Fawaz's family were very proud of him living in Australia and married to an Australian. They imagined the land of koalas and kangaroos to be populated with wealthy people and that their son was one of them. Little did they know that we were just average wage earners with a mortgage and children to care for. We took out a second mortgage on our mountain brick veneer home to finance our trip and rented both upstairs and downstairs. The money left over after our mortgage was paid each month was more than enough to live comfortably and help the family build onto their two roomed home.
Fawaz's father Aziz was an honest, kind man and very learned. When he was in his teens the local Greek Orthodox priest had taught him to read and write in Arabic. He was always reading and had many stories from the past to tell his children. His wise advice was welcomed by the townsfolk. They used to go to him to mediate between family disputes or to help with their many and varied problems. It wasn't unusual to see him sitting outside his home in winter with a blanket over his legs and wearing his favouite galabeya covered with his black sheepskin bedouin cape.
His friends would come and join him and arabic coffee was in endless supply.
There was an understanding between Aziz and Fawaz that whenever Fawaz returned to settle in Syria, then the house that he had built and paid for would be signed over to him. Aziz agreed to do that so Fawaz started building a further four rooms downstairs for his family and a second storey which was to be our part of the house.
The steel columns and cement brick walls had started to take shape and everyone was excited to see the gradual emergence of a new family home.
Unbenownst to Fawaz, his father was taking advise from family members and friends urging him to keep the house in his name. When the documents were ready and waiting to be signed by Aziz, he broke the news to Fawaz that he wasn't going to sign them. Fawaz was devastated, he felt betrayed and used and a huge argument ensured and we moved out of the unfinished building which we no longer called home.
The huge yellow 1960's taxi arrived at ten o'clock that night and we piled into it with our only worldly possessions and then it dawned on me that the life I had envisioned for my family in this once hospitable house was gone and our future uncertain. It brought back memories from the past and my stomach ached as I clung to my two sleepy children. We drove easterly into the pitch black of the mountain range and towards the Meditteranean seaside city of Lattakia.
page 11
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
THE FAMILY
After we arrived from Australia we spent six weeks living with my in-laws and six of their thirteen children. That meant that there were twelve people living in two rooms. The toilet was a hole in the concrete floor with a small hose attached to a tap next to the hole. It was quite an art form to crouch down and follow the set procedure of cleansing oneself with a hose. I would end up spraying the wall, myself and soaking my shoes with cold water. The kitchen was very small and had a concrete bench and a large sink with one cold water tap with a hose attached to it. There was a refrigerator, gas stove and two or three small wooden stools about thirty centimetres tall. Fawaz's mother and sisters used to sit on the stools and prepare their food. It always amazed me how they would cut up and dice the vegetables in their hands without using a chopping board. I used to watch them holding a cotton white peeled potato and dice it with a sharp knife and the blade just skimming over their toughened weatherworn skin.
The peelings and any unwanted vegetables would land on the floor and after the food was prepared and before the cooking process took place, the floor would be sprayed with water and a T shaped wooden implement,(called a messarhah) with a rubber bar attached to it would be drawn across the surface and the water and peelings would be removed.
Pots and pans were enormous and they catered with at least twenty people in mind as there would usually be a visiting brother, sister, cousin, friend or relative.
We sometimes visited relatives who lived in small villages high up in the mountains or on the fringe of the desert and their dishes were washed using their only household tap which was usually situated outside of the house. Of course there were many wealthy families living in Syria but Fawaz came from a financially poor family but rich in love and spirit.
There was lots of chatter and merriment when the women were cooking and the men waited eagerly for their meal. The women were very fussy and nervous about preparing their dishes, especially if they had visitors. They took great pride in cooking and never seemed to whinge or appear burdened by their day to day housework (unlike myself). They paid attention to every detail and were very houseproud. Fawaz's family didn't have many material possessions but they were happy with their lot. The women served the men and Fawaz expected the same from me.
We shared the cooking and housework in Australia. He was a housedad looking after Yasmin and Azzam when I was at work. The evening meal was cooked and the house always looked clean when I returned home in the afternoons.
That wasn't to be in Syria. He was the head of his family and that meant our family. His dad was bed bound and an invalid. Everyone came to Fawaz to have their problems solved both financially and legally. The whole town respected him because he was the first person to ever travel overseas working on ships from Skelbieh. They looked up to him because he had lived and worked overseas and they just assumed he was wealthy.
His family lived from season to season, harvest to harvest. If the weather wasn't favourable then their income was small and they borrowed from the bank. Fawaz would pay off their debts and support his family as he was the eldest child.
page 10
After we arrived from Australia we spent six weeks living with my in-laws and six of their thirteen children. That meant that there were twelve people living in two rooms. The toilet was a hole in the concrete floor with a small hose attached to a tap next to the hole. It was quite an art form to crouch down and follow the set procedure of cleansing oneself with a hose. I would end up spraying the wall, myself and soaking my shoes with cold water. The kitchen was very small and had a concrete bench and a large sink with one cold water tap with a hose attached to it. There was a refrigerator, gas stove and two or three small wooden stools about thirty centimetres tall. Fawaz's mother and sisters used to sit on the stools and prepare their food. It always amazed me how they would cut up and dice the vegetables in their hands without using a chopping board. I used to watch them holding a cotton white peeled potato and dice it with a sharp knife and the blade just skimming over their toughened weatherworn skin.
