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The pull of home can be strong – even when it is a place you can’t remember.

That is how it is for Ahmed, 18. He emerges from a mosque in the heart of Gaziantep in south-east Turkey – not far from the Syrian border – wearing a black T-shirt with “Syria” written on the front.

His family fled his homeland when he was five years old, but he is planning to go back in a year or two at most.

“I am impatient to get there,” he tells me. “I am trying to save money first, because wages in Syria are low.” Still, he insists the future will be better there.

“Syria will be rebuilt and it will be like gold,” he says.

If he goes back, he will be following in the footsteps of more than half a million Syrians who have left Turkey since the ousting of Syria’s long-time dictator, Bashar al-Assad, in December 2024.

Many had been here since 2011, when civil war began devouring their country.

In the years that followed, Turkey became a safe haven, taking in more Syrians than any other country. The number reached 3.5 million at its peak, causing political tension and – on occasion – xenophobic attacks.

Officially, no Syrian will be forced to go, but some feel they are being pushed – by bureaucratic changes, and by a waning welcome.

Civil society organisations “are getting the message from the authorities that it’s time to go”, says a Syrian woman who did not want to be named.

“I have a lot of good Turkish friends. Even they and my neighbours have asked why I am still here. Of course we will go back, but in an organised way. If we all go back together, it will be chaos.”

Aya Mustafa, 32, is eager to leave – but not yet. We meet under a winter sun by the stone walls of a castle, which has towered over Gaziantep since the Byzantine era. Her hometown, Aleppo, is less than two hours’ drive away.

She says going back is a constant topic of conversation in the Syrian community.

“Every day, every hour, we speak about this point,” says Aya, whose family were lawyers and teachers back home, but had to start again in Turkey, baking and hairdressing to earn a living.

“We are talking about how we can return, and when, and what we can do. But there are many challenges, to be honest. Many families have children who were born here and can’t even speak Arabic.”

Then there is the level of destruction in new Syria – where war has done its worst – and where the interim president, Ahmed Al Sharaa, is a former senior leader of Al Qaeda who has worked to reinvent his image.

Aya saw the ruins of Aleppo for herself when she went back to visit. Her family home is still standing but now occupied by someone else.

“It’s a big decision to go back to Syria,” she says, “especially for people with elderly relatives. I have my grandmother and my disabled sister. We need the basics like electricity and water and jobs to survive there.”

For now, she says, her family can’t survive in Syria, but they will return in time.

“We believe that day will come,” she says, with a broad smile. “It will take some years [to rebuild]. But in the end, we will see everyone in Syria.”

A short drive away, we get a very different view from a Syrian family of four – father, mother and two teenage sons. The father – who does not want to be named – runs an aid organisation helping his fellow countrymen. Over glasses of tea and helpings of baklava, I ask if he and his family would move back. His response is swift and adamant.

“No, not for me and for my family,” he says. “And the same goes for my organisation. We have projects inside Syria, and we hope to extend that activity. But my family and my organisation will stay here in Turkey.”

Asked why, he lists problems with the economy, security, education and the health system. Syria’s interim government “hasn’t any experience to deal with the situation”, he tells me. “Some ask us to give them a chance, but one year has passed and the indications are not good.”

He too has visited the new Syria, and, like Aya, was not reassured. “The security situation is very bad,” he says. “Every day there are killings. Regardless of who the victims are, they have souls.”

His voice softens when he speaks of his 80-year-old father in Damascus, who hasn’t seen his grandsons for 12 years, and may never see them again.

For now, he and his family can remain in Turkey, but he’s already making contingency plans in case government policy changes.

“Plan A is that we will stay here in Turkey,” he says. “If we cannot, I’m thinking about plan B, C and even D. I am an engineer, always planning.”

None of those plans involve a return to Syria.

If going home is hard, staying in Turkey isn’t easy either. Syrians have “temporary protection” that comes with restrictions. They are not supposed to leave the cities where they are first registered. Work permits are hard to get, and many are in low paid jobs, living on the margins.

Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan – who backed the uprising against Assad – has insisted that no Syrian will be driven out, but refugee advocates say there are growing pressures beneath the surface.

They point to the ending of free medical care for Syrians from January, and new government regulations which make it more expensive to hire them.

