In a modest home in Husn refugee camp, Jordan, Noora Al-Salem greeted us with a warm smile as we settled onto floor mattresses to talk. Originally from Damascus, Syria, she fled the war with her family in 2013, seeking safety in Jordan.
How new civil documents helped Noora and Rami rebuild their lives
Escaping tragedy
Noora and Rami married and welcomed their first son, Omar, in 2008. “We were happy, living harmoniously in the family’s big house in Az-Zyabeyeh [a district in Damascus],” Noora recalls, reflecting on a time when life was simpler, the world felt safe, and the future seemed certain. But that peace was shattered as violence swept through Syria, scattering her extended family across the country and beyond. Noora’s small family of three was forced to flee repeatedly throughout 2013.
Omar, only four years old at the time, endured three displacements in just seven months. “At first, we rented a house nearby,” says Noora. “Two months later, we moved farther away, staying for three more months until we found ourselves in Daraa [a city near the Jordanian border].”
The war had claimed so much, and the loss was deeply personal. Noora’s mother-in-law and brother-in-law, who had also fled their home, were tragically killed in an airstrike. Devastated, Noora and Rami knew they couldn’t stay in Syria any longer. “After what happened, we said enough—we have to leave,” she says. With heavy hearts, they fled Syria for Jordan, seeking safety and a chance to rebuild their lives.
Escaping tragedy
Noora and Rami married and welcomed their first son, Omar, in 2008. “We were happy, living harmoniously in the family’s big house in Az-Zyabeyeh [a district in Damascus],” Noora recalls, reflecting on a time when life was simpler, the world felt safe, and the future seemed certain. But that peace was shattered as violence swept through Syria, scattering her extended family across the country and beyond. Noora’s small family of three was forced to flee repeatedly throughout 2013.
Omar, only four years old at the time, endured three displacements in just seven months. “At first, we rented a house nearby,” says Noora. “Two months later, we moved farther away, staying for three more months until we found ourselves in Daraa [a city near the Jordanian border].”
The war had claimed so much, and the loss was deeply personal. Noora’s mother-in-law and brother-in-law, who had also fled their home, were tragically killed in an airstrike. Devastated, Noora and Rami knew they couldn’t stay in Syria any longer. “After what happened, we said enough—we have to leave,” she says. With heavy hearts, they fled Syria for Jordan, seeking safety and a chance to rebuild their lives.
Navigating war's echoes and legal barriers
The sounds of war lingered with them for months after arriving in Jordan. “Every loud noise scared us,” Noora recalls. “We thought it might be an airstrike. The sound of planes, even water pipes—everything reminded us of what we had escaped. It took nearly seven months before we finally felt safe again.”
Rami, who had worked at a cheese factory in Syria, found employment in Jordan unstable— like many Syrians facing restrictions and, since July 2024, costly work permits.
When Noora and Rami arrived in Jordan, they had their family booklet and marriage certificate in hand. But as they moved from one place to another before finally settling in Husn refugee camp, these critical documents were lost. Without them, they struggled to prove their marriage and Rami’s paternity of Omar. The problem worsened when their daughter, Zainab, was born in Jordan. They were unable to issue her a birth certificate, essential for legal identity, nationality, and access to services.
Seeking support
Thanks to a temporary exemption for refugees, Zainab was able to enrol in first grade despite lacking documents. She successfully advanced to second grade before the missing birth certificate became a serious issue. The school principal asked Rami and Noora to keep Zainab at home until the matter was resolved. Determined to keep her in school, Rami reached out to the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) for support. A member of NRC’s information, counselling and legal assistance (ICLA) programme accompanied him to the school, explained the situation, and assured the principal that NRC was working on obtaining the necessary documents. Understanding the urgency, the principal allowed Zainab to continue her studies without interruption.
In June 2024, NRC filed a court case to validate Noora and Rami’s marriage, followed by another to legally recognise Zainab’s birth. The court finally confirmed her birth, allowing Rami to present the verdict to the school while her birth certificate was being processed.
“It took less than two months to obtain the marriage and birth certificates with NRC’s help,” shares Noora. “It was such a relief for our family.”
Through it all, Rami and Noora remained hopeful, knowing that reclaiming their documents was just the first step toward a stable future for their children—one where they could pursue their education and dreams of a better life.
NRC’s ICLA programme in Jordan is generously supported by the Swiss Confederation.
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