She's been displaced for five years with her husband and 14 children, but Fateem still manages to prepare delicious food for her family.
For Ramadan, Fork the System brings you stories of family, connection, and the dishes that made the month special for our guest chefs.
For the past five years, Fateem Khaled Errahmoon and her large family have lived in a camp for displaced people near Maarat Misrin, a small city in northwestern Syria's Idlib province.
They fled here after being forced from their home in Tah, a town in southern Idlib, during Syria's long-running war.
With their finances tight, the family is still living in a weather-beaten tent.
But Fateem, a 45-year-old mother of 14, is no stranger to hard work. She is constantly moving around their living space, making sure things are as shipshape as possible.
She misses life in Tah, which she remembers fondly as a time when she and her husband were younger, living with relatives and surrounded by their love.
Every meal was a big family dinner back then, she recalls, and Ramadan was an especially important time for everyone to come together.
Today's iftar, the meal at sunset when Muslims break their fast during the holy month of Ramadan, will be no different.
"I went grocery shopping and bought minced meat, onions, bulgur wheat and flour so I could make kibbe, sambousak and shish barak - dishes loved by every member of my family," she says with a broad smile.
"Back home in Tah, those three were a staple of our home-cooked Ramadan feasts," she says as she bustles around, preparing to cook.
There are no tables in Fateem's cooking space, nor are there counters, mixers, vent hoods or even a stove. Everything is prepared on the floor, using the limited utensils and platters she has.
To cook, she has a wood-burning stove fashioned out of an old barrel. She feeds it with kindling and wood gathered around the camp. And to judge whether a pot is hot enough to cook in, she uses her experienced eye and a steady hand held above it.
Dishes that used to be made weekly are now made once during Ramadan because the family cannot afford some ingredients.
Fateem was 18 the first time she cooked kibbe, sambousak and shish barak, she says. A new bride, she and her husband lived with her parents-in-law, but her own parents were not far away in their small town.
"You know, I was famous all over our town for how tasty my kibbe is. I've got that special touch, I guess," Fateem says as she gathers her ingredients and sends one of her children scurrying out to look for a round tray she needs.
At Tah, she says, she used to make the three dishes "five or six times" every Ramadan.
"But after our displacement, we were no longer able to make them because meat was so expensive, and it's the main ingredient of all these dishes.
"Today I'm making them because my kids are craving [them]. ... It’s been more than a year since they last had them."
Her mind goes back to the day she learned how to make kibbe, sambousak and shish barak.
"I remember, I was cooking with my mother-in-law and my mother in one of the village kitchens. They were singing this old folk song. It went something like, 'The sun has set as the dark of night grows. The thread of love broke, and the heart cries out its woes.' I still remember it.
"Making these dishes was always a chance for the family to come together, and every time I make them, I feel nostalgic for when we used to get together in Tah."
Her mother and mother-in-law passed away nearly eight years ago. To honour their memory, Fateem says she has decided to make a lot of kibbe, sambousak and shish barak and give some of it to her neighbours.
And with that, off she goes. She says she is sure that once the call to prayer has sounded and everyone tastes her food, there will be no doubters that her kibbe is, indeed, superior.
As the chilly day warmed up and the sun came out, Fateem and her family set up a production line to shape, stuff and crimp.
Note: The amounts above in Fateem's recipe are for enough kibbe to feed about 30 people, so you will have to divide the recipe according to your needs.
The universal comfort of dumplings, one version fried and the other simmered in a tangy Arabic yoghurt. What could be better?
This is the same as the filling for the kibbe
