Ayoon Wa Azan (Beloved Syria)

Ever since I became aware of the world, I do not remember that a year went by without visiting Syria. I lived with my parents in Beirut, but my immediate world always included in its folds Syria and Jordan (when the West Bank was part of it). Now, three years have passed since I last visited Syria, and I fear that if I did, I will not recognize the country I loved both as a young man and an adult. Is there anyone who ever visited Damascus and did not fall in love with this city? Damascus was part of every meeting I had with Nizar Qabbani, and I know that Muhamad Maghout came to Damascus from his village and was immediately mesmerized, and never left the city until his death; there must be countless other lovers of Damascus that we haven’t heard of. The golden age of my relationship with Damascus was during my adolescent years. Before that, I would visit the city with my mother, or pass through on our way to Jordan; but now, my friends and I would visit Damascus alone as teenagers. Many times did we meet in Bhamdoun al-Mahata on a summer’s day, and would take a small car (a Fiat 600) to the historic capital of the Umayyads. There, we would eat rich local food, before we ever heard of cholesterol, followed by ice cream at Bakdash’s in Souk al-Hamidieh. If we had any money left, we would pass by one of the cafes in Ghouta, before returning to Bhamdoun. When an international fair was held in Damascus, we visited it day after day. At the opening, the United States defeated the Soviet Union resoundingly. What happened was that the Soviet booth displayed heavy machinery and steal and iron, etc., while the Americans presented us with the first 3D film. As a result, the U.S. booth was heaving with people for the duration of the exhibition, while the Soviets begged visitors to come to their booth. Damascus is very hospitable city. When we could not find a hotel during the fair, we went to the Umayyad Mosque, and the guard there let us sleep on the carpet until the time came for the dawn prayer. The guard would ask visitors to the mosque about the time. If the visitor answered him back in Arabic, the guard would let him in, without asking what his faith was. But foreigners were sent to enter from a nearby door, and women were given headscarves. Today, the only news I get from Syria involves death and destruction. I do not want to visit Homs to weep for its fate, or Hama and its unforgettable waterwheels on the Orontes. Have the waterwheels also been bombed? Best not to hear the answer. I visited Aleppo first in my parents’ car, then in a trip on the school bus. I also visited it on the train (Automatrice), which departed from the Beirut port area. From Aleppo, I continued the trip to Turkey and the rest of Europe one summer with a school friend, after we passed the baccalaureate and were accepted into university. I returned to Aleppo for the last time a few years ago at the invitation of President Bashar al-Assad to attend St. Maron’s millennial celebrations, when Aleppo was still the city I always knew. Today, Aleppo is a battlefield for the regime forces and the rebels, both patriots and terrorists, and I refuse to see it all but destroyed and prefer to keep my beautiful memories of the city instead. I seek refuge in my hopes. No one can defeat the Syrian people. I wrote in this column before about my friend, a beautiful young woman from Aleppo, after she was accepted to study nuclear physics at the American University of Beirut. She then got a fellowship in Abu Dhabi, which she left after she got a fellowship from the European Union at the University of Pisa in Italy. Her latest news is that she accepted an offer from the United States to continue studying nuclear physics in California, and I congratulated her and hoped that the Americans do not snatch her away from us. The young Dima restored my confidence in that the sun will rise again over Syria, and that our people there will emerge from their calamity stronger than before. Or perhaps I am dreaming. What is left of Souk al-Hamidieh now? Or Ghouta, now a rebel stronghold? Are the restaurants and cafes there now barracks, or are they now devastation and ruins? What about Mount Qassioun? I never thought that the day would come when I would say that I would give up half of what remains of my years to drink a glass of pomegranate juice at the entrance of Hamidieh. […]. Damascus was God’s heaven on Earth, the longest continuously inhabited city in the world, but we chose to leave heaven. I will continue tomorrow. The views expressed by the author do not necessarily represent or reflect the editorial policy of Arab Today.