For 2,000 kilometres along Turkey’s southern plains, there are Syrians in fields and valleys, at lonely roadside truck stops, in seaside city parks and down cul-de-sac farm lanes.
Outside the balmy city of Mersin, they pick lemons for 16 hours a day and are rewarded with the equivalent of €16.
An hour’s drive east, where fruit groves and olive trees begin to give way to the lush, bright yellow of freshly-harvested barley, American fighter jets fly training sorties out of Incirlik air base with impressive regularity.
The Syrians underneath might wonder what needs to happen for the aircraft overhead to fly south into Syria, and perhaps do something to hasten their return home.
The southern Anatolian plains are a place where history began and where history is happening every day.
Babies are born and raised as foreigners; some are missing fathers and will be stateless all their lives.
A country with a population close to Germany's, Turkey is now home to the largest refugee population on the planet.
Afghans and Iranians fleeing war and persecution have come here seeking security, but Syrians fleeing a 2011 revolt that turned violent following a violent government crackdown outnumber all others.
Crippling fear
In Akcakale, a dust-swept town on the Syrian border, local Turks sell bottles of water to around two dozen Syrians waiting for the border to open so they can return to see what’s left of their homes in Tell Abyad.
They say the Turkish police guards will open the gates in two hours but the fact that so few – around one in 10 of the 23,000 believed to have fled the Syrian town this month – have opted to return suggests crippling fear abounds.
“We heard there is no electricity or water, but that our homes are ok,” said Jamel, who refused to be further identified, citing the close proximity of Islamic State jihadists in Syria as a threat to their lives.
Foreign would-be jihadists bent on joining Islamic State once crossed this section of the border with ease, but no longer, following the liberation of Tell Abyad by Kurdish militias on June 15th.
American warplanes dropped bombs on jihadists’ positions there last week, says one resident of the town, a major help to the Kurdish militias who now control the town of around 50,000 Kurds and Arabs.
Just kilometres from the border to the north, thousands of Syrians are now living in limbo in Turkey.
Two men bathe themselves in an irrigation stream on the side of the road as a means to cope with the oppressive heat, which sometimes reaches 40 degrees Celsius.
Families gather closely under the shade of trees in a tiny park in Akcakale, rendered prostrate by the high temperatures and the Ramadan daytime fast.
An ambulance rushes by in the direction of Urfa hospital, where dozens of cars are pulled up.
“Anecdotal sources say hospitals in Tell Abyad have been emptied of equipment and medicine,” said Jason Mills, head of Doctors Without Borders’ mission for Syria. “There are no doctors in the area.”
To support the refugees, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, António Guterres, visited a nearby refugee camp on June 20th, where he marked World Refugee Day. He had little positive to say. "World stability is falling apart leaving a wake of displacement on an unprecedented scale," he said.
Empty words
But for Sheikh Mohammad from Hama in central Syria, who arrived 10 days ago with his extended family, now alone and fending for themselves, these are empty words.
“No one has helped us, we are on our own,” he said as he played cards outside one of 10 tents erected without permission or due notice under a small roadside pine grove.
Among the thousands of displaced Syrians, anger is growing over the broader refugee crisis; more than two million Syrians are now thought to have fled to Turkey since 2011.
“We can talk to you, but what will we get for it? Will anyone come help us?” said a male relative who was playing cards with Sheikh Mohammad. “We need services; medicine, food; we deserve dignity.”
Though some are hoping to return to their homes in Tell Abyad, others fleeing the war deeper into Syria can’t entertain the thought.
Raqqa, the de facto capital for Islamic State jihadists, lies just 80 km south, and militants remain in control of several towns and villages in between.
Though Arab refugees waiting at the Akcakale border to return said they were unconcerned by the recent gains by Kurdish militias across the border in Syria, claims that Arabs and Turkmen Syrians are being forcibly moved from their homes by Kurdish fighters persist.
“Of course we want to return home, who wouldn’t want to live in their country?” said Sheikh Mohammad.
For the children sleeping in tents under the Turkish sky and swimming in irrigation pools to pass the day, fleeing to Turkey is still an adventure. But signs of the war ending anytime soon are absent, and their futures are bleak.