Raqqa after ISIS: a fragile beacon of hope

After a decade of war that fractured his country and destroyed his city, Omar Sarran still thinks Raqqa is the best place to live in Syria.

"There is some kind of freedom, some institutions, safety, everything is available, though of course we are affected by the economic situation," he said.

More than three years after the battle to drive Islamic State militants from the city they declared their capital, thousands of buildings are in ruins, jobs are scarce and bodies are still being exhumed from mass graves.

However, Mr Sarran, who is 36 and an English teacher, is an optimist.

"Raqqa today is the model, I mean it," he said. "Buildings can be rebuilt. What we are working on now is rebuilding the people. What Islamic State destroyed was their souls."

A once undistinguished provincial capital, Raqqa's fortunes reflect the broader trajectory of the Syrian civil war, which marked a grim 10-year anniversary last week. From the giddy optimism of the uprising against Bashar al-Assad, the president, to a brutal civil war, Raqqa has seen it all.

In the eighth century, Harun al-Rashid, the caliph portrayed in One Thousand and One Nights, made Raqqa the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate.

Since then, it has had a less notable history. Situated in an agricultural region far from the cosmopolitan centres of Aleppo and Damascus, no one predicted Raqqa would be the first provincial capital to fall to the rebels when protests began in March 2011.

Raqqa's loyalty was presumed when Assad received pledges of allegiance in person from the tribal sheikhs. However, those allegiances proved fickle and Raqqa fell in a matter of days in March 2013 to a motley collection of Free Syrian Army and Islamist militias.

"Ten years ago they thought Raqqa would be the last city to rise up," said Mohammed Nour al-Zaib, a sheikh who is today the co-chairman of the Raqqa Civil Council. "It was a sleepy place, even though the region has oil and was the bread basket of Syria."

The subsequent power vacuum allowed Islamic State to seize control of Raqqa in early 2014 and launch a reign of terror.

"It was like the dark ages," said Mr Sarran, who hailed the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) who recaptured the city in 2017 as "saviours", even though the battle involved near total destruction.

The international coalition dropped about 10,000 bombs, killing 1,600 civilians, according to some estimates. Since then, rebuilding has been slow, acknowledged Mr Zaib, who said the Raqqa Civil Council had a tiny budget and little international support.

"The basic infrastructure of the city was destroyed. We had to start from scratch," he added.

The council was established by the Syrian Kurdish authorities who control north-east Syria. Calling themselves the self-administration, the Kurds have forgone secessionist dreams in favour of autonomy and shrewdly avoided outright war with Damascus.

Mr Zaib said water mains had been restored to 95pc of Raqqa's neighbourhoods, while electricity was available to roughly two thirds of households. About 50 of the 400 schools are operating.

A nightclub serving alcohol has reopened and the council is restoring an Armenian church. Rubbish trucks collect refuse, although much is also dumped by the Euphrates, where it is picked over by displaced Syrians living in hovels patched together from old blankets and tarpaulins.

"Given time, we can rebuild Raqqa from the ruins to be better than Damascus in services and security," Mr Zaib said. He argues that only his city offers the potential to fulfil the aspirations of those who rose up against Assad a decade ago.

Today, the complaints of Raqqa's citizenry are milder compared with the terror they lived in under Islamic State. Rather than public beheadings and floggings, people complain of conscription, corruption, a growing drug problem and a lack of development.

"This is the situation here: if someone sees a glass of tea in the street, they will run and take it," said Yaser al-Fardooni, a singer who performs at weddings and in the reopened nightclub.

This month, the Syrian pound reached a new black market low of 4,540 to the dollar, having traded at 47 before the war. Exchange houses offer customers plastic bags to carry their currency. Food prices have more than doubled over the past year.

"It's true we are making a living, but nothing is available if you don't have connections," said Mr Fardooni.

At Raqqa Stadium, Mohammed Saleh, the manager, has a simple demand: "I need training mats. We're training 1,000 boys on the ground in martial arts and boxing and we have no mats."

Under Islamic State, the home ground for the Al-Shebab football team was converted into a prison. In 2016, the militants executed six players after accusing them of spying for the Kurds.

Mr Saleh, who sold his house to buy equipment to reopen the gym, said: "I care about the gym more than money. We need victories and heroes more."

Raqqa's relative isolation has bred a parochial pride and a unique identity as a relatively liberal city in a conservative corner of Syria.

"There is no ideology in Raqqa," said Maria al-Ojeili, a local activist who does not wear a veil. "For freedom and the ability to talk, the SDF are the best."

However, security remains poor, with Islamic State sleeper cells continuing to extort wealthy families. Hovering over all is the fear that things could deteriorate tomorrow.

Mrs Ojeili takes a long view. "Raqqa has been invaded many times since the empire of Babylon, but they always leave eventually, while we stay," she said.

Raqqa will be rebuilt again, she added - as it was rebuilt after the Persians razed it in the sixth century and after the Mongols destroyed it in the 13th century. "We own this city. We'll stay here. We'll die for it and we'll fight for it," she added. "Raqqa deserves it."

© Telegraph Media Group Ltd (2021)

Telegraph Media Group Limited [2021]