A Tough Ramadan in Syria: Struggles Amid Economic Hardships
As Ramadan approaches, a time typically marked by joy, feasting, and togetherness, many in Syria find themselves standing in long lines outside banks, waiting for hours just to withdraw a meager amount—about $15 worth of Syrian pounds. It’s a scene that paints a stark picture of the country’s financial woes, where even basic holiday preparations feel out of reach for many families.
Instead of the usual anticipation of large iftar gatherings and warm suhoor meals before dawn, there’s an air of concern and frustration. Many Syrians are asking the same questions: How will we afford food? How can we celebrate when there’s barely enough to get by?
New Government Policies, Harsh Realities
This year’s Ramadan comes just three months after the fall of the Assad regime, which had ruled Syria with an iron grip for over five decades. With the rebel coalition now in charge, a wave of economic changes has swept across the nation. Some of these policies include lifting bread subsidies—causing prices to skyrocket tenfold—allowing more imports, cutting thousands of public-sector jobs, and implementing strict withdrawal limits at banks.
For a country where cash transactions dominate, limiting withdrawals to around 200,000 Syrian pounds (approximately $15) per day has created an economic bottleneck. While the cost of goods other than bread has actually dropped since the change in leadership, most Syrians can’t take advantage of it because they simply can’t withdraw enough money to make purchases.
“We have to spend, but how?” asks Sleiman Dawoud, a 56-year-old civil engineer, standing in line at an ATM in Damascus. “That money can maybe buy one and a half kilos of meat, but what about bread, vegetables, and fruit? Ramadan is here, and we need to prepare.”
The Long Wait for Little Cash
For many, just accessing their own money has turned into a full-time task. Hours are wasted in lines outside banks and ATMs, only to withdraw a fraction of what’s needed to survive, let alone enjoy the holiday season. The Syrian Central Bank previously stated that these withdrawal limits were temporary, yet months later, nothing has changed.
The situation has left people like Ahlam Kasem, a 45-year-old civil engineer working for the agriculture ministry, struggling to make ends meet. With a monthly salary of 380,000 Syrian pounds (roughly $28), she’s only able to withdraw half at a time. “They told us the government doesn’t have money, the Central Bank doesn’t have money, and the banks don’t have money,” she says with frustration. “We have so many questions and no answers.”
She and her husband even have to take a minibus from their hometown of Saboora, 10 miles away, just to reach a working ATM, spending 10,000 Syrian pounds each per trip. It’s an exhausting cycle—one that doesn’t leave much room for Ramadan festivities.
Hard Choices: Sacrificing Tradition
Ramadan is a time for generosity, reflection, and togetherness. But with rising costs and severe withdrawal restrictions, many traditions are being sacrificed.
Ra’if Ghnaim, a 75-year-old retired civil servant, is saddened by the idea that he may not be able to give children their usual Ramadan gifts of small amounts of money. “How are we going to celebrate and give gifts to the children?” he wonders aloud.
Mahmoud Embarak, a retired military officer, is facing another tough choice—whether to skip suhoor, the pre-dawn meal that fuels fasting Muslims for the day ahead. His pension was recently slashed, and his family is now relying on his wife’s small nursing pension to survive. “This won’t be as happy of a time as it has been in the past,” he says solemnly.
Even something as simple as offering a cup of coffee to guests has become a hardship. “We’re a very social people, but we’ve reached the point where we don’t want to visit anyone,” says Kasem. “We don’t want to put pressure on them to offer even a cup of coffee, much less lunch or dinner.”
An Economy in Freefall
Syria’s economy was already in dire straits before the regime change, but the current crisis has pushed it further into instability. Over 90% of Syrians now live in poverty, and unemployment is rampant.
Before the civil war in 2011, the exchange rate stood at about 50 Syrian pounds to the U.S. dollar. By the time the Assad government was overthrown in December, it had soared to roughly 15,000. Since then, the currency has started strengthening, but the cash shortage remains crippling.
In December, the Central Bank hinted that the withdrawal limits were only temporary. Yet, months later, the restrictions remain. A recent shipment of freshly printed Syrian pounds arrived from Russia, where the currency is produced, but no details were provided on the amount. “They simply don’t have enough banknotes,” says Karam Shaar, a political economist and senior fellow at the New Lines Institute. “They have a liquidity crisis.”
The Market Tells the Story
At Bab Sraijeh market, a historic marketplace in old Damascus, the economic pain is visible. Sellers shout offers over the roar of motorcycles driving through the cobbled streets.
“Ten, ten, practically free!” a vendor yells, hoping to entice buyers with a kilo of olives for 10,000 pounds—less than a dollar. But most shoppers walk by, barely able to afford essentials.
Nour al-Hamwi, 37, helps run a small shop selling Ramadan decorations—wooden crescent moons, colorful lanterns, and string lights. “Last year, things were flying off the shelves,” she recalls. “Now, people don’t have money. The banks don’t have money. Syria doesn’t have money.”
Her husband, who also helps at the shop, has noticed a shift. In previous years, customers would fill their homes with festive ornaments, setting the mood for Ramadan. This year, they’re buying only necessities—if they can afford them at all.
A Ramadan Unlike Any Other
For many Syrians, this Ramadan will be one of the toughest they’ve ever faced. The spirit of the holy month—one of generosity, feasting, and community—is being overshadowed by economic despair.
Yet, despite the hardships, the resilience of the Syrian people remains. Families are finding ways to come together, even if their tables are less full. Strangers in bank lines share their frustrations, offering a sense of unity amid struggle. And vendors, though struggling, still show up to sell what little they can.
The question that lingers is: How long will this continue? With no clear answers from the government and no end in sight for the financial crisis, Syrians can only hope that better days lie ahead. Until then, they will do what they’ve always done—adapt, endure, and hold onto hope.
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