The peelings and any unwanted vegetables would land on the floor and after the food was prepared and before the cooking process took place, the floor would be sprayed with water and a T shaped wooden implement,(called a messarhah) with a rubber bar attached to it would be drawn across the surface and the water and peelings would be removed.
Pots and pans were enormous and they catered with at least twenty people in mind as there would usually be a visiting brother, sister, cousin, friend or relative.
We sometimes visited relatives who lived in small villages high up in the mountains or on the fringe of the desert and their dishes were washed using their only household tap which was usually situated outside of the house. Of course there were many wealthy families living in Syria but Fawaz came from a financially poor family but rich in love and spirit.
There was lots of chatter and merriment when the women were cooking and the men waited eagerly for their meal. The women were very fussy and nervous about preparing their dishes, especially if they had visitors. They took great pride in cooking and never seemed to whinge or appear burdened by their day to day housework (unlike myself). They paid attention to every detail and were very houseproud. Fawaz's family didn't have many material possessions but they were happy with their lot. The women served the men and Fawaz expected the same from me.
We shared the cooking and housework in Australia. He was a housedad looking after Yasmin and Azzam when I was at work. The evening meal was cooked and the house always looked clean when I returned home in the afternoons.
That wasn't to be in Syria. He was the head of his family and that meant our family. His dad was bed bound and an invalid. Everyone came to Fawaz to have their problems solved both financially and legally. The whole town respected him because he was the first person to ever travel overseas working on ships from Skelbieh. They looked up to him because he had lived and worked overseas and they just assumed he was wealthy.
His family lived from season to season, harvest to harvest. If the weather wasn't favourable then their income was small and they borrowed from the bank. Fawaz would pay off their debts and support his family as he was the eldest child.
page 10
Monday, May 17, 2010
Yasmin and Azzam were excited to have so many cousins to play with. Azzam was 17 months old and Yasmin was nearly three. Azzam had pale coloured skin with white blonde hair and blue/green eyes. Yasmin had olive coloured skin with light brown hair and hazel/green eyes. They were both playful and happy children and loved being outdoors. Fawaz's family home was situated on the outskirts of the village next to fields that grew wheat, sunflowers and chick peas. When the children were a few years older they would play in the fields behind their grandfather's home in a special rawdha(garden) where they caught frogs and collected tadpoles and crabs from the ponds. Azzam would chase the geese until they got fed up with him and turned on him. He would run down the hill with his arms flapping and slipping on the mud in his red and yellow rainboots. He loved animals and often made friends with the local Bedouin shepherds. He would sit for hours next to his newly made friend and watch the sheep grazing. He was always under the watchful eye of myself or one of his uncles or cousins.
When he was three years old he went missing for a couple of hours until Fawaz found him at the local rubbish tip with a couple of seven year old ragamuffin neighbours. He was scavaging on his knees with his little bottom in the air alongside a mother pig and her piglets. Azzam had many like adventures during his childhood growing up in Skelbieh and I created a story based on his childhood adventures and named the young boy in the story Rudy Rascal.
At night, when the children would be settling down to sleep I would make up another Rudy Rascal adventure to tell them. I didn't have any story books to read to them so I would tell them all my favourite Grimm's fairytales,Hans Christian Anderson and make believe stories.
When the children were four and five years old we were living in a self contained room. The eastern wall faced the neighbours' verandah only a metre or so apart. A window was bordered in with a thin sheet of plywood. I would sing to the children each day. Unbenownst to me, I was also singing to the young woman who lived next door. She told Fawaz that she used to listen and cry to the sound of the sweet sadness in my voice.
page 9
When he was three years old he went missing for a couple of hours until Fawaz found him at the local rubbish tip with a couple of seven year old ragamuffin neighbours. He was scavaging on his knees with his little bottom in the air alongside a mother pig and her piglets. Azzam had many like adventures during his childhood growing up in Skelbieh and I created a story based on his childhood adventures and named the young boy in the story Rudy Rascal.
At night, when the children would be settling down to sleep I would make up another Rudy Rascal adventure to tell them. I didn't have any story books to read to them so I would tell them all my favourite Grimm's fairytales,Hans Christian Anderson and make believe stories.
When the children were four and five years old we were living in a self contained room. The eastern wall faced the neighbours' verandah only a metre or so apart. A window was bordered in with a thin sheet of plywood. I would sing to the children each day. Unbenownst to me, I was also singing to the young woman who lived next door. She told Fawaz that she used to listen and cry to the sound of the sweet sadness in my voice.
page 9
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A KINDLY GENTLEMAN
One morning there was a knock on the door and an old man dressed in his weathered cotton grey galabeya greeted me and asked to see the head of the household. He was then greeted by Bahija, my childrens' grandmother and invited to sit and have coffee with her family. He told us that he was on a walking journey to visit his son who lived in the mountains. The shoes he wore were worn out and in great need of repair.
