From Olive Trees to New Roots: Noah’s Story 

I was born in the countryside of northwest Syria, in a small village surrounded by fields and olive trees. I grew up in a family of ten, and the land shaped everything about who I am. The countryside taught me patience, connection, and respect for life. Those roots have never left me. 

When the war began, I was eleven years old. I did not fully understand why it was happening, only that it made everything unsafe. We moved from one village to another, always searching for somewhere calmer, somewhere less dangerous. Threats came from every direction, from armed groups and from government forces bombing nearby villages. Fear became part of everyday life. 

After several years of this, when I was fifteen, I began documenting what I saw around me. I started taking photographs and posting them online. At first, it was just a way of recording life, almost like keeping a diary. Then international media outlets noticed my work and asked to share it. They told me what I was doing mattered. For safety, I never used my real name. I needed to protect my family as well as myself. 

I continued this work for several years. I did not think of myself as a journalist at the start, but that is what I became. I was documenting people’s suffering, but also their strength. Even now, I sometimes wonder how I had the courage to do it. But I think we all carry something inside us that we do not fully understand. We just know it is the right thing to do. Eventually, though, it became too dangerous. My father told me I had to leave Syria. It was the hardest thing he ever said to me. 

In 2019, I crossed into Turkey. At first, it felt like a new beginning. I learned Turkish, made friends, and studied cinema so I could continue working with film. But over time, life became difficult. There were millions of Syrians in Turkey, and not everyone welcomed us. Racism was real, and slowly I began to feel that I did not belong. 

I started searching online for the friendliest countries in Europe. That is how I discovered Wales. I had never heard of it before, not the name, not the language. But something about it stayed with me. I decided to go. 

When I arrived in Cardiff, I spoke almost no English. Seeing road signs in two languages confused me. I did not know which one to choose. The city felt quiet, almost village-like, which reminded me of where I grew up. But the loneliness was heavy. I knew no one. 

I found a community garden nearby. Using Google Translate, I told them I wanted to work with them for free. As an asylum seeker, I was not allowed to work, but I wanted to belong. I showed up regularly, learning small phrases like hello, how are you, I am from Syria. It was frustrating not being able to express myself. Back home, food is how we show welcome, so I cooked for them. That was my way of asking to be accepted. Slowly, they welcomed me. That garden became my first community in Wales. 

I have now lived in Cardiff for almost four years. The asylum process was long and uncertain. I lived in shared accommodation with others, kind people, but it never felt like home. Still, I kept going. I explored the city, met local people, and joined community spaces. One important place for me was the Trinity Centre, where I learned how life works here and slowly rebuilt my confidence. 

One day, we went on a trip to the Brecon Beacons. I could not pronounce the name then, but I remember the valleys and the stillness. Standing among the hills, I felt peace for the first time in years. I grew up close to the earth, and that landscape spoke to me. 

When I think of Syria, I think of olive trees. They are strong, always green, surviving cold winters and burning summers. I miss them deeply. Once, in Cardiff, I found an olive tree in a friend’s garden that had been neglected. I began to care for it. That small act made me feel rooted again. 

Displacement changes you. There were times when I felt powerless, treated as less than human by smugglers and strangers. That feeling stays with you. But so does resilience. 

Recently, I made a short film called Crossing Frontiers. It explores displacement and borders, and the contrast between dangerous crossings and simple journeys, like travelling freely between Wales and England by train. That contrast still moves me deeply. 

My dream is simple. I want to keep making films. I want to tell stories about war, migration, and humanity honestly. Too many stories about people like me are told by others, often wrongly. I want to tell them myself. 

I want people to see me as a human being, not just a refugee or an inspiration. I am one story among millions. Migration is not new. It is how the world has always grown and survived. We all come from movement. 

Today, I call Wales home. Not because I was born here, but because I have built something here. Friendship. Peace. Purpose.