“These new elements cast a shadow over how voluntary returns are,” says Metin Corabatir, who heads an independent Turkish research centre on asylum and migration, IGAM.

And he says presidential and parliamentary elections – due by 2028 – may be another threat for Syrians here.

“Normally President Erdogan is their main protector,” Mr Corabatir tells me. “He says they can stay as long as they want. And he repeated this after the regime changed. But if there is an election, and a political gain for the AKP [ruling party] to make, there might be some policy changes.”

Fresh elections could revive the xenophobic rhetoric that featured in the last polls, he warns. “Those feelings went to sleep,” he says, “but I am quite sure the infrastructure of this xenophobic attitude is still alive.”

On a cold grey morning at a border crossing an hour’s drive from Gaziantep the hills of Syria are visible, a short distance away.

Mahmud Sattouf and his wife Suad Helal are heading to their homeland – this time just for a visit. They have Turkish citizenship, so they will be able to return. For other Syrians, the journey is now one-way.

Mahmud, a teacher, is beaming with excitement.

“We are returning because we love our country,” he says. “It’s a great joy. I can’t describe it in words. As we say in English: ‘East, west, home is best’.”

He and Suad will move home in about a year, he tells us, when Syria is more settled, along with their four sons, and their families.

“I am 63,” he says, “but I don’t feel like I am an old man. I feel young. We are ready to rebuild our country.”

How will it feel to be back for good? I ask.

“I will be the most happy man in the world,” he says, and laughs.

Sensitive content: This article contains a graphic description of death that some readers may find upsetting

I’ve reported on more than 40 wars around the world during my career, which goes back to the 1960s. I watched the Cold War reach its height, then simply evaporate. But I’ve never seen a year quite as worrying as 2025 has been – not just because several major conflicts are raging but because it is becoming clear that one of them has geopolitical implications of unparalleled importance.

Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky has warned that the current conflict in his country could escalate into a world war. After nearly 60 years of observing conflict, I’ve got a nasty feeling he’s right.

Nato governments are on high alert for any signs that Russia is cutting the undersea cables that carry the electronic traffic that keeps Western society going. Their drones are accused of testing the defences of Nato countries. Their hackers develop ways of putting ministries, emergency services and huge corporations out of operation.

Authorities in the west are certain Russia’s secret services murder and attempt to murder dissidents who have taken refuge in the West. An inquiry into the attempted murder in Salisbury of the former Russian intelligence agent Sergei Skrypal in 2018 (plus the actual fatal poisoning of a local woman, Dawn Sturgess) concluded that the attack had been agreed at the highest level in Russia. That means President Putin himself.

The year 2025 has been marked by three very different wars. There is Ukraine of course, where the UN says 14,000 civilians have died. In Gaza, where Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu promised “mighty vengeance” after about 1,200 people were killed when Hamas attacked Israel on 7 October 2023 and 251 people were taken hostage.

Since then, more than 70,000 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli military action, including more than 30,000 women and children according to Gaza’s Hamas-run health ministry – figures the UN considers reliable.

Meanwhile there has been a ferocious civil war between two military factions in Sudan. More than 150,000 people have been killed there over the past couple of years; around 12 million have been forced out of their homes.

Maybe, if this had been the only war in 2025, the outside world would have done more to stop it; but it wasn’t.

“I’m good at solving wars,” said US President Donald Trump, as his aircraft flew him to Israel after he had negotiated a ceasefire in the Gaza fighting. It’s true that fewer people are dying in Gaza now. Despite the ceasefire, the Gaza war certainly doesn’t feel as though it’s been solved.

Given the appalling suffering in the Middle East it may sound strange to say the war in Ukraine is on a completely different level to this. But it is.

The Cold War aside, most of the conflicts I’ve covered over the years have been small-scale affairs: nasty and dangerous, certainly, but not serious enough to threaten the peace of the entire world. Some conflicts, such as Vietnam, the first Gulf War, and the war in Kosovo, did occasionally look as though they might tip over into something much worse, but they never did.

The great powers were too nervous about the dangers that a localised, conventional war might turn into a nuclear one.

“I’m not going to start the Third World War for you,” the British Gen Sir Mike Jackson reportedly shouted over his radio in Kosovo in 1999, when his Nato superior ordered British and French forces to seize an airfield in Pristina after the Russian troops had got there first.

