A child’s smile is rare in Iraq’s largest Syrian refugee camp

A few days ago, we launched a Christmas campaign titled “Will You tell Me a Story?” dedicated to improving the future of Iraqi and Syrian children, who are paying the ultimate price for the ongoing war and terror in their countries. Over the next few weeks, we will share the stories of the children we met in Iraq during the course of our work. This is Jihan’s story.

It has been raining for two days straight in Iraq. A surprise wave of poor weather caused temperatures to drop and hail to fall for hours.

Domiz, the largest Syrian refugee camp in the country, located outside Dohuk and surrounded by mountains, is in the grips of an icy wind. Two days of rain have created sinkholes and heaps of mud on the city streets. It’s even worse in the refugee camps. Despite the street signs, billboards and small restaurants, Domiz is still a camp: a fact that becomes particularly evident when it rains. Everyone who lives there is still a refugee — all they want is to go back home.

There are many children, running around oblivious to the cold and the rain, which pauses only for moments before continuing to fall on the tents that house so many families.

Like Jihan’s family, who is afraid of the storm.

A girl with large, dark eyes, and two pigtails that frame her face, dressed in a pink jacket covered with stars, Jihan hides behind her mother’s skirt and peeks out occasionally to watch what’s happening.

This morning will mark her first visit with Dr. Waheed, who has collaborated with the Un Ponte Per… (A Bridge To…) humanitarian organization for year, working to provide psychological support for Syrian children in the Domiz refugee camp.

Game therapy, painting, and handicrafts are some of the main activities that take place every week under the supervision of social workers, who then determine whether the children exhibit signs of trauma that must be addressed with specific treatments.

Dr. Waheed — who’s always smiling and ready with a joke — explained that the most frequent problem they encounter is bed-wetting. “It is often mistaken by parents as a physical problem, but that is not the case. It is a reflection of what they have gone through as a result of the war, and which is then revealed by their subconscious through the games and activities.”

Dealing with anxiety and phobias, it is rare to see these children smile, even when they’re playing.

In the waiting room of the small caravan that acts as the clinic for Un Ponte Per…, there is an inflatable pool filled with small colored balls. The children play as they wait their turn. Seated patiently on one side, their mothers chat to pass the time. Among them is Jihan’s mother, who watches as her daughter timidly approaches the pool, and recounts how she arrived to Dohuk from Damascus three years ago.

“You couldn’t stay in the city, it was too dangerous. I fled with my husband and three children, and arrived here,” she says. “We only needed one room, a place that was stable and sheltered.” The rain makes horrible sounds in the tent that’s now their home. It sounds louder from the inside, if that’s possible.

Jihan covers her ears, hides and shakes. She is terrified. “The noise reminds her of the sound of the bombings,” her mother explains.

“When I heard that Dr. Waheed was working with children here, I decided to bring her. I badly want her to be able to forget what she lived through. I hope that we could go home one day.”

In between consultations, the doctor comes out, smiles and makes jokes with the children. “The biggest problem for them is the lack of safe places to play, and the lack of toys, which families often can’t afford. Seventy percent of a child’s life should consist of playtime: playing teaches you how to live in the world,” he explains.

After coffee he starts again: the morning has already started and he continues to work until lunchtime.

Jihan, meanwhile, has found the courage to go into the small pool, where she timidly plays with the other children.

Then, all of a sudden, she looks at her mother and her big eyes light up for the first time.

A huge smile appears on her face. It’s a smile that means something different. A smile that, perhaps, is a bit more precious today.

This post first appeared on HuffPost Italy and has been translated into English and published by HuffPost US.