The Syrian families giving abandoned children a home and a future

Swedan, a case worker at the Syrian-owned organisation Child Houses, handed over his phone to show an image of a baby no more than a few hours old. 

The newborn had been abandoned by her family and found in a rubbish bin, her face bloodied by an animal scavenging for food. 

Cases of child abandonment are not rare in Syria. An increasing number of infants are left on the steps of mosques, at hospitals or on the streets for reasons related to religion and poverty, some so new their bodies are still coated in vernix.

The child in the phone photograph is one of 200 that Swedan and his team of case workers at Child Houses have placed with foster families since 2021, when the organisation operated from an emergency shelter in Idlib.

At that time, the northwestern province of Idlib was held by Hay'at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), whose leader, Ahmed al-Sharaa, is now Syria’s president.

Now Syria is reunified, all abandoned children have been transferred to Lahn al-Hayat, a state-run complex, using Child Houses as a model and with guidance from the organisation’s team. 

Since reunification, an additional 100 infants have been placed in foster care.

Behind the iron gates

In rural Damascus, two inconspicuous iron gates mark the entrance to one of Syria’s most notorious orphanages.

Lahn al-Hayat, built by the government of Bashar al-Assad, Syria’s president from 2000 to 2024, was once a fundamental component of Syria’s security apparatus, used to disappear the children of detainees.  

Yet despite its recent history, a palpable sense of hope emanates from the caregivers - known as “mothers” - tending to the 50 swaddled babies of unknown parentage currently at the centre.

'There were a lot of children who lost fathers and mothers. I thought maybe we can take care of a child'

- Khawla, Syrian foster mother

The compound within the gates is made up of identical building blocks painted in muted yellow, with a basketball court to the right. A large, unfinished building looms in the background, originally designed to house the adults raised in the orphanage. 

Assad’s ideological aspirations for the orphanage collapsed along with the regime, and the building remains abandoned and unfinished, a reminder of what could have been. 

Faisal al-Hammoud, executive director of Child Houses, believes the institution has changed since the fall of Assad. “Before the liberation, the management of Lahn al-Hayat were using children as pieces for trading in a business,” he told Middle East Eye. “Now they are treated like children.” 

Moutasem al-Salloumi, who previously worked in child protection in the Idlib governorate, took over the management of Lahn al-Hayat in 2025. Since then, he has overseen efforts to impose clear procedures to ensure child safeguarding, as well as implementing efforts towards digitisation and documentation.

Among these commitments is the consideration of family-based alternative care, which places children within families through a rigorous assessment and screening process. 

Sharia and foster care

From a legal standpoint, adoption in its western form - where a child assumes the family name and is granted inheritance and lineage rights - is illegal in most Arab countries, including Syria. 

This stems from sharia law, which places significant emphasis on preserving a child’s lineage.

Child Houses started working with the Idlib government in 2021 to outline a care system in accordance with sharia law and kafala, the Islamic alternative to long-term foster care or guardianship. 

Under the system developed in Idlib, children can’t take the name of their foster family and won’t be entitled to inheritance. If the child’s biological parents claim the child at any point, the foster family would have to oblige, providing it is in the child’s best interest. 

“We had to move carefully, listen to communities, and build trust step by step,” Audrey Bingaman, partnerships and development manager at Child Houses, told Middle East Eye.  

No formal decision has been made towards fostering because the first parliamentary session is yet to happen, but the shift is already under way. 

At Lahn al-Hayat, Child Houses has established procedures to place children within foster families, drawing on a model it has developed over the years.

“No centre can replace the love of a family. They will always get a better, normal life with a father, a mother, a family,” Salloumi told MEE.

He is careful, however, not to dismiss the care provided at Lahn al-Hayat for those who aren’t eligible to be fostered. 

Inside the orphanage, children live in apartment-style units organised by age and leave to attend government-run schools during term time. During a visit, MEE observed groups of children sharing living spaces under the watch of dedicated live-in carers, the “mothers”. 

“There is one mother for a few children, and for them, it feels like a big family,” Salloumi said. 

Vulnerable children, social stigma

Religion is deeply intertwined with social life in Syria, where children of unknown parentage have always faced significant stigma. 

Historically, one of the main reasons behind infant abandonment has been extramarital pregnancy; in some cases, these pregnancies are consensual, in others, they are the result of rape. 

Regardless of the circumstance, this stigma is often something the child carries thrvough life - another argument for early integration into family environments.  

