Testimony from Kafr Oweid: Restoration as a Personal Responsibility

In the rural southern part of the Idlib governorate, where the village of Kafr Oweid was once a military frontline between regime and opposition forces, today’s transitional phase opens a new chapter of hardship—this time not due to fear or displacement, but the cost of return. Here, destroyed houses await no reconstruction projects and are supported by no institutions. They come back to life through individual efforts, sometimes with materials carried back by displaced people returning from the camps. In this reality, returning to the town becomes a test of the residents’ ability to restore their homes—alongside their memories—with limited means and no official support. This testimony documents the experience of The Syria Report’s correspondent, Mahmoud Al-Shamali, in restoring his house in Kafr Oweid—one among hundreds of individual attempts in the area amid the absence of institutional assistance.

Kafr Oweid’s location at a junction connecting Jabal Al-Zawiya to the Al-Ghab Plain west of Hama made it a constant target of aerial and artillery bombardment from the early years of the conflict, preventing residents from returning or resettling, even though the town never fell back to regime forces. Only in late January 2024 did regime forces enter the town—for three days—before retreating under pressure from a counterattack launched by opposition factions. During their brief presence, the regime was unable to fully loot local homes, though most houses were robbed. In our correspondent’s home, parts of the electrical wiring were stolen, and after the withdrawal, civilian looters continued the plundering. Hardly a house in the town was spared; any item of iron, copper, or metal with resale value was taken.

Since his displacement in 2020, our correspondent had been living in Atmeh, in northern Idlib, but never gave up the idea of returning to his home in Kafr Oweid. So, immediately after the fall of the Assad regime on December 8, 2024, he returned to his 150-square-metre home. On the way there, his thoughts were consumed by what awaited him in Kafr Oweid. “I stood in front of the house gate, and my mind started calculating: USD 1,000 for doors and security grilles, another USD 1,000 for windows, then USD 500 here and there,” he said. “All thoughts of Syria’s future stopped at the threshold of thinking about my own home’s future.”

He estimated the cost of restoration at around USD 4,000, due to damage from bombing, theft, and deterioration of the interior finishing. In May 2025, he waited 15 days before finding a worker to seal a hole left by a shell in the western wall and to repair gaps around the metal doors and windows. The job cost him about USD 200 and took only three hours. He also managed to reinstall the granite kitchen countertop, which he had dismantled himself when fleeing—despite some pieces being broken and one square-metre slab stolen. Reinstallation required waiting an entire month for a worker to be available and cost around USD 150.

Despite these efforts, the house is still uninhabitable. It requires a new electrical system, estimated at USD 400, retiling of the damaged floors, and waterproofing the eroded roof—an operation that may exceed USD 2,000. In addition, the outer passage needs rebuilding and preparation, costing no less than USD 1,000, not to mention painting and finishing work. Nevertheless, our correspondent insists on completing the restoration gradually, either through self-funding or by waiting for potential support projects from humanitarian organisations operating in the region.

To complete his return, the correspondent is considering giving up his home in the Atmeh camp, which he had spent around USD 7,000 building and furnishing. Selling a house in a now nearly deserted camp is no longer a viable option. The value of salvaged iron from demolishing it would not exceed USD 0.50 per kilogramme. Thus, he is considering demolishing the house simply to reuse its materials for restoring his original home in Kafr Oweid. This decision reflects a painful trade-off between a relatively safe home in the north and a partially destroyed house that represents return and belonging.

Our correspondent’s case is similar to many returnees in southern Idlib, where those whose roofs are still intact are considered fortunate. Those whose homes are partially or completely destroyed face overwhelming restoration costs, forcing some to seek alternative housing or build temporary shelters at their own expense. In this reality, individual solutions vary: homes are built with whatever materials are available, often dismantled or transported from displacement zones.

To reduce costs, many returnees dismantle the roofs of their temporary shelters in the camps and salvage their iron, given the absence of a property market there. Some also dismantle the concrete blocks from their camp homes and reuse them in their villages, where a block sells for no more than USD 0.22 in the camps, but around USD 0.40 in return areas. This price difference has led some returnees to make a living by buying used blocks in camps and reselling them in their towns—a new form of adaptation to the demands of self-reconstruction.

In many cases, returnees dismantle fixtures from their homes in displacement areas for reuse. For example, a new iron window may cost more than USD 60, while repairing an old one could cost around USD 20. Transport costs add a further burden, ranging between USD 50 and USD 150, depending on the distance and load size. Even a 20-barrel water tank, used for filling temporary reservoirs, can cost more than USD 15 for just a 10-kilometre journey—most of which goes towards the price of the water itself.

Amid scarce resources and the absence of support from NGOs or state institutions, the efforts of returnees to southern Idlib remain a grueling individual endeavour. They are not backed by any overarching reconstruction vision nor by clear policies from any responsible authority. Testimonies like this do not only reflect the reality in Kafr Oweid but offer a broader picture of what return looks like in many parts of Syria after the Assad regime’s fall: isolated efforts driven by personal initiative, managed with rudimentary means, and taking place in an administrative and economic vacuum—making restoration in Kafr Oweid and beyond an individual project with no option but to start from scratch. These burdens can be even heavier for female-headed households, whose numbers have risen significantly during the conflict.