Addis Ababa, Ethiopia – Images of old Damascus and Aleppo adorn the walls of a modest restaurant tucked into Bole Michael, a working-class neighbourhood near Addis Ababa’s international airport.

Chatter in Arabic and Amharic fills the air, mingling with the sizzling of a grill roasting a giant shawarma skewer and oil crackling around crunchy kebeiba (bulgur and ground meat balls).

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In the kitchen, Syrian chef Ahmed Ibrahim and his two assistants prepare for the evening rush. As the sun begins its descent, they carefully fill small bowls with hummus and dates for guests in the restaurant and pack takeaway meals for those who stop by seeking a free meal.

In the spirit of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, Ibrahim says he is happy to give back.

“When I first came to Ethiopia in 2020, I didn’t have a penny to my name. I worked in restaurants until I could open my own. I married an Ethiopian woman, and now, I’m a father of two daughters,” Ibrahim tells Al Jazeera. “This country has become a home to me.”

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More than 5.5 million Syrians have fled their homeland since 2011, when war broke out after the government cracked down on a popular uprising. Most Syrians who left sought refuge in neighbouring countries like Lebanon, Turkiye, and Egypt.

But some ventured further, to countries like Ethiopia, where fewer than 1,500 Syrians reportedly live.

Al Jazeera approached Ethiopia’s Immigration and Citizenship Services for an official estimate, but the agency declined to respond. According to local media, many Syrians remain unregistered and live in limbo.

Despite these challenges, Bole Michael has become known as a Syrian neighbourhood. More Syrian refugees have found their way there, carving out a familiar rhythm.

Its streets, largely unpaved and strewn with pebbles and dust, have long been home to Somali, Sudanese and Yemeni refugees – some of the more than one million refugees living in Ethiopia.

In recent years, Syrian businesses have started adding their accents and flavours to the bustling area.

Ibrahim’s restaurant, named Syria, is one such business. The 34-year-old arrived in Ethiopia five years ago after a three-year stay in Sudan was cut short by political unrest there. Opening the restaurant, he says, was a way to recreate a slice of home in exile, a place where he could serve the dishes of his homeland to those who would appreciate them.

During Ramadan, that mission takes on even greater meaning: giving.

“It would’ve been great if I could host a free iftar for everyone in need, like the ones I grew up seeing in Syria,” says Ibrahim, referring to a centuries-old tradition across the Middle East, where banquets are set up on the streets to offer free food to passersby breaking their Ramadan fast at sunset.

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“But that would be difficult here, since poverty is widespread and we’re just a small business,” he adds.

“Instead, during Ramadan, we try not to turn anyone away,” he says, explaining that the restaurant serves free meals to those in need during the holy month. “It’s about community and helping however you can,” he says.

Nearly a quarter of Ethiopia’s 124 million people live below the poverty line.

 A taste of generosity from home

As the adhan echoes from a nearby mosque, signalling the end of the fast, Ibrahim begins welcoming diners.

Among them is Zeynab Mohammed, a Syrian mother of four who arrived in Ethiopia last year after fleeing Khartoum amid Sudan’s continuing civil war. Since settling in Addis Ababa, she has tried to make a living selling homemade perfume on the streets.

Closing her eyes briefly in prayer, she digs into a fragrant chicken shawarma wrap with fries.

“Life here isn’t easy,” Zeynab says quietly. “But moments like this remind me of home. The generosity, the shared meals – it’s something we carried with us from Syria, and it’s still alive here.”

Sitting next to her is Salem Berhanu, an Ethiopian friend and familiar face in the neighbourhood. Berhanu often joins newcomers at local eateries, occasionally paying for their food when he can. He is well-known among local children who gather around him, chatting in Amharic.

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Berhanu says he enjoys seeing Syrians in Ethiopia. “It’s beautiful, especially during Ramadan, because it gives us a chance to meet new people and have meaningful conversations,” he says.

While many Syrians say they’ve felt welcome in Ethiopia, the challenges remain immense.

At a nearby table, another Syrian refugee, Aisha Abdul, recalls her early years in the country. She arrived in Addis Ababa after a perilous bus journey from Sudan, during which she hid from fighters who sometimes attacked convoys.

Three years ago, she and other worshippers at a local mosque in Bole Michael were invited to an iftar hosted by Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed – a moment that, for her, felt like a lifeline after years of displacement.

Now, she sells scented charcoal alongside other Syrian refugees, often at traffic stops and crowded gathering spots.

On an average day, she says, she makes about $5, though on good days, she earns more with the help of her children.

“Ethiopia is a very welcoming country, and the people are wonderful. But it can also feel like a dead end,” she says. “There’s no assistance, and finding a job is difficult, so many of us end up doing humiliating work just to survive.”

 Gratitude in a new land

In Bethel, a calmer, more affluent neighbourhood on Addis Ababa’s western outskirts, an inflated air dancer bearing a trademark thick mustache and red fez signals that Syriana, another popular Syrian restaurant, is open.

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Inside, trays of crunchy, cream-filled kunafa and syrup-drenched baklava are on display, and as Eid al-Fitr approaches to mark the end of Ramadan, biscuits and cookies traditionally baked for the occasion have been added, keeping long-held Syrian customs alive.

Ethiopian patrons, mostly young people, gather at round tables. Many were drawn there by the TikTok channel of 21-year-old owner Ahmed Abdulkader, who has turned his family’s business into a sought-after venue.

During Ramadan, however, Syriana also welcomes less fortunate visitors.

“We donate all we can, including meals throughout Ramadan for anyone in need,” Abdulkader tells Al Jazeera, explaining that they rely on word of mouth to identify those who might need help. “We try to be good citizens and help however we can,” he adds.

While thousands of Syrian refugees worldwide have returned home with the fall of former President Bashar al-Assad’s regime on December 8, Abdulkader – like Ibrahim – has come to think of Ethiopia as home.

Fluent in Amharic, Abdulkader came to Ethiopia at the age of eight, soon after the war in Syria began. He attended school in Ethiopia, learned the language, and adapted to his adopted country. Thanks to his social media presence, he has become something of a household name, and his family is even considering expanding to other parts of Addis Ababa.

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While Syrians have become renowned for their contributions to the culinary scenes in Egypt, Libya, Jordan, and elsewhere, those who settled in Ethiopia had to overcome language barriers and unfamiliar local tastes.

Grateful for his family’s success, Abdulkader says this month offers him a chance to reflect and give back.

“Ramadan allows me to connect with my customers on a personal level and offer food to anyone, regardless of their ability to pay,” he says.

This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.