On the Isle of Bute, the build up to Scotland’s biggest ever World Cup game is reaching fever-pitch. Even the ferry from Wemyss Bay on the mainland to Rothesay is covered in blue and white bunting, emblazoned with the cross of St Andrew.
At Brandanes barbers, across from the island ferry port, Zakarya Fasi and his son Abdul are discussing the once-in-a-lifetime Scotland-Brazil game. “What do you think the score will be?” 22-year-old Abdul asks 16-year-old customer Cammy. “Probably three-nil to Brazil,” Cammy says. “Be positive!” Abdul laughs.
As the Fasis plan the dinner menu for tonight’s game – Syrian biscuits and Irn Bru – their customers talk about which of the island’s pubs will have the best atmosphere. Cammy is a Brandane – one of few remaining islanders who were born on Bute. Zak’s barbershop carries the same name, even though his family were born in Damascus, in Syria. “We genuinely love it here,” Zak, 54, says. “We are so happy and at peace. Bute people are very kind – and they always offer you a smile.”
We went to meet the Fasis to film the latest in the Mirror’s award-winning ‘Island of Strangers’ video series, made with film-maker John Domokos – which tells the stories of how communities overcome divides. The Fasis arrived in Bute just over a decade ago, one family of 12 million Syrians forced to leave their homes when armed conflict in the country intensified, killing over 600,000 people.
When Damascus was destroyed, Zak – who learned the art of barbering from the age of ten – lost the family home, and the business he had built up over 35 years in a single moment. When the family fled, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) resettled them to Bute, a tiny Scottish island of 6,500 residents, 40 miles from Glasgow.
“We had not heard of Bute before,” Zak says. “We just knew England and Scotland were part of the UK and that it was a great country.” When they arrived in Scotland, Abdul was just 10 years old. His siblings Enaam and Yayha were 19 and 16, and his eldest brother Mo was 20.
‘SENSELESS’ screamed one tabloid headline, asking “why Syrian refugees are being foisted on a remote Scottish island with high unemployment and poverty?” Other articles suggested the families didn’t like living there. While far right commentator Katie Hopkins reported – in a now deleted tweet – on a “recent disturbing trend” of crimes on ‘Scotland’s migrant island’. The reality, Abdul says, was quite different. “The welcome we got here was unreal,” he says. “They didn’t even know us, but people were smiling at us.”
Abbie Cameron, now 22, was in Year 7 when the Syrian kids arrived at her school in Rothesay, the same age as Abdul. “Hearing that refugees were coming to the island – that was really the first experience we’d had with people from different countries,” Abbie says. “On the island, every day is kind of the same, so I thought it was exciting, to be honest. I remember when they first arrived and they came into school and couldn’t speak any English – we just found a way to communicate with them.”
For Abdul and his siblings it was a tough time. “It was brutal to be honest,” Abdul says. “We started at school, learning A, B, C, D – it was hard. But we kept trying.” Abdul and his brother Yahya are both talented footballers. “I would say football was probably a language that we used to speak with them,” Abbie remembers. “That’s how I ended up meeting them. I went up to them, I said, “Do you like Messi or Ronaldo better?”
Abdul laughs. “Ronaldo,” he says, emphatically. “Messi is a great player, but Ronaldo works harder. He built himself.” Abdul and Abbie became friends, and today they are engaged. “We went to prom together and I asked her for the first dance, so, aye, that was good,” Abdul remembers. “We’ve just bought a house together and hope to get married in two years time. When there is love, culture and language don’t get in the way.”
While the Fasis speak English with a broad Scottish accent, Abbie has been learning Syrian Arabic. “I’ve been teaching her our Damascus accent,” Zak says. “We’ve taught her Syrian food and she’s taught us Scottish food.” Abbie has even been trying to teach her future brother-in-law Yahya the bagpipes.
Zak and his wife Mona, 48, have given the young people their blessing.““I don’t care if my children get partners from different cultures, when there is love, culture doesn’t matter,” Zak says, in Arabic. “Mona and I got married within 15 days of meeting. Look where we are 30 years later. I tell you, real treasure isn’t money.”
All the family speak of sacrifices made. Yayha gave up his hopes of being a professional footballer when he became a refugee. “I chose my family over my dream,” he says. “In Syria, I was a child, but the first day I left, I became an adult. In one day, I had three jobs, Mount Stuart (a Victorian tourist attraction) in the morning, Co-op in afternoon, hotel in the night… learning English, go to college. My dad used to go and do free haircuts for older people during Covid, and mum volunteered with Oxfam and Oasis charity shop. We didn’t sit at home. We didn’t wait to be on a benefit. When we came to Scotland, I said, ‘If I work hard, I will build my future’.”
A decade after 24 Syrian families settled on the Isle of Bute, the Fasis are one of the only families left. Others left for work in Glasgow, and some have been able to return to Syria. Today, 26-year-old Yahya is the owner of Tazza cafe on Bute, where Abbie works. He also plays for a football club in Greenock, across the water.
Ahead of the big game, Tazza regulars Hugh Reed, 65, and David Miles-Hanschell, 82, drop in for a Syrian breakfast. Hugh has just finished recording a new song ‘Fitba’s Comin Hame’ with his band Hugh Reed and the Velvet Underpants. “People did say to me, ‘Why did you move to the island?’, Hugh says. “And I said, ‘So that I could still feel young’.” He laughs. “When the refugees first arrived, there was some trepidation on the island, and a horrible article. A committee was set up to oppose it.”
Hugh and David were two of the Bute islanders who helped teach the Syrian arrivals to speak English. “I suppose Scottish identity is changing,” Hugh says. “It’s like every country – new ideas come from other places. In Scotland we have this idea of ‘New Scots’.” Yahya says: “Being a New Scot is to belong here and I felt that from the first day – that I belong to Scotland. It encouraged me to work hard, work on my accent and to belong to this culture. We’re all human.”
That night, as the island basks in a rare heatwave, the family gather at Zak and Mona’s terraced home to watch Scotland-Brazil – scarves on, and Saltire flags at the ready. The commentary on TV says: “Scotland’s heroes are 90 minutes from immortality”. Abbie smiles. “If Scotland win, I’ll play the bagpipes at the shop tomorrow,” she says.
Hugh and his friends head to Bute Yard, a new venture in Rothesay set up by the Marquis of Bute – which showcases local craft beers, gorse gin, smoked fish, and Polish chef Pawel’s food. It’s a festival of kilts, blue and white face paint, Bute Beer and big screens, on which Brazil dance their way around Scotland to the sound of the Scots’ chant ‘No Scotland, No Party’.
In the early hours of the morning, Cammy’s prophecy comes true, and Scotland lose 3-0 to Brazil. “We taught the Brazilians football, and that’s the thanks we get,” Hugh jokes. He adds ruefully: “Being Scottish has always been so close, but yet so far.”
As Brazil celebrates, Abbie reflects. “We keep dreaming,” she says. “Being Scottish isn’t where you are from or where you’re born, it is the love you have for that country, it is inside your heart – the pride you feel to belong to this country.”