Apparently, he had been walking for five days. His home was in the far north east of Syria. He asked humbly and politely for some food to help him continue his journey. Fawaz's sisters were sent to the kitchen to prepare a meal and returned with their sineea (the large tray) filled with delicious food.
Their unexpected visitor ate only what his body needed to give him energy for the next part of his travels. Bahija offered him two of her husband's Aziz's galabeyas, the traditional arabic tunic worn by men. She also offered two pairs of shoes. The kindly gentleman accepted one galabeya and one pair of shoes. He ate only what his body needed and accepted only what he had use for in the present moment. The future would take care of itself. I learnt a humbling lesson from that man. He trusted the kindness of his Arabic people and knew he was safe and would be looked after on his journey to visit his son.
Fawaz told me that in his Arabic culture, if someone asks for help then one is committed to give assistance because to refuse would bring shame on them and their family. In the olden days if I had commented on a beautiful piece of jewellery that someone was wearing then the item would be offered to me in full sincerity. I was a little playful and used to joke with Fawaz's sisters or female friends and comment on their jewellery and when they offered it to me I would jokingly take it and they would be surprised as it was basically just good manners to offer and they didn't usually expect someone to accept. It was the same with water. Before someone would drink a glass of water in front of others it was polite to offer the glass of water to the other people first. I always accepted the offer until one day Fawaz told me that I wasn't supposed to say yes.
page 8
One morning there was a knock on the door and an old man dressed in his weathered cotton grey galabeya greeted me and asked to see the head of the household. He was then greeted by Bahija, my childrens' grandmother and invited to sit and have coffee with her family. He told us that he was on a walking journey to visit his son who lived in the mountains. The shoes he wore were worn out and in great need of repair.
Apparently, he had been walking for five days. His home was in the far north east of Syria. He asked humbly and politely for some food to help him continue his journey. Fawaz's sisters were sent to the kitchen to prepare a meal and returned with their sineea (the large tray) filled with delicious food.
Their unexpected visitor ate only what his body needed to give him energy for the next part of his travels. Bahija offered him two of her husband's Aziz's galabeyas, the traditional arabic tunic worn by men. She also offered two pairs of shoes. The kindly gentleman accepted one galabeya and one pair of shoes. He ate only what his body needed and accepted only what he had use for in the present moment. The future would take care of itself. I learnt a humbling lesson from that man. He trusted the kindness of his Arabic people and knew he was safe and would be looked after on his journey to visit his son.
Fawaz told me that in his Arabic culture, if someone asks for help then one is committed to give assistance because to refuse would bring shame on them and their family. In the olden days if I had commented on a beautiful piece of jewellery that someone was wearing then the item would be offered to me in full sincerity. I was a little playful and used to joke with Fawaz's sisters or female friends and comment on their jewellery and when they offered it to me I would jokingly take it and they would be surprised as it was basically just good manners to offer and they didn't usually expect someone to accept. It was the same with water. Before someone would drink a glass of water in front of others it was polite to offer the glass of water to the other people first. I always accepted the offer until one day Fawaz told me that I wasn't supposed to say yes.
page 8
Saturday, May 15, 2010
story continued from post May 8
We travelled north to Fawaz's hometown of Skelbieh. It was a very uncomfortable trip. There were nine people squashed into an old yellow mercedes taxi that was built for five passengers. Fawaz's relatives who arrived in the taxi were so keen to greet us at the airport that they didn't consider the maths, that we were a family of four plus their five bodies crammed into one taxi made nine. It was a nightmare of a trip. Jetlag combined with the odour of cigarettes and the noise of laughter and jovial conversation was enough to break the most patient of individuals.
It was late into the evening, winter and very cold. I had two extremely tired and hungry young children sitting on my lap. Its amazing how the romance and excitement of the journey faded as we headed north. All I wanted was a warm bed, any bed would of been appreciated.
Beds, was another topic that needed much discussion between Fawaz and myself. Fawaz's mother and father owned two rooms. Technically, Fawaz owned them as he paid for the building of the two cement rooms on a block of land that he purchased on the fringe of the town. Anyway, that's another chapter further in this story.
His family slept in one room and the other room was used for greeting visitors. We slept on mattresses in the visitors room.
Two double hand made cotton mattresses were placed together and Fawaz, myself, Yasmin and Azzam slept side by side. Our doonas were also made of cotton, harvested from their farm. They were very comfortable to sleep under.
It is the custom of Arabic people to cordially welcome their visitors. It shows a sign of respect to have a room set aside for their arrival. Delicious food, warm drinks and especially arabic coffee were offered to the visitors and truly given with a gracious heart. I loved and still love visiting Arabic friends because I always feel so welcome in their homes.
