海角大神

As soon as the dictator was out, Samer Jalbout was on the move.

Within 24 hours of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad鈥檚 fall in early December, Mr. Jalbout was en route from Idlib in northwest Syria, heading back to his home in the Yarmouk refugee camp outside Damascus.

The father of three had not been there since pro-Assad forces drove his family out seven years ago. What he found was a concrete wasteland.

Now, day after day, Mr. Jalbout and his brother Youssef shovel debris and slowly 鈥� cinderblock by cinderblock 鈥� restore the bombed-out family compound where they were born and later raised families.

鈥淭his is the first time I have relaxed in 14 years,鈥� when Syria descended into civil war, Samer Jalbout says. 鈥淲e are home and no longer live in fear.鈥�

An outsider might wonder why he and thousands of other Palestinians in Syria are rushing back to a refugee camp, destroyed nearly beyond recognition, to live in exposed half-buildings with neither water nor electricity.

鈥淭he rest of the world sees this destruction and doesn鈥檛 think this is a home,鈥� Mr. Jalbout says, piling concrete shards into a wheel-barrow and raising a cloud of white dust. 鈥淏ut to us this is home. This is everything.鈥�

More than a physical place, returnees say, the 68-year-old refugee camp is central to Syrian Palestinians鈥� sense of belonging, their last physical tie to a Palestine they have never seen.

Against the odds, they are proving that you can return home, whether it鈥檚 livable or not.

Emptied by war

Yarmouk, covering less than a square mile, was founded in 1957 to house refugees driven from northern Palestine by the 1948 Mideast war. The United Nations-administered camp鈥檚 population grew to some 120,000 before the civil war, making it one of the largest Palestinian refugee camps in the world.

Strategically located on the southeastern edge of Damascus, between the capital and the Shiite-revered Sayeda Zainab shrine, the camp saw some of the civil war鈥檚 most vicious combat. Various rebel militias aligned with Hamas, the Free Syrian Army, Jabhat al-Nusra, and later the Islamic State seized parts of the camp and made it a base from which to launch attacks against Mr. Assad鈥檚 forces in Damascus.

Residents recall vividly the brutal siege imposed by the Assad regime from 2013 to 2018, during which little food was allowed into the camp. Residents ate grass for weeks, and 128 people died from starvation.

In 2018, the regime retook the camp from the militias and emptied it of its residents in forced evacuations, allowing only a handful of select families to return in 2020.

Now thousands are flocking back.

As of late February, some 5,000 families, around 25,000 people, had returned to Yarmouk camp, community leaders estimate.

Nidal Abu Mahmoud left the apartment he had rented in a nearby Damascus neighborhood to restart his family business, selling vegetables from two stands in the camp.

鈥淭here is no electricity, cars have difficulty with the roads, there are no schools or pharmacies, and you have to walk a mile out of the camp just to get bread,鈥� he says, in between serving a handful of customers after Friday prayers. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a difficult life here.鈥�

So why, then, are people returning?

He smiles.

鈥淏ecause Yarmouk is a second Palestine,鈥� he says. 鈥淭his camp is our last tie to our homeland. If we give up on the camp, we are giving up on our right to return.鈥�

Syria鈥檚 鈥淕aza鈥�

According to U.N. estimates, 60% of the camp鈥檚 buildings, roads, and water networks are completely destroyed; the other 40% are severely damaged and barely usable.

The camp鈥檚 16 U.N.-run schools, three health centers, and one youth center are either completely destroyed or severely damaged and out of service.

A sliver of the camp that is connected to power lines gets an hour of electricity a day.

Safed Street, once the camp鈥檚 main commercial and industrial artery, lined with dozens of workshops and blacksmiths, is littered with rubble.

鈥淭his was the economic center of the camp, and it鈥檚 completely destroyed,鈥� says community leader Qassem Abdulkader as he and a group of returnees survey the destruction. 鈥淢ost of these buildings can鈥檛 even be saved.鈥�

The only signs of life are lines of laundry and blankets that returnees have hung where walls once stood.

Even the influx of people has done little to alleviate the sense of desolation and emptiness. Wild dogs roam and howl. The camp goes completely dark at night; few dare venture out past sunset.

鈥淚t looks like Khan Yunis and Jabalia,鈥� says one passerby as she points to the collapsed buildings. 鈥淏ut this is not Gaza. This is Syria. This is Yarmouk.鈥�

And for them, residents say, returning to this camp-turned-wasteland was an existential urge.

鈥淭his camp is the physical address for the right of return of Palestinians to Palestine,鈥� says Mr. Abdulkader. 鈥淥ur parents and grandparents didn鈥檛 surrender it; neither can we.鈥�

The Jalbout brothers consider themselves fortunate. Although government soldiers stripped their building of steel and ceramic tiles, the family compound is still structurally sound. Many neighboring buildings have collapsed, some reduced to piles of dust.

They hope that the two rooms they have cleared on the ground floor 鈥� which formerly housed an automotive garage and a grocery shop 鈥� can once again be rented out.

They have fixed up two rooms on the second floor: one for Samer Jalbout; his wife, Nisreen; and daughter, Thirayaa, to live in, the second for Youssef.

Three floor cushions and a portable gas stove sit on the bare concrete floor. Two blankets do service as an outer wall, though they offer little shelter from the wind and rain.

鈥淥ur situation has changed 100%,鈥� Mr. Jalbout says, his smile caked in concrete dust. 鈥淣ow we can express our identity and our religion. We can relax and just be. Before we couldn鈥檛 live openly as Palestinians.鈥�

Omar Khalil, a former bus driver for a U.N. school, has also renovated his third-floor apartment. He affixed a wooden door to the ground floor entrance, to prevent wild dogs from getting in, and patched the walls with cinderblock and cement so that his daughter, a university student, can study in peace.

鈥淭here is nothing like having your own roof over your head,鈥� says Mr. Khalil. 鈥淎fter years of displacement, we finally feel centered.鈥�

鈥淭his is our place, our land, our memories,鈥� his wife, Nisreen Jamal, says. 鈥淒espite the destruction, we see it as heaven.鈥