Ahmad was on his way to work when he got the call from his wife. ISIS was at his house, and they were looking for him. Terrified, frustrated and fearing for his family’s safety, he knew his only recourse was to run. “I left immediately. I swam the Euphrates River to escape, stayed to pray at dawn at my cousin’s house and then I left for Turkey.”

“When I heard they were beating my wife I wanted to die. I knew if I went back I would be killed.” Desperate to save his wife and twelve children, he arranged for a man to drive them from his house in Deir al-Zour out of Syria.

“I called them with the plan. Don’t tell anyone, not even my brothers, that you’re leaving.” He also gave specific instructions on what to bring from their beautiful home he had worked so hard to build. “I told them, bring my father’s coffee jug, and my prayer beads,” he recalls, clutching the copper coffee jug bought 50 years ago in Aleppo.

His family managed to cross at Akcakale. Most of their bags were lost during the crossing, he says, but “‘alhamdulillah’ (praise God) the coffee jug made it through.”

Khadija’s daughter Sedra was two when she learned to recognize the sounds of airplanes dropping bombs over their city. “The airplanes would circle above our house and drop its shells. One here, one there – we didn’t know if we would live or die in the next blast.”

Sick with fear, Khadija knew she had to get Sedra and her other children to safety. Sedra has spina bifida and could not get proper treatment in war-torn Aleppo. “My husband wanted to stay – his business, the house and our life was there - but it was unbearable.” Her hands full with children, Khadija could take nothing but some clothes and identification papers. “It was difficult because I had to carry Sedra, because she can’t walk.” The family escaped Syria, and now lives in the border city of Gaziantep, Turkey.

At great risk, Khadija’s husband returned to their house in Aleppo in order to get some of their most important possessions. Most treasured by Khadija is a bag of family photos which she handles with care as she shows her kids photos of their wider family and be er times in their homeland, only 60 miles away.

“We were hiding between the trees – our home, everything we had built, was destroyed in front of my eyes. Because the kitchen was protected a bit, I was able to save some things - it’s all we have now. I regret leaving my wedding gifts behind,” Nouriman says, referring to the three silver serving platters her mother gave her on her wedding day. “They were too heavy to carry and the only way to leave the area was on foot.”

Months later Nouriman returned to Douma – this time to collect her nephews after their parents were killed. Her husband and brothers couldn’t get back into Syria safely, and her adult sons had already been killed, so Norman travelled alone through rebel and government checkpoints. “For the six days I travelled, I was shaking. The soldiers always asked me to show my face, so I did it very quickly and hoped they wouldn’t recognize me,” she recalls.

Nouriman found her nephews wearing rags and in shock after a chemical attack on the area. “They hadn’t seen me for so long, so they started to scream and shout.” Today Nouriman’s nephews live with her in Reyhanli, Turkey.

Amal couldn’t walk when the tanks shelled her neighborhood. She had broken her back when the blast of a previous airstrike on the house next door threw her from the roof.

The 23-year-old recalls how her brother Munjid – a name which in Arabic means 'savior' - scooped her up and carried her through the tobacco and co on fields to safety.

"Tanks were shelling the houses. You didn’t know where they’d hit - maybe your house, maybe your neighbor’s. We decided to leave. Even moving from place to place was difficult because the village was surrounded. There was no time to pack our belongings. The only thing I took with me is my bracelet - it was a present from my sister."

The family became separated as they tried to escape and Amal’s sister remained behind in Syria. Amal is only able to speak to her sister every two or three months. "The bracelet gives me strength. When I am wearing it I feel like my sister is still with me. She’s in my thoughts all the time. I just need to hear her voice - just to see if she’s still alive."

“We need to go back to Syria to get Lucy,” Noor says firmly. To Noor, Lucy was more than a doll. “I used to let her sleep next to me in the bed. I would give her a shower and wash her clothes and then we would sleep.”

Noor and her family were watching TV in their living room when they heard an explosion. Noor’s father, grandfather and uncle went to investigate – it was a barrel bomb, they said, and more planes were coming. Everyone ran to pack the most important belongings, Noor being careful to pack Lucy and the toy doctor’s kit she used to care for Lucy. But the car had space for only 4 bags, and three had to be le behind. In one of those bags was Lucy.

“We were supposed to be in Turkey for just three months and then we would go back. But I always knew we wouldn’t go back because the planes don’t go away,” Noor says.

Today, Noor lives with her family in Kirikhan. She has a new doll now and uses the doctor’s kit to ‘treat’ her, but Noor still yearns for Lucy. “She is my best friend. Without her I feel like something is missing.”

Anas loved sitting on his balcony overlooking the park, listening to the birds as he wrote poetry. The 40-year-old former policeman from Deir al-Zour wrote about politics, war, women. Then life in his agricultural town went from bad to worse as local rebel factions were consumed by ISIS extremists.

Anas was at a market when it was hit by a rocket, killing five of his friends. Shrapnel tore into his leg. The hospitals, under siege like the rest of the city, had limited medical supplies. Many of the city’s doctors had already fled. Facing the amputation of his leg, Anas decided to make his way to Turkey.

“We left undercover at around 4am, just after dawn prayer. We tried to keep a low profile - we wanted to look like we were just traveling to another governorate. We were afraid of both the regime and ISIS. We had no time to pack or prepare, everything was done in secrecy. We took some clothes and I brought my poetry books. Then we left. Our life, our belongings, our health... we left everything in Allah’s hands.”