During one of our visits to Damascus, we stayed with Fawaz's sister Shehoud at Jdaydet, on the western outskirts of the city.
Shehoud had six children which included five girls and one boy called Zyard, hence she was known as Umm Zyard(mother of Zyard.)
Shehoud lived with her husband Rajet who was a sargeant in the Syrian army and they were living in army quarters in a small two bedroom apartment on the third floor of a five story building. During that time it was said that the Government spent more than seventy per cent of it's budget on defence but that didn't include the much needed repairs and upkeep of Shehoud's flat. The actual buildings on the military complex were sturdy enough although a grassed area for the children to play on was in short supply. It was either a dust-bowl or a muddy swamp, depending on the season. Shehoud kept her home neat and in order and she attended to her daily household duties with pride. She didn't own a washing machine so she would scrub the families well worn clothes by hand. Her clothes line consisted of steel wire tied to two poles and strung together in parallel rows. It was no mean feat to bend over the verandah rail to hang the clothes out.
One hot summer afternoon when the outside temperature was well over 40 degrees Celsius we all decided to take an afternoon nap. The men slept in the lounge room and the women and children in the two tiny bedrooms. I couldn't sleep because my motherly intuition was telling me that there was something wrong with Yasmin. I tried not to wake anyone whilst I gingerly stepped over the sleeping bodies strewn all over the floor. Rajet woke and followed me to the veranda where we found Yasmin leaning with her full body over the clothes line and the only thing stopping her from falling the three storeys to the concrete below were three thin wires.
There was enough room in the bathroom to fit a small stool, large bucket and the traditional Arabic toilet. The water was heated in a hot water system that could only be used after the two exposed copper electricity wires that were hooked onto another two wires were detached. I was so worried that Shehoud or one of her family would get electrocuted so I asked Fawaz to have the switch repaired. Each afternoon she would cook in her sparsely decorated kitchen that consisted of a stove and a sink. Rajet's brother and Fawaz's nephew were living with them as they were doing their compulsory army service. Shehoud would serve up a feast of delicious food to at least fourteen people including the children, whose ages ranged from three to twelve years old.
There was never a word of complaint from Shehoud, instead, she would serve her visitors with a genuine smile because she dearly loved her brother Fawaz as they were the two eldest of Aziz's thirteen children.
Shehoud, the children and I would dress up and go for an evening stroll after the sun took its last peep over the horizon.
We would pass by lemon myrtle trees and my senses would be delighted by their beauty and fragrance. The children would rush ahead arm in arm and be giggling about their forbidden, adult-free secrets. There were home-made treats sold in the front yards of houses and vendors selling ice-cream or cooked fresh corn. We would walk around the outskirt of the town taking in the sights of newly ploughed earth or fields of wheat or corn ready to be harvested.
I was intrigued to learn more about the the Druze who lived in Jdaydet. Their teachings were a secret and when we would pass by the building that was used as their meeting place I could not help but admire people that had kept their belief alive for so long and at times under the most harshest of criticism under the Ottoman rule .
