The barber who made the cut

Bashar George, 27, greets me in his neat and tidy barber shop, which is perched on a quiet street corner in Binnenstad-Ost, as its windows are lashed by chilling rain and heavy gusts of wind. Inside, however, Bashar is warm and accommodating, if a little timid. He is more than used to cutting hair, but an interview doesn’t come along every day.

Dressed in smart trousers and a black turtleneck, Bashar cuts a stylish figure. He has thick gelled hair and an immaculate beard, which must give visiting customers plenty of faith.

I ask for his full name and age. “You are from the FBI!” he jokes, laughing merrily, as he guides me to the barber chair.

A Syrian refugee, Bashar migrated to the Netherlands at the age of 18, displaced by the ongoing civil war in his home country. Two years prior to the move, however, Bashar’s father passed away.

“I was alone,” he reflects, “with my brother who was very young.” “I was 16 years old, I had to do everything, even the burial of my father.” He explains that his mother was in Greece for work, and he decided not to tell her about her husband’s death.

“After a week, she felt it, she said ‘where is your father?’” he smiles sadly, comparing them to Romeo and Juliet. It was at this point that Bashar and his sister told their mother what had happened. The family’s journey would have to be made without their father.

When asked why his family felt they had to move, Bashar gives me a simple answer - “for a safe life.” Bashar, along with his mother and brother, chose Groningen as a safe refuge due mainly to the fact that his uncle had lived in the city for 16 years.

After picking up the clippers, Bashar seems more assured, relaying his story to me with the confidence of man doing his job, and doing it well. His uncle was the only person he knew in Groningen, Bashar says, other than that he was on his own. “I felt alone, I didn’t have friends, nobody,” he reflects, “this feeling is so bad”. The day that he arrived in the Netherlands is still fresh in his mind.

“I went to the place where my uncle is living,” he recalls, “but I didn’t have internet on my phone, I only had the name of the street”. Luckily, some friendly locals were on hand to help him locate his uncle’s house.

Bashar is a big believer in Dutch hospitality. “The people here are so good, you feel like you are welcome in the country from the beginning,” he smiles. “Of course, not a hundred percent of the people,” he adds, with an afterthought, “but most people are warm.” “The respect is the first thing for me,” he says, “they have respect for you.” He is now talking about his first municipality appointment, which he describes as very friendly. “I like the appointments too much!”, he laughs.

The church played a key part in Bashar’s integration. Despite being practicing Catholics, Bashar and his family attended a local Protestant church and gradually settled into the community. “It was easy to make contact with people,” Bashar says, explaining that he met Syrians who had already lived in the Netherlands for a couple of years. The experience of these Groningers was important in getting used to the city.

Despite positive first impressions, Bashar admits that it wasn’t easy to settle into life in Europe. “At the beginning it was very difficult,” he says, pointing out that in 2014, there were very few Syrians in Groningen as the conflict had only escalated significantly that year. “We were alone,” he explains, “we didn’t have places like a restaurant or barber, or shops with people from Syria working there.”

According to data from government body CBS, the year that Bashar arrived in the Netherlands, there were 13,260 Syrian asylum requests. The following year, Syrian asylum requests more than doubled to 29,700, making up over half of asylum requests for that year.

This influx of Syrian refugees makes a difference, Bashar says. There is a big Syrian community in Groningen now, he says, gesturing around him, “now you have everything.”

To accommodate new asylum seekers, the Central Agency for the Reception of Asylum Seekers (COA) constructed asylum reception centres across the country, such as the one in Ter Apel, in the province of Groningen.

“You go there, you say ‘Hello, I am from Syria’, I need papers, then you have to stay there,” Bashar explains. “The people working there are mostly from Syria, or have family here. It’s easier now, of course.”

Bashar tells me of his long commutes to the centre in Ter Apel, totalling two hours there and back, comprising of three different bus routes. He had to make these journeys alone, as both his uncle, an established dentist, and his wife were busy with work, and could not get time off.

Now, however, Bashar says there are Syrian families that speak Dutch and can help refugees to settle and get integrated.

I ask Bashar if there is anything he doesn’t like about the Netherlands. “I like everything,” he grins, “apart from the weather!” He’s right, it’s pouring buckets outside, with no signs of slowing down. The dismal weather sharply contrasts with the gleaming interior of the barber shop, which is decked with spotless linen flooring. The walls are a soft beige, devoid of decoration except for a framed football shirt, which hangs above the counter.

It belongs to a friend, Bashar explains, who is “like a cousin” to him. The friend in question is Roony Bardghji, a 17-year-old prodigy who plays for FC Copenhagen, and represents Sweden at U21 level, despite being eligible for Syria. Bashar excitedly shows me photos from inside the Allianz Arena, when he went to see Bardghji play against Bayern Munich on the European stage a few weeks ago.

“The war – sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad,” he says, pocketing his phone. “Not good,” he clarifies, “but good for me, good for him.” He explains that if war had not broken out in Syria, he would still be living in the small city of Qamishli, in the northern part of the country, and his friend would be stuck plying his trade in Syria. Instead, Bashar finds himself over 4,000 kilometres away from his hometown, but he says that the Netherlands is beginning to feel familiar.

“For me now it feels like home,” he says, “I have my shop, work, friends, most of the family is here.” As an added bonus, Bashar is now a Dutch national. Three years ago, he celebrated his 24th birthday, with one particularly special birthday present in the arrival of his Dutch passport.

“It was very special,” he grins, “because it’s your birthday and you are Dutch on this day.” With it, he hopes to visit his sister in Aleppo, who he has not seen for twelve years. This is because, Bashar explains, his Syrian passport has caused many problems in the past.

“I understand the police there,” he says, “but they have a system, and they can see you’re coming from the Netherlands days ago.” “With the Dutch passport, I will go there like a king!”, he laughs.