As Syrian Mohammad Adeeb and a friend walk down one of the half dozen streets that make up Ballaghaderreen in County Roscommon, two Irish girls, in the midst of their high-school graduation party, walk past in the opposite direction. “Are ye from Syria? Ye’re gorgeous!” one exclaims.

The Syrians don’t speak English, and are left puzzled. They know the comments are directed towards them, but that is about it.

“What did she say?” Adeeb asks, guardedly. “Seriously,” he persists, “what did she say about us?” I tell him the girl was very complimentary.

When it was announced 12 months ago that 120 mostly Syrian refugees would be temporarily rehomed at a former hotel in Ballaghaderreen, a village of 1,800 people, locals were not impressed. Dozens have followed since. But it wasn’t because of any Islamophobic or xenophobic feeling. Ireland pledged to resettle up to 4,000 refugees by the end of last year, though actually took in less than half that number. This year, just 600 refugees currently living in temporary camps in Greece and Italy are due to move here.

Ballaghaderreen’s residents and recession-battered municipal council were left in the dark – the decision was made by the Irish government, hundreds of kilometres away in Dublin, without any consultation.

“People at the top [of government] decided: ‘Oh, we’ve got a lot of empty properties out west,’” says Mary Gallagher, who owns a store in the village. “But they didn’t make enough preparations on the ground level.”

Ballaghaderreen’s recent arrivals, mostly young families from Aleppo with a scattering of single young men from Deir Ez Zour, Damascus and elsewhere who have left behind their immediate families in Syria, say they are generally content – happy to be in a safe place. Yet the transition has been a challenge. Moving from Aleppo, with a pre-war population of five million people, to a village in north-west Ireland means the Syrians have access to fewer facilities – for example, Ballaghaderreen has no Middle Eastern restaurants. On top of this, attempting to organise family life from a hotel room and with no option but to cook their own food has delayed the integration process.

“The people who are a bit older, or who have families here are doing OK,” says Hussam Shammour from Midan in Damascus. “But some of the young guys have a lot of time on their hands and are away from parental influence for too long.” Many are bored, and though food and accommodation are provided for, the €19 (Dh84) they receive every week as an allowance from the state doesn’t go far in a country where a pack of cigarettes costs €12.

The indeterminate waiting period for official refugee status is proving the biggest challenge. “Until we get that, we can’t live our lives,” Shammour says. “We can’t move on.”