Syrian Chronicles: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

By Joud

It was the summer of 2012 when my parents and I, along with our neighbors, packed the food we had and left everything we knew to be home behind. Aleppo was getting more hostile by the day; we had no choice but to leave our homes, hoping one day to return.

We fled to Turkey in five cars along a route clear of Assad Regime checkpoints carefully mapped out by (defectors of the Syrian Armed Forces) also known as the Free Syrian Army (FSA). We traveled through unfamiliar roads and streets, not knowing what to expect. As we traveled, we recalled stories of refugees who were kidnapped, girls and women raped, and families murdered, and we began to fear that our lives would end in the same vicious manner.

Once we neared the border, we paid a Turkish man to guide us to the nearest city, but miscommunication led us to Northern Turkey, to a city that bordered Russia. We felt far from home and very lonely. With no source of income, it became challenging to live, despite our conservative housing arrangements of two families in one home. No one expected the revolution to continue past the summer—but it did, which left us with little money to continue living in our temporary haven, let alone afford the basic necessities. Since our living arrangement was not getting any easier and the school year was about to begin, my parents decided it would be best to return to Aleppo.

My senior year was filled with obstacles and dangers that threatened not only our safety but also our lives. Going to school involved the possibility of being kidnapped, raped, or killed at the hands of the regime, and if we could not find safe routes we would just head back home and miss school.

Given the unpredictable nature of the Assad Regime, teachers often called to inform us of alternative routes or advised us to stay home because it would be too dangerous to come. The days I hated the most were when we would finally arrive, only to find that the school was under threat, or worse, attack. Danger was not limited to school. Five months ago, a neighboring apartment building was bombed, blasting through the windows, living room, and bedroom of a family in that complex. Fortunately the family escaped with minor injuries, but it was another reminder of the unpredictable and psychologically abusive nature of the Regime. I now live with the constant fear that my family or friends could be attacked at any moment.

That moment came soon enough. One day, the hisses of bombs were getting uncomfortably close, when suddenly our entire building began to shake violently. We realized the floor above us had been hit. I started screaming and crying and after checking on me, my parents checked on our neighbors. I thought of escaping, but recalled a vicious tactic used by the Regime where snipers would target and hit any person attempting to escape. Those who were not shot were considered lucky to have been kidnapped, and if returned alive, they returned with horrific stories of inhumane torture.

I did not realize that I was shaking franticly until my mother rushed to my side and held me. AlhamdulilLah (praise be to God), it was a close call; after that experience, I cannot help but fear what might happen next. It is only with the knowledge that Allah (subhanahu wa ta`ala – exalted is He) has power over all things and that only He is our Protector from the unexpected and unpredictable dangers that we may face in this dunya (world).

I end with a hadith (narration of the Prophet ﷺ, peace be upon him) that I feel will relay this message:

“O young man, I shall teach you some words [of advice]: Be mindful of Allah, and Allah will protect you. Be mindful of Allah, and you will find Him in front of you. If you (have need to) ask, ask of Allah; and if you seek help, seek help from Allah. Know that even if the Nation (or the whole community) were to gather together to benefit you with something, they would not benefit you with anything except that which Allah has already recorded for you, and that if they gather together to harm you with something, they would not be able to harm you with anything except that which Allah has already recorded against you. The pens have been lifted and the pages have dried.” –Reported by Abdullah bin ‘Abbas, radi Allahu `anhu (may God be pleased with him).

Syrian Chronicles

By Mariam Khatib

Every Syrian has a personal narrative that is difficult to articulate. It is challenging due to the psychological trauma, physical abuse, and inability to make sense of the gruesome reality. My account is not the most devastating chain of events to occur, but it is painful to consider that life may have taken a different course had the Syrian government toppled peacefully.

I am an American Syrian who lives in Georgia, but I have strong ties to Aleppo. I was born and bred in the timeworn lands of a city with a heritage from the 3^rd millennium BC. The Citadel, one of the oldest world castles, was the reference point for my parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and the majority of my family. Today, it is tarnished by the bullets and bombs of the regime, reflecting the reality of its citizens. Syria is thousands of miles away, but I receive daily updates via Facebook and I am aware of their happenings.

Born in 1936, my mother Haleemah could not tolerate the chaos, constant artillery fire, and the unexpected turn of events. After regime soldiers detained her two grandsons multiple times for partaking in peaceful protests, Mama suffered a stroke and then fell into a coma. The coma was followed by a lack of performance; she became disabled and required assistance in her everyday functioning.

As soon as I received a call regarding my mother’s stroke, I booked a flight to Jordan. I knew that this trip was daring, but all I wanted was to see my mom, embrace her and say a few words before she departed. I decided to cross into Syria via bus to avoid hurdles in Damascus for there was no time to waste. My two daughters and son accompanied me, because this might be their last encounter with their grandmother. The unanticipated trip was risky, but with the escalating situation, life the very next day was not guaranteed. Our route of typically five hours took many detours to avoid the clashes and war torn cities. After a long, strenuous trip we finally reached Aleppo, but the true challenge was ahead of us.

Hospital trips to Abdullah Aljubary, an area in Aleppo, became journeys with checkpoints manned by regime forces that persistently stopped us to inquire about our whereabouts. We played the beseeching game and promised them that we simply wanted to visit my mother who was ill with a low chance of survival. One of the visits kept us on our toes; I called my son and told him to meet me at the entrance of the hospital so we can grab him. He hustled towards me, which caught the attention of a regime solider who swiftly picked him up.

I was ordered to leave my 21-year-old son in the hands of the merciless soldiers for three long hours. He never shared the details of his captivity until we returned to the United States. He was held at gunpoint to his head and became a worthy prey especially when they found out he was an American citizen. It was a mocking dialogue between two soldiers who were debating his future. After my nephew implored them for hours to let him go, they strip searched him, took all of his money, and let him go.

Bassem’s experience was grim but nowhere near what his cousins endured in jail cells. I am indebted to Allah for Bassem’s freedom which could have been my last waking moment with him! The very next day, my brother insisted that we depart the blessed land. We had no choice; we surpassed yesterday’s detainment with the mercy of Allah, but could not guarantee what was ahead. Regime soldiers began searching the neighborhood door to door for ID’s, and my American citizenship was not going to make my case stress free. I left with a heavy heart wanting to stay alongside my mother whose days were numbered.

Two weeks later the home of my childhood was demolished in Bab Al Hadid by the regime shelling. My family survived the attack because they were in the basement taking cover from the shelling. This began the displacement process for many family members who took refuge in the house. My mother was taken to another residence temporarily while her paperwork procedures were completed. She no longer could live in Syria as her diabetes medicine was scarce, and she needed physical therapy to heal from the stroke.

After 76 years, my mother was forced to leave the only country she ever knew. She was taken to Yemen after waiting in the Damascus airport for three days, just to get on a flight. After only a month there, she passed away from another stroke on the first day of Eid Al Adha in 2012. Haleemah couldn’t handle the separation from all that she loved and was accustomed to. She couldn’t bear to leave her birthplace, and protested by completely leaving this world of injustice and oppression. I could not help but think of her every time I stumbled upon the following verse:

Qur’an 22:40 “[They are] those who have been evicted from their homes without right – only because they say, “Our Lord is Allah.” And were it not that Allah checks the people, some by means of others, there would have been demolished monasteries, churches, synagogues, and mosques in which the name of Allah is much mentioned. And Allah will surely support those who support Him. Indeed, Allah is Powerful and Exalted in Might.”