I remember an occassion when an elderly man knocked on the door of my childrens' grandparents. We had just finished breakfast and had cleared the tray. Breakfast, lunch and dinner was always eaten together seated on the floor around a large shiny stainless steel tray. On the tray was placed the foods that we were to consume and a glass of water. A typical breakfast would include a bowl of olives, both green and black, eggs fried and placed on a large plate and a bowl of fresh yogurt that had been purchased, as well as the flat Arabic bread, each morning. Zartar was a favourite food which was made from a combination of dried sesame seeds, thyme and mountain herbs. It was brown in appearance and eaten with bread dipped in olive oil. Moorish and temptingly delicious was an adequate description, especially with a side dish of diced tomatoes and sliced cucumbers. My favourite was my mother-in-law's homemade chencleesh. To some foreigners it may have smelled and tasted of dirty socks but I fell in love with the taste and it was always a staple in our diets. It was made from curdled yoghurt and salt, then rolled into a cricket sized ball, dipped in thyme and various herbs and left to dry in the sun for fifteen days, then placed in a jar until it aged and became soft.
page 7
We travelled north to Fawaz's hometown of Skelbieh. It was a very uncomfortable trip. There were nine people squashed into an old yellow mercedes taxi that was built for five passengers. Fawaz's relatives who arrived in the taxi were so keen to greet us at the airport that they didn't consider the maths, that we were a family of four plus their five bodies crammed into one taxi made nine. It was a nightmare of a trip. Jetlag combined with the odour of cigarettes and the noise of laughter and jovial conversation was enough to break the most patient of individuals.
It was late into the evening, winter and very cold. I had two extremely tired and hungry young children sitting on my lap. Its amazing how the romance and excitement of the journey faded as we headed north. All I wanted was a warm bed, any bed would of been appreciated.
Beds, was another topic that needed much discussion between Fawaz and myself. Fawaz's mother and father owned two rooms. Technically, Fawaz owned them as he paid for the building of the two cement rooms on a block of land that he purchased on the fringe of the town. Anyway, that's another chapter further in this story.
His family slept in one room and the other room was used for greeting visitors. We slept on mattresses in the visitors room.
Two double hand made cotton mattresses were placed together and Fawaz, myself, Yasmin and Azzam slept side by side. Our doonas were also made of cotton, harvested from their farm. They were very comfortable to sleep under.
It is the custom of Arabic people to cordially welcome their visitors. It shows a sign of respect to have a room set aside for their arrival. Delicious food, warm drinks and especially arabic coffee were offered to the visitors and truly given with a gracious heart. I loved and still love visiting Arabic friends because I always feel so welcome in their homes.
I remember an occassion when an elderly man knocked on the door of my childrens' grandparents. We had just finished breakfast and had cleared the tray. Breakfast, lunch and dinner was always eaten together seated on the floor around a large shiny stainless steel tray. On the tray was placed the foods that we were to consume and a glass of water. A typical breakfast would include a bowl of olives, both green and black, eggs fried and placed on a large plate and a bowl of fresh yogurt that had been purchased, as well as the flat Arabic bread, each morning. Zartar was a favourite food which was made from a combination of dried sesame seeds, thyme and mountain herbs. It was brown in appearance and eaten with bread dipped in olive oil. Moorish and temptingly delicious was an adequate description, especially with a side dish of diced tomatoes and sliced cucumbers. My favourite was my mother-in-law's homemade chencleesh. To some foreigners it may have smelled and tasted of dirty socks but I fell in love with the taste and it was always a staple in our diets. It was made from curdled yoghurt and salt, then rolled into a cricket sized ball, dipped in thyme and various herbs and left to dry in the sun for fifteen days, then placed in a jar until it aged and became soft.
page 7
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I knew in my heart that our trip to Syria was for the emotional and spiritual growth of our children. My abusive father was a refugee from Hungary. He was a displaced person and came to Australia by ship from Italy in the late nineteen forties. At the age of fifteen he was forced to join an army and experienced unimaginable atrocities during World War 2. He didn't talk very much about his past but I remember him telling me one gruesome story about his time in an army prison. He told me that the guards made the prisoners a goulash stew using the body of the prisoner in an adjacent cell. I was horrified to hear such a story especially as I was only about ten years old when he told me. He left when I was nearly twelve and the only adult relative that I could depend on was my mother.
There was no extended family on my father's side and my mother left Melbourne and her family to travel the world when she was seventeen years old. She made it to Sydney where she met her first husband and wasn't to leave and see the world until our trip in 1984.
She wasn't close to her only elder sister nor her mother but she adored her father who died when he was fifty eight years old. On many occassions I used to lay awake at night and pray that my mother didn't die or I would have to go into an orphanage. That is why I knew it was the right move to live in Syria, for the sake of my children. There were so many relatives for them to get to know and a sturdy family foundation would be an enormous support for the life that lay ahead of them.
As the aeroplane approached Damascus International Airport, a new chapter and adventure was beginning in my life.
