The Unexpected Journey
“When I was forced to leave Syria for Lebanon, I estimated that it would take me ten to eleven weeks to return,”
Mo Hazzaa told us, seated inside one of the two community centers he helped set up in Lebanon. “I never imagined those eleven weeks would turn into eleven years.” His voice was calm, but behind it were years of uncertainty, waiting, and resolve.
Mo’s story isn’t unique in how it started. He’s one of the 1.5 million Syrians who found safety in Lebanon over the past decade. What makes his journey different is what he chose to do with the time he never meant to spend away from home. From trying to build a life he didn’t plan for, to connecting Syrians and Lebanese through his digital work, Mo became a bridge, between people, cultures, and between survival and purpose.
That made us ask: if people like Mo have made such a big impact in the lives of others while away from home, what happens when they return?
Lebanon, a country of just four million people, has hosted more refugees per capita than anywhere else in the world. Syrians have been a visible and, at times, divisive part of the landscape.
Time and again, we’ve seen that Syrians don’t just get by, they give back. Even while facing constant legal and social hurdles, many have become vital to their new homes abroad. In Lebanon, Syrians didn’t just adapt, they helped reshape daily life. In cities and villages alike, you’ll find Syrian-owned businesses, and services that not only support their families but create jobs and boost local business.
Mo’s story proves this. He didn’t just get through his years in Lebanon. He built something. Through the centers he co-founded, young people from both Lebanese and Syrian backgrounds found a place to learn, work together, and take back some control over their futures.
It’s the kind of story we don’t hear enough, one where Syrians are not seen as a burden, but as builders.
So, what does “going home” actually look like? According to UNHCR, more than 401,000 Syrians returned to their country between December 2024 and January 2025, with another 250,000 following soon after. That’s over 650,000 people in just a few months. IOM reports that nearly 1.9 million Syrians, those who fled abroad and those who moved within the country, have returned to their hometowns across 14 provinces.
The decision to go back is rarely simple. Some Syrians are returning by choice. Others feel pushed to leave their new homes. Going home isn’t just about crossing a border. It means facing what’s left: homes in ruins, changed neighborhoods, a country still trying to recover.
If Mo decided to return, he wouldn’t be the same man who left. He’d carry with him ten years of experience in media, community work, and talents building. That could shape real change in Syria: new schools with inclusive ideas, online platforms connecting remote areas to the world, and small businesses that lift up entire neighborhoods.
The road back isn’t easy. Many people return to find collapsed buildings, broken systems, and unclear rights. Fixing Syria won’t just take bricks and concrete. It will need systems that see and include the skills of those coming home.
It means the global community must shift its focus, from short-term aid to real development, from emergency relief to long-term support.
Most of all, it means seeing the value that Syrians bring with them, not just while they’re away, but especially when they come back. The lessons, skills, and networks built during those years abroad can help rebuild their country, if we give them the right tools and chances.
Mo once said it’s better to live without expectations. That wisdom came from hard-earned experience. Maybe there is one thing we should expect: when Syrians return with dignity and support, they don’t just come back. They rebuild.
This journey isn’t only about what they lost. It’s about what they learned and what they’re ready to build next.
