When the war began in Syria, Njma was a nurse in Deir ez-Zor, caring for the wounded and sick.

“Our house became a place where injured people came for help,” she says. “We didn’t have much, but we tried to care for everyone.”

When Daesh arrived, her home was hit by an airstrike injuring her mother who ended up in a coma. Her father, an ambulance driver, was captured and imprisoned.

“There was no medicine, and my mother needed help. We didn’t want to leave Syria, but we had no choice.”

In 2015, Njma crossed into Türkiye and joined her brother in Şanlıurfa. She began selling food from home and later worked in a sewing factory. Then she heard about an opening at Ummah Care Foundation’s centre for Syrian refugees.

“It was like a dream job — a place that helps our children and gives mothers hope.”

Today, Njma manages the centre, overseeing physical therapy sessions for children with disabilities and holding meetings for their mothers. She also teaches Arabic lessons each week to groups of Syrian children, helping them strengthen their language skills and keep up with school. Many of the mothers, she explains, don’t have Turkish ID and struggle to access healthcare or other services. Njma and her team teach them how to care for their children and support one another through daily challenges.

The work is challenging, but the rewards are clear.

“Some children arrive scared and crying,” Njma says. “But when they leave with big smiles, I know we’ve made a difference. The centre heals both bodies and hearts.”

For Njma, Ummah Care Foundation is more than a workplace — it’s a community.

“When I see the children laugh again,” she says softly, “I feel that something good has returned to our lives.”