GREETINGS
Fawaz spoke in an educated Arabic accent and in Syria he always wore a suit for any activity that required him to be out of our home. In Australia it was quite the opposite, suits were mainly worn for weddings and funerals. He always liked to look his best and when he had dealings with anyone in authority he always gained their respect because he looked so dapper. I on the other hand, loved the casual look.
I had long blonde hair that was below my waist and had gained unwanted kilos after the birth of my two children. We were physically opposite in every way. He was small in stature, olive skinned, huge brown deer like eyes and black hair. Whereas I was chubby, pale skinned, grey blue eyes and had blonde hair. Blue eyes and blonde hair was always an attraction for both male and females in Syria.
Yasmin was three years old and Azzam was twenty months old when we returned to Syria on our second visit. Their relatives were so excited to see us again that they hired a taxi and travelled the four hours south from Skelbieh to Damascus. On our first visit they hired a large bus and filled it with family and friends from Fawaz's town. When I entered that bus I was intriqued as to the nature of the husks that covered the buses floorspace. Apparently, they were sunflower seed husks that had been discarded after the seeds had been removed. During our future excursions it was always a treat to have a bag of seeds for snacks, whether they were sunflower, pumpkin or watermmelon. People danced in the aisle of the bus, sang and played musical instruments. It was a homecoming that I had never experienced before.
page 6
There was no extended family on my father's side and my mother left Melbourne and her family to travel the world when she was seventeen years old. She made it to Sydney where she met her first husband and wasn't to leave and see the world until our trip in 1984.
She wasn't close to her only elder sister nor her mother but she adored her father who died when he was fifty eight years old. On many occassions I used to lay awake at night and pray that my mother didn't die or I would have to go into an orphanage. That is why I knew it was the right move to live in Syria, for the sake of my children. There were so many relatives for them to get to know and a sturdy family foundation would be an enormous support for the life that lay ahead of them.
As the aeroplane approached Damascus International Airport, a new chapter and adventure was beginning in my life.
GREETINGS
Fawaz spoke in an educated Arabic accent and in Syria he always wore a suit for any activity that required him to be out of our home. In Australia it was quite the opposite, suits were mainly worn for weddings and funerals. He always liked to look his best and when he had dealings with anyone in authority he always gained their respect because he looked so dapper. I on the other hand, loved the casual look.
I had long blonde hair that was below my waist and had gained unwanted kilos after the birth of my two children. We were physically opposite in every way. He was small in stature, olive skinned, huge brown deer like eyes and black hair. Whereas I was chubby, pale skinned, grey blue eyes and had blonde hair. Blue eyes and blonde hair was always an attraction for both male and females in Syria.
Yasmin was three years old and Azzam was twenty months old when we returned to Syria on our second visit. Their relatives were so excited to see us again that they hired a taxi and travelled the four hours south from Skelbieh to Damascus. On our first visit they hired a large bus and filled it with family and friends from Fawaz's town. When I entered that bus I was intriqued as to the nature of the husks that covered the buses floorspace. Apparently, they were sunflower seed husks that had been discarded after the seeds had been removed. During our future excursions it was always a treat to have a bag of seeds for snacks, whether they were sunflower, pumpkin or watermmelon. People danced in the aisle of the bus, sang and played musical instruments. It was a homecoming that I had never experienced before.
page 6
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
AUSTRALIA
During the first three years of our stay in Australia I gave birth to two beautiful children, Yasmin and Azzam. Yasmin was born thirteen months before Azzam. I took leave from my teaching position and looked after my family.
When I first got to know Fawaz in Greece I felt he was an old soul and that we had already shared time together, maybe in another life. I once asked him before I decided to marry him about his finances and why he hadn't saved any money after living and working overseas for twelve years. The answer he gave me touched a deep part of my soul and I knew he would be a caring and loyal partner. His earnings were accumulated and used to support his family of twelve siblings and his beloved invalid father whom he adored. He had lived a spartan life in Greece, no smoking or alcohol and he was the eldest of thirteen children and he felt a big responsibility towards them. Fawaz managed to set one brother up in a carpentary shop and pay his father's private hospital fees for a year after a horrific motor accident had taken the use of his legs. He paid for land and built two rooms for his family which meant they could leave their one room mud brick rented accommodation. Writing poetry was his first love and he had previously published his poems in Russian and Lithuanian. He was world travelled, having worked on ships and visiting most of the worlds continents.
Sometimes I felt we were brought together in this life to complete unfinished business because trouble seemed to follow us wherever we moved. Suffice to say, we decided to try our luck and a chance at real happiness in his home country of Syria. On our first trip to Syria we stayed for nine months then returned to Australia.
Six months later in the year 1989 we left for the last time intending to live and raise our children in his homeland.
The trip to the airport and the flight overseas was the most gut wrenching experience I had ever experienced. You see, my family and Fawaz were never to see eye to eye. There was a lot of ill will between them. I felt so overwhelmed with sadness during those years that I actually fell into a deep depression.
I was torn between my love and duty to Fawaz, isolation from my family and the yearning to be a part of their life.
