When five armed men in military fatigues stormed the guesthouse where Hatem Radwan and his family were sheltering in Sweida, he did what tradition dictated: he offered them coffee.
His offer was met with bullets as the assailants opened fire, killing a dozen members of the Radwan family, a long-established name in Sweida, in southern Syria.
Mr Radwan miraculously survived. “I was sitting right here,” he said, pointing to the centre of the room. A bullet had grazed his face, striking the portrait of one of the family’s sheikhs hanging just above his head. “I have no idea how I’m still alive,” he added.
He recalled the gunmen shouting: “You’re all Druze pigs”, smashing traditional decorations and playing with swords mounted on the wall, before opening fire.
The Radwan family had taken refuge in the guesthouse that Tuesday morning, amid worsening clashes between Druze militias, Syrian troops and armed Bedouin. The violence was closing in. Unknown cars roamed the streets and the sound of gunfire drew nearer.
But in the madafeh, they believed they were safe. This traditional communal guesthouse had historically served as a neutral and protected space for receiving guests, elders and mediators. Weapons are banned there.
Videos filmed shortly after the massacre show bodies piled on top of one another, lying in pools of blood that still stained the floor more than a week later, when The National visited Sweida on Thursday. Mr Radwan said the corpses of his relatives, soaked in blood, were slipping from his hands as he tried to move them.
Wave of violence
The clashes erupted in Sweida last week, as attacks between Bedouin and Druze factions escalated into widespread violence, killing more than 1,000 people. Syrian government forces were deployed to contain the unrest, but Druze militias, who deeply distrust the new Syrian authorities and viewed them as siding with the Bedouin, mobilised to push them back.
Mr Radwan’s account is among many harrowing testimonies shared with The National by residents of the devastated provincial capital of Sweida.
He said he could not identify who killed his family. Other Sweida residents said they saw men in official security force uniforms participating in the violence. The National could not independently verify all the witness accounts.
A precarious calm has since returned to Sweida, after a ceasefire was reached between Druze leaders and Damascus on July 19.
Syria’s President Ahmad Al Shara, seen as more sympathetic to the Bedouin, vowed that those responsible for abuses would be held accountable, vowing to protect the Druze minority, while praising the tribes for their “heroic actions” against Druze “outlaw groups”.
Stench of death
Days of violence have turned Sweida into a war zone. Inside homes, bullets and children’s toys meld on the ground. Many shops and houses, their walls blackened by fire, have been looted while shards of glass litter the streets.
Charred Syrian army tanks line the roads, struck by Israeli forces. Israel, which distrusts the new Syrian government led by a disarmed faction formerly affiliated with Al Qaeda, has intervened in the conflict, claiming to defend the Druze, a religious minority which also has followers in Israel.
Graffiti bears the names of tribal groups that fought against Druze militias inside the city. The conflict between Druze, considered heretics by some extremist Sunni militant groups, and Sunni Bedouin communities has deep historical roots but had never reached this level of brutality during the Syrian civil war.
Sweida had largely been spared the worst of that conflict. But now a suffocating stench of blood hangs across the area, after bodies were left for days decomposing in the scorching heat.
Counting the dead
The Sweida National Hospital has been documenting the toll of the violence. Doctor Akraim Naim told The National that the facility has received 509 bodies “so far”.
Medical staff have photographed each victim they received. On his computer, Mr Naim showed some of the images, including the bodies of women and children. Among them was three-month-old Sirine Gharezzeddine, her round baby face covered in blood, and her mother, Dalal.
Dr Naim said most of the victims were civilians. “Is this man a fighter?” he said, showing a picture of a dead elderly man. “Is this woman a fighter too?” he asked.
On Monday, more than 100 bodies of Sweida residents were buried in a mass grave on the outskirts of the city. The corpses were lined up across a stretch of nearly 20 metres. Blood from the lorry that transported them stained the road in front of the burial site.
At the Sweida hospital, six bodies from Bedouin communities remain in a room, lying in a dark pool of blood, still awaiting return to their families.
Besieged city
As survivors mourn their dead, they continue to suffer. While fighting has stopped inside the city of Sweida, residents remain trapped due to sporadic clashes on the outskirts.
The situation remains volatile. Armed tribesmen from across Syria, mobilised by a call to arms against Druze factions, remain deployed around the city’s periphery.
Meanwhile, Sheikh Hikmat Al Hijri, one of the community’s spiritual leaders, has refused to allow government forces to re-enter the city and has rejected the terms of the ceasefire.
Residents said Sweida is under siege, with little humanitarian aid reaching the city. People were seen waiting in lines for hours, hoping to buy five litres of fuel, the capped limit.
Inside Sweida, where residents had once celebrated the fall of the Assad regime, many now say they have lost faith in the new authorities.
“We had some trust in them,” said a relative of Mr Radwan. But after violence in Sweida, “they didn’t just destroy our trust, they shattered the Syrian identity”, he said.
