The Syrian beekeeper who dreams of his country's healing

On the night of December 8, Ryad Alsous, 71, sat with his family in the UK, switching between news channels. They watched with a mix of disbelief and hope as reports confirmed the unthinkable: Bashar al Assad's 24-year dictatorship had ended.

Opposition forces, led by Hayat Tahrir al Sham (HTS), had seized control, signaling a new chapter for Syria.

"We called it the night of self-determination," Alsous, a beekeeper by profession, tells TRT World. His voice wavers with emotion.

"For years, we lived in the shadows, under constant fear of violence and loss. To hear the regime had fallen—it felt like the first real glimmer of hope for our country."

As images of freed prisoners and tearful reunions streamed across his screen, Alsous found himself feeling hopeful. For the first time, he pictured the possibility of visiting Damascus after more than a decade away, embracing siblings who had endured unimaginable hardship.

"Every night since I left Damascus, I've thought about the last time I stood on my family's balcony. I was terrified of what I was leaving behind, and that feeling never left me," Alsous says.

As Alsous silently envisioned scenes in his mind, he imagined finally showing his seven grandchildren the local bakery selling batches of tanour bread—a taste he has yet to rediscover. He pictured the night air perfumed with gardenia and lemon blossom and the hives he hoped had survived in the apiary he once built by hand.

Hope and trepidation

The UK has now paused accepting asylum applications for Syrians in light of the changing political landscape in Syria. But Alsous's family arrived in 2012 under the government's Syrian Vulnerable Persons Resettlement Scheme (VPRS), which granted asylum to more than 30,000 Syrians fleeing war between 2011 - 2021, leaving behind a life they'd never recover.

The next generation of Alsous children, born in the UK, have only ever heard about Syria in the stories their elders would retell at community gatherings.

But over the past week, years of pent-up joy at Syria's "liberation" ended up being short-lived, and hope soon turned to fear and uncertainty as news unravelled of Israel's invasion of the Golan Heights and airstrikes into Damascus.

"We watched in horror as Israel aggressively attacked and destroyed all the capabilities of the Syrian army. They occupied more Syrian land without facing any international prohibition or condemnation," Alsous says, noting that only Türkiye condemned Israel's incursion.

It was at that moment that he realised when something appears too good to be true, it probably is.

“Türkiye offers real support, it’s Syria's hope, because when Syria is safe, Türkiye will be safe… but also Türkiye is an Islamic country, so it will understand its Syrian neighbours better than Western rulers.”

The real beekeeper

Although Alsous and his family have built a stable and successful life in the UK over the past decade. Alsous is in charge of five apiaries and 100 bee hives, while his daughter Razan launched the UK's first homemade halloumi business, winning accolades for her Syrian-inspired recipes. Yet, the ache of displacement lingers.

"Every piece of land in Syria holds a memory for me," Alsous says. "I've never stopped thinking about going back. I dream of finding a way to help the beekeepers in Syria, restoring what was lost."

Alsous's expertise in beekeeping has even reached global audiences. He inspired the lead character in Christy Lefteri's bestselling novel The Beekeeper of Aleppo. Yet he downplays the comparison, noting that his journey to the UK, via direct flight, was far less harrowing than the treacherous paths taken by many refugees.

In Syria, Alsous was a professor of food science at Damascus University. He created a thriving apiary, home to 500 hives that produced 10 tons of raw Syrian honey, where bees gather nectar from sunflowers, eucalyptus and heather.

Before the war, beekeeping was a well-established practice in Syria, explains Alsous. He was part of a growing beekeeping association, and in the years leading up to 2011, the number of beekeepers quadrupled.

But the brutality of the civil war shattered this growth, burning beehives, and decimating colonies. "A lot of people started cutting down trees, and some militias, like Daesh burned the hives to destroy everything, to hurt Syria's people and future," he explains. He adds that he believes Syria lost about 86 percent of its bee colonies during the conflict.

In 2012, Alsous' life was in grave danger. His academic neutrality as a professor made him a target. Car bombs were placed near his car on three separate occasions. Realising the threats to his family, he made the difficult decision to leave Syria for good, sending his wife and children out of the country before following them to the Yorkshire countryside.

Here beekeeping remains a central part of his life. Ever resilient, he founded The Buzz Project in 2017, an initiative that helps refugees and long-term unemployed people find purpose and healing through beekeeping.

His project not only helps individuals connect with nature, but it also serves as a reminder of the importance of cooperation, productivity, and balance—the very principles that bees embody.

Deep scars

While the fall of Assad's regime marks a turning point, the scars it left on the country are deep.

For Alsous, Syria's wounds are not just political but environmental. The war destroyed forests, decimated wildlife, and robbed the land of its biodiversity. Rebuilding will take decades, and stability remains elusive.

Still, he clings to hope, inspired by the resilience of his bees. "Bees rebuild their colonies after the harshest winters. Syria can do the same. It will take time, but there's always hope."