Fawaz had an extremely persuasive and deep emotional control over me. I was vulnerable and believed him when he said we had to leave Australia without my family knowing. He was by that time my whole world, the father of my children, my only friend and confidant. I saw my family in the wrong for isolating me because of their intense dislike of my husband. I was told I was always welcome to visit them but it was given with an emphasis on the "I."
On the morning of our departure I wrote a letter to my mother and posted it at the airport. Part of my heart was sealed with that letter.
I told her how much I loved her and the family and was so sorry to leave without goodbye. The previous Sunday I had arranged an afternoon at my sister's home and my sisters, mother and I spent the last day together, unbeknownst to them, for many years. I cuddled each of them and didn't want to let them go.
Whilst sitting in the plane and listening to the song Memories from the musical Cats I managed to finally cry and the tears streamed their way down my cheeks landing on my heart, which in turn caught them and held them, giving me strength for the years that followed.
page 5
During the first three years of our stay in Australia I gave birth to two beautiful children, Yasmin and Azzam. Yasmin was born thirteen months before Azzam. I took leave from my teaching position and looked after my family.
When I first got to know Fawaz in Greece I felt he was an old soul and that we had already shared time together, maybe in another life. I once asked him before I decided to marry him about his finances and why he hadn't saved any money after living and working overseas for twelve years. The answer he gave me touched a deep part of my soul and I knew he would be a caring and loyal partner. His earnings were accumulated and used to support his family of twelve siblings and his beloved invalid father whom he adored. He had lived a spartan life in Greece, no smoking or alcohol and he was the eldest of thirteen children and he felt a big responsibility towards them. Fawaz managed to set one brother up in a carpentary shop and pay his father's private hospital fees for a year after a horrific motor accident had taken the use of his legs. He paid for land and built two rooms for his family which meant they could leave their one room mud brick rented accommodation. Writing poetry was his first love and he had previously published his poems in Russian and Lithuanian. He was world travelled, having worked on ships and visiting most of the worlds continents.
Sometimes I felt we were brought together in this life to complete unfinished business because trouble seemed to follow us wherever we moved. Suffice to say, we decided to try our luck and a chance at real happiness in his home country of Syria. On our first trip to Syria we stayed for nine months then returned to Australia.
Six months later in the year 1989 we left for the last time intending to live and raise our children in his homeland.
The trip to the airport and the flight overseas was the most gut wrenching experience I had ever experienced. You see, my family and Fawaz were never to see eye to eye. There was a lot of ill will between them. I felt so overwhelmed with sadness during those years that I actually fell into a deep depression.
I was torn between my love and duty to Fawaz, isolation from my family and the yearning to be a part of their life.
Fawaz had an extremely persuasive and deep emotional control over me. I was vulnerable and believed him when he said we had to leave Australia without my family knowing. He was by that time my whole world, the father of my children, my only friend and confidant. I saw my family in the wrong for isolating me because of their intense dislike of my husband. I was told I was always welcome to visit them but it was given with an emphasis on the "I."
On the morning of our departure I wrote a letter to my mother and posted it at the airport. Part of my heart was sealed with that letter.
I told her how much I loved her and the family and was so sorry to leave without goodbye. The previous Sunday I had arranged an afternoon at my sister's home and my sisters, mother and I spent the last day together, unbeknownst to them, for many years. I cuddled each of them and didn't want to let them go.
Whilst sitting in the plane and listening to the song Memories from the musical Cats I managed to finally cry and the tears streamed their way down my cheeks landing on my heart, which in turn caught them and held them, giving me strength for the years that followed.
page 5
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
WEDDING DAY
Marriage
My wedding day was scheduled for early January. I decided to get married earlier than we planned so Fawaz could return to Australia with me. I had to apply for a number of documents from Australia and Fawaz from Syria and book at the local registery office in Kallithea, a suburb of Athens. We tried three times to get married and managed to have all the documents ready by the second try but we hadn't advertised our wedding in the Greek newspapers so the registry office refused our second attempt. I had bought a special maroon crushed velvet dress for our nuptuals but was so frustrated by the red tape of Greek authorities and not expecting to get married on that day, I wore a simple skirt and white woollen jacket for our third attempt.
To my surprise we were married on our third try on the 25th January in a civil service. There were two white plaster doves on the wall in front of us, one hanging sideways and one hanging upside down and two Jehova Witness friends of Fawaz's acting as our witnesses.
The service was in Greek and I was overwhelmed. We invited our witnesses back to the flat for coffee and cake and that was that, I was married. Fawaz had sold most of his possessions in preparation for our trip to Australia. His camera was included in the sales so we didn't have a photo of our wedding.
We parted company at Athens airport.I flew home alone to Australia and he flew to Syria to arrange his affairs.
We spent four years living in Australia. They were tumultuous and often sad times. I was cut off from my family and old friends, both from their intolerance and my inability to cross over between being loyal to my husband and letting go of my old life.
page 4
Marriage
My wedding day was scheduled for early January. I decided to get married earlier than we planned so Fawaz could return to Australia with me. I had to apply for a number of documents from Australia and Fawaz from Syria and book at the local registery office in Kallithea, a suburb of Athens. We tried three times to get married and managed to have all the documents ready by the second try but we hadn't advertised our wedding in the Greek newspapers so the registry office refused our second attempt. I had bought a special maroon crushed velvet dress for our nuptuals but was so frustrated by the red tape of Greek authorities and not expecting to get married on that day, I wore a simple skirt and white woollen jacket for our third attempt.