In the coming year, 2026, though, Russia, noting President Trump’s apparent lack of interest in Europe, seems ready and willing to push for much greater dominance.

Earlier this month, Putin said Russia was not planning to go to war with Europe, but was ready “right now” if Europeans wanted to.

At a later televised event he said: “There won’t be any operations if you treat us with respect, if you respect our interests just as we’ve always tried to respect yours”.

But already Russia, a major world power, has invaded an independent European country, resulting in huge numbers of civilian and also military deaths. It is accused by Ukraine of kidnapping at least 20,000 children. The International Criminal Court (ICC) has issued an arrest warrant for Russian President Vladimir Putin for his involvement in this, something Russia has always denied.

Russia says it invaded in order to protect itself against Nato encroachment, but President Putin has indicated another motive: the desire to restore Russia’s regional sphere of influence.

He is gratefully aware that this last year, 2025, has seen something most Western countries had regarded as unthinkable: the possibility that an American president might turn his back on the strategic system which has been in force ever since World War Two.

Not only is Washington now uncertain it wants to protect Europe, it disapproves of the direction it believes Europe is heading in. The Trump administration’s new national security strategy report claims Europe now faces the “stark prospect of civilisational erasure”.

The Kremlin welcomed the report, saying it is consistent with Russia’s own vision. You bet it is.

Inside Russia, Putin has silenced most internal opposition to himself and to the Ukraine war, according to the UN special rapporteur focusing on human rights in Russia. He’s got his own problems, though: the possibility of inflation rising again after a recent cooling, oil revenues falling, and his government having had to raise VAT to help pay for the war.

The economies of the European Union are 10 times bigger than Russia’s; even more than that if you add the UK. The combined European population of 450 million, is over three times Russia’s 145 million. Still, Western Europe has seemed nervous of losing its creature comforts, and was until recently reluctant to pay for its own defence as long as America can be persuaded to protect it.

America, too, is different nowadays: less influential, more inward-looking, and increasingly different from the America I’ve reported on for my entire career. Now, very much as in the 1920s and 30s, it wants to concentrate on its own national interests.

Even if President Trump loses a lot of his political strength at next year’s mid-term elections, he may have shifted the dial so far towards isolationism that even a more Nato-minded American president in 2028 might find it hard to come to Europe’s aid.

Don’t think Vladimir Putin hasn’t noticed that.

The coming year, 2026, does look as though it’ll be important. Zelensky may well feel obliged to agree to a peace deal, carving off a large part of Ukrainian territory. Will there be enough bankable guarantees to stop President Putin coming back for more in a few years’ time?

For Ukraine and its European supporters, already feeling that they are at war with Russia, that’s an important question. Europe will have to take over a far greater share of keeping Ukraine going, but if the United States turns its back on Ukraine, as it sometimes threatens to do, that will be a colossal burden.

But could the war turn into a nuclear confrontation?

We know President Putin is a gambler; a more careful leader would have shied away from invading Ukraine in February 2022. His henchmen make bloodcurdling threats about wiping the UK and other European countries off the map with Russia’s vaunted new weapons, but he’s usually much more restrained himself.

While the Americans are still active members of Nato, the risk that they could respond with a devastating nuclear attack of their own is still too great. For now.

As for China, President Xi Jinping has made few outright threats against the self-governed island of Taiwan recently. But two years ago the then director of the CIA William Burns said Xi Jinping had ordered the People’s Liberation Army to be ready to invade Taiwan by 2027. If China doesn’t take some sort of decisive action to claim Taiwan, Xi Jinping could consider this to look pretty feeble. He won’t want that.

You might think that China is too strong and wealthy nowadays to worry about domestic public opinion. Not so. Ever since the uprising against Deng Xiaoping in 1989, which ended with the Tiananmen massacre, Chinese leaders have monitored the way the country reacts with obsessive care.

I watched the events unfold in Tiananmen myself, reporting and even sometimes living in the Square.

The story of 4 June 1989 wasn’t as simple as we thought at the time: armed soldiers shooting down unarmed students. That certainly happened, but there was another battle going on in Beijing and many other Chinese cities. Thousands of ordinary working-class people came out onto the streets, determined to use the attack on the students as a chance to overthrow the control of the Chinese Communist Party altogether.

