The Iraqi Exodus
Nearly 2 million have fled, but that could be just a drop in the bucket
Iraqis like Georges have helped transform some Damascus suburbs into enclaves that have become faithful re-creations of Iraq. In the suburb of Sayeda Zenab, which boasts one of the highest concentrations of Iraqis in Syria, it is almost possible for Iraqis to forget that they are even in Syria. On a street that everyone now calls "Iraq Street," vendors sell all kinds of goods imported from Iraq, from soap and cigarettes to clothes and shoes. Iraqi restaurants sell Iraqi dishes, cooked by Iraqi chefs, using special Iraqi cooking oil, Iraqi rice, Iraqi beans, and, perhaps most important, piping hot and fresh Iraqi flatbread. "I open my bakery from 5:30 in the morning and close after midnight," says Samer Sallah, a 23-year-old Iraqi baker whose shop is on the street. "I make a lot of profit because Iraqis come from all over to here to buy Iraqi bread, because a lot of Iraqis don't like to eat Syrian bread."
Even one of Iraq's most famous kebab joints (called Zarzoor) has opened a branch on Iraq Street. Every day, bus drivers arrive at the restaurant from Iraq to deliver coolers of Iraqi ground beef. Food is a particular concern for Iraqis, whose diet traditionally includes generous amounts of meat. Syrians tend to eat more cheese, yogurt, and olives. A Syrian man sitting with an Iraqi family eating a lunch of kebabs one day turns and asks them, "Do you know what the difference is between you and us? We eat in order to live, but you Iraqis live in order to eat."
These Iraqi enclaves have assumed an odd permanence. In another Damascus suburb packed with Iraqis, Syrian taxi drivers now refer to streets by the names of Iraqi cities–Fallujah Street, Ramadi Street, Baghdad Street–because of the concentrations of Iraqis from these cities who have settled on each street. Other businesses have evolved to help Iraqis extend their stays in Syria–most are in the country on visas that cannot be extended beyond six months. Several Iraqi tourist companies now offer one-day bus trips to Lebanon for $20 a person, in order to return to Syria with a new visa.
For Syrians, the Iraqi influx has meant higher prices. The cost of basics like eggs and tomatoes has soared. "Iraqis are our brothers, and Syria is their country," says Jaber Nad, a Syrian civil servant, "but we the poor are being crushed by the rise in prices of all products since they came."
The strains are particularly evident in housing, with Iraqis snapping up rental apartments. In one real estate office in Mezza, a Damascus suburb, an Iraqi doctor named Ryad is trying to find an apartment for friends who will be arriving soon from Iraq. A Syrian man who is looking for a rental for his newly married son pipes up. "You Iraqis don't leave us a place to live in, even in our own country," he tells Ryad. "I used to rent the best flat in Mezza for [$150] a month and now I must pay [$400] for the worst flat here." Ryad bristles. "Do you think that we Iraqis are that rich?" he retorts. "Do you think I am a tourist here on vacation? I came to save my family from any danger that might occur to them in Iraq."
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