in along with refugees have slowed down the screening process in some countries, including the United States.  

Having made it to Germany, Dan­doush is one of the lucky ones. Over­whelmed by the flow of migrants, several countries he passed through have since sealed their borders. About 50,000 migrants are stranded in camps in Greece until European authorities decide whether to admit them. And in March, the European Union, which is a lawmaking body in Europe, reached a deal with Turkey to send some newly arrived migrants back to that country.

From the moment Dandoush crossed the border into Germany last October, he has been trying to assimilate into German culture. His first priority: learning German, with the help of an app made by the German government.

Even though some Germans think migrants like him should be sent back to their home countries, Dandoush wants to put down roots in Germany. First he needs the equivalent of a high school diploma so he can go to college. That, he hopes, will lead to a good job.   

Dandoush fled Syria in 2014—three years after the civil war began—to avoid being drafted into the army of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. Dandoush went to neighboring Turkey, where he worked odd jobs trying to save money. But singing is his passion, and while in Turkey he tried out for Arab Idol, a TV contest modeled after American Idol. He made it onto the show and was invited to the finals. 

But summer—when the waters of the Mediterranean are calmer—was nearly over by the time the call to appear on the show came. Dandoush had saved enough money to travel to Europe. He knew he couldn’t wait. 

Dandoush had to give up his chance at stardom, but thousands of migrants have had to endure much greater hardships.

“Many children and young people have traumatic experiences behind them, from the reasons they were forced to flee to what may have happened en route to Europe,” says Ninja Charbonneau of Unicef.

From the moment Dandoush crossed the border into Germany last October, he has been trying to assimilate into German culture. His first priority was learning German, with the help of an app made by the German government.

Even though some Germans think migrants like him should be sent back to their home countries, Dandoush wants to put down roots in Germany. First he needs the equivalent of a high school diploma so he can go to college. That, he hopes, will lead to a good job.

Dandoush fled Syria in 2014, three years after the civil war began. He fled to avoid being drafted into the army of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. Dandoush went to neighboring Turkey, where he worked odd jobs trying to save money. But singing is his passion. While in Turkey, he tried out for Arab Idol, a TV contest modeled after American Idol. He made it onto the show and was invited to the finals.

But by the time the call to appear on the show came, summer was nearly over. That is when the waters of the Mediterranean are calmer. Dandoush had saved enough money to travel to Europe. He knew he could not wait.

Dandoush had to give up his chance at stardom, but thousands of migrants have had to endure much greater hardships.

“Many children and young people have traumatic experiences behind them, from the reasons they were forced to flee to what may have happened en route to Europe,” says Ninja Charbonneau of Unicef.

One-third of Germany’s new arrivals are children. Young adults under age 26 account for almost another quarter of the refugees. Many hope to continue their education, and the German government is eager for them to do so. 

What Germany’s government doesn’t want is for the newcomers to wind up living in segregated communities. It fears such areas could become breeding grounds for Islamist terrorists, as they have in parts of France and Belgium. 

To prevent that from happening, the German government recently passed an integration law—the first of its kind for the country. It provides refugees with housing assistance, health care, language lessons, and help getting jobs. In exchange, newcomers must adopt Germany’s customs and follow its laws. 

Adapting to a new culture is generally easier for young people than for their parents. Still, many young refugees face challenges. Most of them come from conservative Muslim countries with male-dominated societies. In Germany, Muslim boys are often confronted for the first time with women in positions of authority. And Muslim girls have to balance their families’ expectations of modesty with the couples they see holding hands on the streets and German girls wearing shorts at school.

About 33 percent of Germany’s new arrivals are children. Young adults under age 26 account for almost another 25 percent. Many hope to continue their education, and the German government is eager for them to do so.

What Germany’s government does not want is for the newcomers to wind up living in segregated communities. It fears that such areas could become breeding grounds for Islamist terrorists, as they have in parts of France and Belgium.

To prevent that from happening, the German government recently passed an integration law that is the first of its kind for the country. It provides refugees with housing assistance, health care, language lessons, and help getting jobs. In exchange, newcomers must adopt Germany’s customs and follow its laws.

Adapting to a new culture is often easier for young people than for their parents. Still, many young refugees struggle with more subtle challenges. Most of them come from conservative Muslim countries with male-­dominated societies. In Germany, Muslim boys are confronted for the first time with women in positions of authority. And Muslim girls have to balance their families’ expectations of modesty with the couples they see holding hands on the streets and German girls wearing shorts at school.

Loreena,* a 14-year-old from Syria, is in ninth grade at a German high school in the city of Weimar, where her family now lives in a three-room apartment. Her family belongs to the Yazidi religious minority, a group that’s been targeted by ISIS. The militants have enslaved Yazidi women and girls, and forced them to marry ISIS fighters.  