When I drove through the streets two days later, I saw at least five police stations and three local security police headquarters burned out. In one suburb the angry crowd had set fire to a policeman and propped up his charred body against a wall. A uniform cap was put at a jaunty angle on his head, and a cigarette had been stuck between his blackened lips.

It turns out the army wasn’t just putting down a long-standing demonstration by students, it was stamping out a popular uprising by ordinary Chinese people.

China’s political leadership, still unable to bury the memories of what happened 36 years ago, is constantly on the look-out for signs of opposition – whether from organised groups like Falun Gong or the independent Christian church or the democracy movement in Hong Kong, or just people demonstrating against local corruption. All are stamped on with great force.

I have spent a good deal of time reporting on China since 1989, watching its rise to economic and political dominance. I even came to know a top politician who was Xi Jinping’s rival and competitor. His name was Bo Xilai, and he was an anglophile who spoke surprisingly openly about China’s politics.

He once said to me, “You’ll never understand how insecure a government feels when it knows it hasn’t been elected.”

As for Bo Xilai, he was jailed for life in 2013 after being found guilty of bribery, embezzlement and abuse of power.

Altogether, then, 2026 looks like being an important year. China’s strength will grow, and its strategy for taking over Taiwan – Xi Jinping’s great ambition – will become clearer. It may be that the war in Ukraine will be settled, but on terms that are favourable to President Putin.

He may be free to come back for more Ukrainian territory when he’s ready. And President Trump, even though his political wings could be clipped in November’s mid-term elections, will distance the US from Europe even more.

From the European point of view, the outlook could scarcely be more gloomy.

If you thought World War Three would be a shooting-match with nuclear weapons, think again. It’s much more likely to be a collection of diplomatic and military manoeuvres, which will see autocracy flourish. It could even threaten to break up the Western alliance.

And the process has already started.

Top picture credits: AFP / Getty Images

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A woman is currently awaiting execution in Somalia after being convicted of killing a 14-year-old girl in her care.

The murder of orphan Saabirin Saylaan in November, and the horrific details that emerged about the circumstances surrounding her death, sparked protests near her home in Galkayo, along with renewed calls for greater child protection.

The case touched a deep nerve in a country where child abuse often goes unreported, especially when it occurs inside extended families.

For many, Saabirin’s death symbolised a broader failure in child protection and the slow implementation of legal safeguards meant to prevent such tragedies.

The conviction of 34-year-old Hodan Mohamud Diiriye for murder marked one of the rare instances in Somalia where a court imposed the ultimate penalty for child abuse.

Diiriye had denied the charges and her lawyer has filed an appeal against the verdict.

Her husband, Abdiaziz Nor, 65, was acquitted of murder but sentenced to one year in prison and fined $500 (£375) for negligence.

Saabirin was orphaned when both her parents died within a short period when she was just one year old.

Both of her grandmothers had also died so she was looked after by her late mother’s aunt, who ensured she got an education and attended a traditional Quranic school.

But her life took a devastating turn in September after Saabirin’s great-aunt agreed that Diiriye’s family, who needed a home help, could take her in.

During their investigation, police revealed that in the two months she was living there, the young girl had endured “routine physical abuse” – she was beaten and tortured.

Evidence recovered from Diiriye’s phone, including videos and audio recordings documented repeated violence. Some of these were leaked to the public before the trial – it is not clear who released them.

In one particularly disturbing recording, Diiriye can be heard saying: “I’m enjoying your pain.”

A post-mortem examination of Saabirin’s body revealed multiple injuries and deep stab wounds consistent with prolonged violence.

As details of the police investigation emerged, public anger grew.

Hundreds of women and young people marched in Galkayo, one of the largest cities in Somalia’s semi-autonomous Puntland region, carrying signs reading “Justice for Saabirin” and calling on the authorities to prosecute all those responsible.

They gathered outside the local hospital where her body was lying in the morgue.

Things got so heated that during one protest demonstrators clashed with police and a young man was shot dead, though it is not clear who fired the bullet.

Online, young women and girls launched a wave of solidarity campaigns, using hashtags invoking Saabirin’s name.