To my surprise we were married on our third try on the 25th January in a civil service. There were two white plaster doves on the wall in front of us, one hanging sideways and one hanging upside down and two Jehova Witness friends of Fawaz's acting as our witnesses.
The service was in Greek and I was overwhelmed. We invited our witnesses back to the flat for coffee and cake and that was that, I was married. Fawaz had sold most of his possessions in preparation for our trip to Australia. His camera was included in the sales so we didn't have a photo of our wedding.
We parted company at Athens airport.I flew home alone to Australia and he flew to Syria to arrange his affairs.
We spent four years living in Australia. They were tumultuous and often sad times. I was cut off from my family and old friends, both from their intolerance and my inability to cross over between being loyal to my husband and letting go of my old life.
page 4
Monday, May 10, 2010
RETURN TO GREECE
Four years previously, I had taken a course called Transformations. It was a self help course based on meditation techniques. I remember attending one lecture that focused on taking risks in life. Walter Bellin, a charismatic American psychologist was the lecturer. He kept emphasising that life without risks was a life without change.
During my visit to Rome I visited the Trevi fountain and paid my silver coin to the waters of love. Little did I know at that time that the man waiting for me in Athens would be the biggest risk I had ever taken. Walter would say that if we didn't take risks then life would stay the same and I was ready for a change.
I was truly blessed and taken well care of during the three day journey to Athens. A family travelling in the same train compartment shared their food with me and I shared my bananas and bread. When they alighted a Greek Orthodox priest bought me coffee and shared his food. He spoke English and we enjoyed hours of wonderful conversation. The three day journey was nearly over and I was anxious to know if Fawaz was waiting at the station. Negative thoughts passed through my mind and I could see myself stranded in Athens, no money, no accomodation, a plane ticket from London and that was about it.
When the train pulled into the station in Athens all I could feel was sheer panic.
I couldn't see Fawaz and tears were forming in my eyes. He was nowhere to be seen. I thought maybe he had waited for me the day before and when I didn't show, he had left disheartened. I sat down on the nearest bench and waited. There was an emptiness, a numbness that came over me. I couldn't think about my next step so I just sat.
A quick stepped, handsomely dressed man rushed over to me and profusely apologised for being late and explained that he had waited for every train that had pulled into the station for the past twenty four hours. All I wanted to do was cry but I hid my tears and just breathed into the feeling of security that his presence afforded me.
page 3
Four years previously, I had taken a course called Transformations. It was a self help course based on meditation techniques. I remember attending one lecture that focused on taking risks in life. Walter Bellin, a charismatic American psychologist was the lecturer. He kept emphasising that life without risks was a life without change.
During my visit to Rome I visited the Trevi fountain and paid my silver coin to the waters of love. Little did I know at that time that the man waiting for me in Athens would be the biggest risk I had ever taken. Walter would say that if we didn't take risks then life would stay the same and I was ready for a change.
I was truly blessed and taken well care of during the three day journey to Athens. A family travelling in the same train compartment shared their food with me and I shared my bananas and bread. When they alighted a Greek Orthodox priest bought me coffee and shared his food. He spoke English and we enjoyed hours of wonderful conversation. The three day journey was nearly over and I was anxious to know if Fawaz was waiting at the station. Negative thoughts passed through my mind and I could see myself stranded in Athens, no money, no accomodation, a plane ticket from London and that was about it.
When the train pulled into the station in Athens all I could feel was sheer panic.
I couldn't see Fawaz and tears were forming in my eyes. He was nowhere to be seen. I thought maybe he had waited for me the day before and when I didn't show, he had left disheartened. I sat down on the nearest bench and waited. There was an emptiness, a numbness that came over me. I couldn't think about my next step so I just sat.
A quick stepped, handsomely dressed man rushed over to me and profusely apologised for being late and explained that he had waited for every train that had pulled into the station for the past twenty four hours. All I wanted to do was cry but I hid my tears and just breathed into the feeling of security that his presence afforded me.
page 3
Sunday, May 9, 2010
continuing story from post May 8
Mum and I spent a month in Athens and on the island of Patmos. We farewelled Fawaz and continued on with our planned adventure. I was in half a mind as to whether I would return to Athens after we completed our European stint or to travel on to England then Ireland.
After my grandmother died, my mother decided to use part of her inheritance to travel overseas. She was an inexperienced traveller and nervous to travel on her own. That's where I came into the picture. My two sisters were married with children and she had no other choice but invite me. She was a single mum from the time I was twelve years old and I was always known as the child who carried a hammer and not a doll. Apparently, in her eyes I could fix anything, (how that included tour guide I don't know, but I didn't mind.) Hence, after waiting six months for me to save money, she decided she'd better pay for me or she would wait forever. We rented in Bondi at the time, and I was an aspiring actress with one small movie role (blink and you'd miss me) and an ad behind me.