Like Dandoush, Loreena’s goal is to finish high school so she can go to college. Loreena speaks Arabic, Kurdish, and Turkish, and she’s picked up German. But making friends has proved more difficult than schoolwork.

“The German girls don’t like us,” she says. One classmate she worked with on a school project completely ignored her the next day when they passed each other on the street. Although Loreena doesn’t wear a head scarf, one of her best friends (who’s also a Syrian refugee) does, and the two are often taunted. 

“They call us terrorists and say we are from ISIS,” she says. “That really hurts because we ran from ISIS. They chased us out of our country!”

Loreena,* a 14-year-old from Syria, is in ninth grade at a German high school in the city of Weimar, where her family now lives in a three-room apartment. Her family belongs to the Yazidi religious minority. That group has been targeted by ISIS. ISIS militants have enslaved Yazidi women and girls, and forced them to marry ISIS fighters.

Like Dandoush, Loreena’s goal is to finish high school so she can go to college. Loreena speaks Arabic, Kurdish, and Turkish, and she has picked up German. But making friends has proved more difficult than schoolwork.

“The German girls don’t like us,” she says. One classmate she worked with on a school project completely ignored her the next day when they passed each other on the street. Loreena doesn’t wear a head scarf, but one of her best friends, who is also a Syrian refugee, does. The two girls are often taunted.

“They call us terrorists and say we are from ISIS,” Loreena says. “That really hurts because we ran from ISIS. They chased us out of our country!”

Loreena came to Germany with her parents. Shakir Yakoupi, 15, wasn’t so lucky: He’s one of some 14,000 unaccompanied minors to arrive in Germany last year. Shakir made his way from Afghanistan through Iran and Turkey, and then across the Mediterranean, along the same route Dandoush took. 

Shakir’s parents sent him to Germany on his own out of fear he would be targeted by the Taliban—a group of Islamist militants in Afghanistan and Pakistan. His father, who worked for a German government agency in Afghanistan, is now considered a traitor. 

Once in Germany, each minor who arrives without any family is assigned a legal guardian and a place to live, either with a foster family or in a group home. They’re enrolled in school and given a monthly allowance of about $160. 

At the start of the last school year, Shakir landed a scholarship at a respected German boarding school. He began language classes, as well as regular courses in math, science, and art. In his free time, Shakir joins pickup soccer games with his German friends on the school’s campus. 

His allowance normally pays for his cell phone—a critical device for all refugees because it serves as a pocket translator and a way to stay in touch with family and friends. Yet one of the first things Shakir bought was a German national team soccer jersey.

“I like the German team very much,” he says in German.

Loreena came to Germany with her parents. Shakir Yakoupi, 15, was not so lucky. He is one of some 14,000 unaccompanied minors to arrive in Germany last year. Shakir made his way from Afghanistan through Iran and Turkey. Then he traveled across the Mediterranean Sea, along the same route Dandoush took.

Shakir’s parents sent him to Germany on his own out of fear he would be targeted by the Taliban, a group of Islamist militants in Afghanistan and Pakistan. His father, who worked for a German government agency in Afghan­i­stan, is now considered a traitor.

Once in Germany, each minor who arrives without any family is assigned a legal guardian and a place to live, either with a foster family or in a group home. They are enrolled in school and given a monthly allowance of about $160.

At the start of the last school year, Shakir landed a scholarship at a respected German boarding school. He began language classes, as well as regular courses in math, science, and art. In his free time, Shakir joins pickup soccer games with his German friends on school grounds.

His allowance normally pays for his cell phone. That device is critical for all refugees, because it serves as a pocket translator and a way to stay in touch with family and friends. Yet one of the first things Shakir bought was a German national team soccer jersey.

“I like the German team very much,” he says in German.

Back in Weimar, Dandoush has also discovered that soccer is a good way to make friends. He plays with a group of refugees and Germans once a week. The rest of his free time is devoted to improving his German. As part of that effort, he rides his bike in the park and strikes up conversations with elderly Germans. 

“At first they look at me kind of funny, but when I sit down next to them on the bench and start talking, I think it makes them happy,” he says, smiling. “The people here are really good, really nice. Some of them just need some time to get used to us.”

*Loreena asked that her last name not be used, to protect family members who remain in Syria.

Back in Weimar, Dandoush has also discovered that soccer is a good way to make friends. He plays with a group of refugees and Germans once a week. He devotes the rest of his free time to improving his German. As part of that effort, he rides his bike in the park and strikes up conversations with elderly Germans.

“At first they look at me kind of funny, but when I sit down next to them on the bench and start talking, I think it makes them happy,” he says, smiling. “The people here are really good, really nice. Some of them just need some time to get used to us.”

*Loreena asked that her last name not be used, to protect family members who remain in Syria.