Before a child can be classified as being of “unknown parentage”, case workers spend three months attempting to locate their biological family. While relatives are occasionally identified, this does not always lead to reunification. 

Salloumi told MEE that in instances involving children born outside of marriage, case workers do not typically seek reunification. He said parents who abandon children in such circumstances often do so because of the shame and stigma associated with it. 

Until recently, children of unknown parents were administratively registered using an Arabic term that translates as “bastard”. One of the first reforms steered by Child Houses was replacing this with a coded numbering system. 

The official language has moved forward, but the stigma is harder to erase. Bingaman points out that many of the foster mothers featured on the Child Houses Instagram account choose to conceal their identities in videos, often out of fear of judgement. 

The effects of 14 years of war, compounded by the devastating 2023 earthquake, forced a broader conversation about the needs of vulnerable children in Syria. As the nation grappled with mass displacement, loss and economic hardship, attitudes towards caring for the vulnerable began to shift. 

“The war created an unprecedented number of vulnerable children, including those who were orphaned, separated from their families, displaced, or left without adequate care,” Bingaman said. “It also exposed the limitations of relying primarily on institutional care and highlighted the need for alternative solutions.”

The conflict left thousands of children without adequate care, while many Syrians who were unable to have children of their own were looking for ways to grow their families. In that gap, Child Houses began advocating for fostering as an alternative to institutional care.

The families fostering children in Syria

Fostering in Syria, according to Child Houses’ protocol, began as a grassroots movement. 

When the organisation received its first abandoned infant in 2021, there was no established framework for family-based care, but over time, families began to step forward.

MEE visited one of these families days after the third birthday of Ahmad, a little boy. The living room was still decorated with balloons and photos in handcrafted frames.

Ahmad’s foster mother, Khawla, first thought about fostering after seeing social media coverage of the earthquake. “There were a lot of children who lost fathers and mothers,” she said. “I thought maybe we can take care of a child.”

After deliberations with their extended family and consultation with a local imam, Khawla and her husband Abdulkhaleq began the process. 

In December 2024, after 13 years of trying to conceive, Ahmad joined their family. Shortly after, Khawla’s sister breastfed him, establishing a form of kinship recognised in Islamic tradition. 

Khawla speaks openly about the relief that followed his arrival. For years, she endured the stigma attached to childlessness. Women in the community would hide their children from view as she approached, she said, and refuse to let her hold them. Ahmad restored her confidence and gave her the power to face the world. 

Both parents say they have no interest in his past. What matters to them is the future. His grandmother acknowledges that people still talk. “They don’t fear God, they just talk,” she said.

“If they hurt him with just one word,” Ahmad’s father said, “I will destroy the world.” 

That willingness to confront social stigma, driven by an overwhelming desire for children, is helping reshape attitudes towards fostering children of unknown parentage. 

The parents of Nesme and Farah tell a similar story. After long discussions with relatives and religious leaders, they welcomed Farah in 2024 and their second foster daughter, Nesme, in 2025. 

Ailaa, the foster mother, recalls people asking whether she knew the child’s origins or who their parents were. Others implied that the children might have been the product of an extramarital affair, as if that would make them less worthy of love.

The couple remained defiant: what mattered was that the children were loved and safe. Over time, attitudes softened. The people who had once been critical watched the children grow up in an ordinary family environment. 

Some even began fostering themselves. “People followed our lead,” Ailaa said.

“Every family that welcomed a child influenced not only their own lives, but also their wider family and community,” Bingaman said. “Grandparents, aunts, uncles, neighbours and friends saw these children growing up in loving homes and began to see what was possible.” 

This ripple effect is reflected in the bank of approved foster families now awaiting children from Lahn al-Hayat, which is mostly made up of couples from Idlib.

Despite being one of Syria’s more conservative governorates, it is where Child Houses first operated and where its work is best known. 

The future of Syria's children

The challenge is what comes next. 

After children are placed with families, Child Houses conducts regular assessments and home visits. 

Foster parents are connected through a WhatsApp group where they exchange advice, celebrate milestones and discuss the practical realities of raising foster children.

One question recurs in conversation and in the group: when, and how, should children be told about their history? 

As the first generation of children fostered through Child Houses approach school age, the organisation is developing new forms of guidance and psychosocial support to help families navigate what is largely an uncharted terrain. 

For decades, children of unknown parentage have been confined to institutions and defined by the circumstances of their birth. The families now opening their homes to these children are rewriting that story.