 War-scarred Syrian children may be 'lost to trauma': aid group United Nations, United States (AFP) March 6, 2017 - Syrian children terrified by shelling and airstrikes are showing signs of severe emotional distress and could grow up to be a generation "lost to trauma," Save the Children warned Monday. Interviews with more than 450 children and adults showed a high level of psychological stress among children, with many suffering from frequent bedwetting or developing speech impediments. At least three million children are estimated to be living in Syria's war zones, facing ongoing bombing and shelling as the conflict heads into its seventh year. Two-thirds of those interviewed by the aid organization have lost a loved one or had their house bombed or shelled, or suffered war-related injuries themselves. "After six years of war, we are at a tipping point," said the report entitled "Invisible Wounds" on the war's impact on children's mental health. "The risk of a broken generation, lost to trauma and extreme stress, has never been greater," it said. A staggering 84 percent listed bombing and shelling as the number one cause of stress in children's daily lives. About 48 percent of adults reported that children had lost the ability to speak or developed speech impediments since the start of the war. Some 81 percent of children have become more aggressive while 71 percent suffer from frequent bedwetting, according to the research. Half of those interviewed said domestic abuse was on the rise and one in four children said they don't have a place to go or someone to talk to when they are scared, sad or upset. Sonia Khush, Save the Children's Syria director, cited instances of attempted suicide and self-harm. In the besieged town of Madaya, six teenagers -- the youngest a 12-year-old girl -- have attempted suicide in recent months, said Khush. The report quoted a teacher in Madaya who said children there were "psychologically crushed and tired." "They draw images of children being butchered in the war, or tanks, or the siege and the lack of food." "Children wish they were dead and that they would go to heaven to be warm and eat and play," said Hala, another teacher in Madaya.
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Abu Mariam's spacious villa sits in an upscale Mosul district, but when Iraq's second city became a war zone, the family sought refuge in their basement.
The house sits at the end of the "fourth bridge", which lies broken in half across the Tigris River dividing Islamic State group-held west Mosul from the Iraqi government-controlled east.
Iraqi forces seized the bridge at the end of last month after retaking east Mosul from IS in January. Today, they are advancing in the city's west.
Abu Mariam's house stands on the front line.
Iraqi soldiers lounge on the steps as explosions rock surrounding streets.
"I'm afraid an IS shell will fall on us," says Abu Mariam, a 46-year-old public servant with a trim salt-and-pepper moustache.
He is interrupted by two explosions that shake the house which has already lost all its windows.
Abu Mariam, his wife, their three children abandoned their spacious kitchen, elegant living room with its flat-screen TV and several large bedrooms to seek refuge underground. An octogenarian neighbour has joined them.
It's a wise precaution.
Two shells have landed on the roof of the villa and a third in the garden since Iraqi forces began their assault, Abu Mariam says.
In nearby streets, houses are deserted, with broken windows and missing doors. Occasionally a child's face appears behind a window. A burned-out car sits in a driveway. In another, three dead IS fighters lie face down on the ground.
Soldiers sit on the steps in the garden, sipping tea that Abu Mariam has prepared. One sits on a swing. The lawn is littered with empty plastic water bottles and polystyrene boxes -- discarded meal containers.
"They searched the house when they arrived. They were polite," says Abu Mariam.
- Three months underground -
Down in the basement, four beds of different sizes are lined up in a row, facing a small TV screen.
At the other end of the room, dozens of water bottles sit on a kitchen table alongside some packets of rice and bulgur wheat. A gas stove sits on the floor.
"We only go upstairs to use the toilet. It's been like this for three months, since shells started falling on the area," says Abu Mariam.
Wrapped up in bed, a shawl over her shoulders, their 82-year-old neighbour says she never wanted to leave the home she had occupied for 40 years.
"My nephews begged me (to leave) over and over again, but I only feel comfortable at home, and I didn't want to be a burden," Suhair, a retired teacher who doesn't want to use her real name, tells AFP.
She eventually gave in when the bombing got too close, joining her neighbours in their basement.
Like many residents of Mosul, Abu Mariam says he is glad to be rid of IS, which conquered the city in June 2014.
"The situation was terrible. We're still afraid now," he says, refusing to appear on camera for fear of reprisals.
"They would hold you to account for everything: your beard, your clothes, how you walk," he says.
"Once they asked why my daughter had trousers, even though she was wearing a long jacket and a scarf on her hair. She's only 10 years old!"
He says he wants the whole of Mosul to be "liberated" and safe again.
But for now, the neighbourhood is a war zone. Outside, just a few metres (yards) away, security forces shoot at a car rigged with explosives. It blows up in a huge fireball.
A few minutes later, crouched on Abu Mariam's lawn, two soldiers shoot down an IS drone flying overhead. The jihadists have been using the devices to dump explosives on Iraqi forces' heads.
When relative calm returns, Abu Mariam says he has decided to retreat.
"The children are afraid, we will spend a night or two with our neighbours a street back," he says.
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Iraqi forces battle IS in heavy west Mosul fighting
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