“No child should die like this,” a tearful 18-year-old protester Aniiso Abdullahi said in a clip shared on social media.

“We also reject the attempts by traditional elders who want to resolve this case through clan customs or behind closed doors.”

This is when elders from the clans of those involved in a dispute intervene with the aim of avoiding revenge and further violence, rather than establish criminal guilt. Some kind of compensation is usually agreed but as this process prioritises peace over justice for the victim, and the voices of women and children are not often heard, there is a feeling that some crimes are not being addressed.

Child abuse in Somalia is often hidden within households, and extended families are traditionally viewed as safe and private spaces – where the state should not interfere.

Diiriye’s trial and other related hearings were broadcast live on social media to ensure public trust in the justice system.

Regional police commander Mohamud Abdihakim said the verdict marked an important moment in the pursuit of justice for the murdered teenager.

“The perpetrator is now only awaiting the implementation of the death sentence. If further evidence emerges proving that additional individuals were involved in this crime, they will not be spared, the law will be fully applied to them as well,” he said.

Najeb Wehelie, the director of child rights organisation Dhoodaan said that “the case highlights the profound gaps that still exist in safeguarding the most basic human rights of children in our society.

“Children continue to face violence inside family homes, and only the most extreme cases ever reach the police,” he added.

In June this year, police in the capital, Mogadishu, received a report that a three-year-old boy had been severely abused inside the home of his father’s wife.

The alleged perpetrator was swiftly arrested.

According to Save the Children in Somalia, three horrific acts of violence against children occurred in the country during October and November – the murder of four young children through arson in Hargeisa, the violent rape of an 11-year-old girl in Puntland and the murder of a mother and her three daughters in central Somalia.

The head of the local women’s association in Galkayo, Shukri Abdi, said the community was overwhelmed with cases of violence in the home, many of which never reach the courts.

On 1 October this year, Somalia’s parliament ratified the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child, with 130 lawmakers voting in favour, 10 against, and five abstaining.

The decades-old charter outlines legal frameworks to prevent abuse, exploitation and violence against minors.

Its provisions include:

• Criminalising all forms of child abuse
• Strengthening legal punishment for guardians who harm or neglect children
• Ensuring state responsibility for vulnerable and orphaned children
• And establishing monitoring systems in school, hospitals and communities.

But just three days later, the ministry of family and human rights development issued a clarification stating that the implementation of the charter would be guided by Islamic law and the constitution, with provisions contrary to religious teaching not being enforced.

It said that Somali parental authority was fundamental and no external entity could override it. The ministry also said that the charter’s restriction on marriage before the age of 18 contradicted Sharia, which allows marriage when a girl reaches puberty – though in practice in Somalia the minimum age has been 15.

Fadumo Ahmed, a women’s and child’s rights activist, argued that enforcement of similar measures that already existed in Somalia remained weak.

The police lack the capacity to deal with cases along with social services. Cases often get interfered with by clan elders, which undermines the justice system and victims’ voices are not heard, she said.

She adds that children were often unaware that they could speak out and many schools were not teaching them that they could report abuse.

“In many similar cases [to Saabirin’s], both sides of the family reach a behind-the-door agreement and then inform the government that the matter has been resolved,” Ms Ahmed said.

Shukri Ahmed Hussein, the coordinator for Puntland’s ministry of women’s development and family affairs for the region that includes Galkayo, denies that the authorities are failing in their responsibility to protect children.

In an interview with the BBC, she pointed out programmes to help youths who at one time had been recruited into armed groups, as well as efforts to protect street children.

She did however admit that in cases like the one involving Saabirin, it is sometimes difficult to intervene. She acknowledged that more should be done to increase awareness that people can speak out if they suspect that a child might not be safe.

“Every child in Puntland has the right to be removed from any household in which they do not feel safe,” Ms Hussein said.

Although Saabirin’s life was cut tragically short, her death is now forcing overdue conversations about child safety in Somalia.

But as the local community reflects on the verdict, some are unsure if the justice will be served in the long run.

“There is nothing to celebrate yet, we still need clarity,” one of the young protesters, Abdikadir Ali, said in a social media message.

“We don’t want justice in words, we want to see it with our own eyes. We don’t want delays.”