By Karolina Tagaris, Edward McAllister, Riham Alkousaa
ATHENS/BERLIN (Reuters) -Najem al-Moussa was delighted when news of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad's overthrow first beamed from the television in his tiny Athens apartment.
Then came a dreaded thought: what if Assad's fall meant he and his family would be forced to return to the devastated country they had fled nine years before?
Events in Syria took a seismic turn on Sunday when rebels poured into Damascus after a lightning offensive that forced Assad into exile in Russia and raised hopes of an end to a 13-year civil war that has left the country in ruins.
Now, as European countries rethink their asylum policies for Syrians in the light of developments, many fear they will have to go back.
"I consider my life to be here. Not just me but my children," said al-Moussa, a lawyer by training who works as a cook in Athens and has been transfixed by the television news for days. "The life that was provided in Greece, my country was not able to offer."
Hundreds of thousands of people have died in Syria's war, which began in 2011 and pitted Assad's army against various rebel groups. Whole cities have been flattened by bombing. Millions fled or are in need of humanitarian assistance.
Thousands of civilians who moved to neighbouring Turkey and Lebanon rushed back into Syria this week, their cars filled with people, luggage, and hope of a peaceful homecoming.
But 10 Syrian refugees who spoke to Reuters in Europe and the United Kingdom (TADAWUL:4280) thought differently. Returning would mean an end to a new life they have risked everything to build.
Al-Moussa and his wife Bushra al-Bukaai fled Damascus in 2015 after the birth of their second child. They spent everything they had on a two-year journey that took them to Sudan, Iran, Turkey and eventually Greece.
They now have five children who are all in school and speak fluent Greek. None speak the Arabic of their parents' homeland.
"When we talk, they ask: 'Daddy, can we really go back to living in these areas? How did you live there before?'," Al-Moussa said.
His wife agrees. "I cannot imagine my children building their future in Syria. Not at all," she said, their youngest son in her lap.
JOY AND DESPAIR
First-time asylum applications by Syrians to the EU were highest in 2015 and 2016 - more than 330,000 in each of those years - before dropping off significantly in the next three years, EU data show. But applications trebled between 2020 and 2023 after a devastating earthquake and as violence and economic hardship persisted.
Thousands of those applications are now on hold after several European countries including Greece this week suspended asylum applications from Syrians while they consider if Syria is safer now that Assad has gone.
It is not clear if asylum seekers will be forced home. ProAsyl, a German NGO providing legal help to asylum seekers, said cases would be in limbo until the foreign ministry publishes its updated security assessment report on Syria, which could take months.
ProAsyl spokesperson Tareq Alaows told Reuters the decision could face legal challenges as authorities in Europe must decide on asylum applications within three to six months of their submission.
Still, Al-Moussa's Greek residence permit is up for renewal and he is worried. He is not alone.
Syrian vet Hasan Alzagher was in a German language class in the city of Erfurt on Monday when he heard that his asylum application for Germany, which he hoped would be finalised by the end of the year, was put on hold.
"This is mentally devastating. It's difficult that after you set your mind to live here, build a new life here, learn the language and integrate in this country, you now have to return to your homeland where basic necessities are still missing," he told Reuters by phone.
In fear of being recruited into the army or a militia group, Alzagher, 32, said he fled the city of Raqqa in 2018. He spent time in Lebanon, Iraq and Turkey before heading to Germany in 2023.
"The fall of Assad is a huge joy for all Syrians, but we who came here and went into debt to finance this journey, every time we arrive in a new place, we have to start over again. It's difficult to think about returning to Syria now."
Alzagher's worries were echoed by Syrians in the United Kingdom, which has also paused decisions on asylum claims.
Syrian refugee Zafer Nahhas applied for a British PhD programme just two days before the fall of the Assad regime. Nahhas, 34, from Aleppo, said he was a wanted man in Syria after participating in an anti-government protest there. His grandfather was jailed for 13 years and many of his friends have been detained and tortured, he said.
He has been granted asylum in the UK, but is nervous now, especially as his wife is pregnant.
The "possibility that they (UK authorities) could blindly reverse some decisions without any personal circumstances being factored in" was worrying, he said by phone.
"It's a whirlwind of thoughts, uncertainties and unnecessary additional concerns in our lives."