In Australia she had her money changed into American Express cheques in both her name and mine.
We backpacked, walked and caught buses during our trip and never once caught a taxi.
When I decided to return to Greece after travelling for another month, my mother changed my American Express cheques into her name and gave me a $200 cheque, a bag of bananas and bread rolls for my two day train trip back to Athens. I left Paris by train in an easterly direction and she left going west to London. She was scared to travel on her own, but was going to stay with a friend of mine in London.
I was both excited and nervous, at the prospect of travelling through Europe on my own and wondering if Fawaz would be at the station in Athens waiting for me.
I had rung him from Paris and told him to be waiting for me in two days at a certain time and place. I didn't know then that the trip took three days. Also, a bag of bananas and bread didn't last long and the two hundred dollar cheque and a return air ticket from London to Sydney was of no use to me on the train.
page 2
Mum and I spent a month in Athens and on the island of Patmos. We farewelled Fawaz and continued on with our planned adventure. I was in half a mind as to whether I would return to Athens after we completed our European stint or to travel on to England then Ireland.
After my grandmother died, my mother decided to use part of her inheritance to travel overseas. She was an inexperienced traveller and nervous to travel on her own. That's where I came into the picture. My two sisters were married with children and she had no other choice but invite me. She was a single mum from the time I was twelve years old and I was always known as the child who carried a hammer and not a doll. Apparently, in her eyes I could fix anything, (how that included tour guide I don't know, but I didn't mind.) Hence, after waiting six months for me to save money, she decided she'd better pay for me or she would wait forever. We rented in Bondi at the time, and I was an aspiring actress with one small movie role (blink and you'd miss me) and an ad behind me.
In Australia she had her money changed into American Express cheques in both her name and mine.
We backpacked, walked and caught buses during our trip and never once caught a taxi.
When I decided to return to Greece after travelling for another month, my mother changed my American Express cheques into her name and gave me a $200 cheque, a bag of bananas and bread rolls for my two day train trip back to Athens. I left Paris by train in an easterly direction and she left going west to London. She was scared to travel on her own, but was going to stay with a friend of mine in London.
I was both excited and nervous, at the prospect of travelling through Europe on my own and wondering if Fawaz would be at the station in Athens waiting for me.
I had rung him from Paris and told him to be waiting for me in two days at a certain time and place. I didn't know then that the trip took three days. Also, a bag of bananas and bread didn't last long and the two hundred dollar cheque and a return air ticket from London to Sydney was of no use to me on the train.
page 2
Saturday, May 8, 2010
It's been a while since I have written in my blog and I'm so happy to finally be able to log in. I forgot my password to my original blog called EvasArt and my friend was able to transfer the saved information into this one.
I'd like to write about my Syrian memories. The ten years I spent living in a country and culture that I eventually embraced.
GREECE
1984- November
A handsome dark haired man approached my mother and I on Pandrossou Street in Athens. We were looking in the window of a jewellery store and a voice behind me asked something in a foreign language. I turned around and was so surprised to see a well dressed, smooth talking, handsome man. He was actually talking to me in Russian. When I answered him in English, he replied in English, with an invitation to visit his store. He offered me gold and furs at a discount price. I felt altogether, shy, flattered and distrustful, if that is emotionally possible. I told him I didn't wear gold and I wouldn't wear the fur of an animal.
I wasn't interested in his store and I was tired. My mother and I had been backpacking around Europe and visiting as many theatre companies as we could afford to see.
He was selling furs and jewels to wealthy tourists and I couldn't understand why he was interested in a slightly chubby, jeans clad foreigner carrying a packpack. I refused his offer to go for a coffee, but little did I know that a Judas was in my midst, called Mother and she accepted.
She never let me forget that I wouldn't go to the top of the Eiffel Tower when we visited Paris,(I suffered from a fear of heights) and that I also refused to go to the Folies Bergere. I actually had no other choice as I was suffering with a terrible flu and my only interest for 5 days in Paris was my bed. She wouldn't venture anywhere on her own except to walk around the block that our hotel was situated on.
A warm shower was very welcomed before our coffee date, as we had just travelled by ship from Brindisi in Italy to Patras in Greece and then by train to Athens. My story begins on the night I had coffee with my Arabic Elvis ( he looked like a smaller, darker version of Elvis Presley.)
page 1
I'd like to write about my Syrian memories. The ten years I spent living in a country and culture that I eventually embraced.
GREECE
1984- November
A handsome dark haired man approached my mother and I on Pandrossou Street in Athens. We were looking in the window of a jewellery store and a voice behind me asked something in a foreign language. I turned around and was so surprised to see a well dressed, smooth talking, handsome man. He was actually talking to me in Russian. When I answered him in English, he replied in English, with an invitation to visit his store. He offered me gold and furs at a discount price. I felt altogether, shy, flattered and distrustful, if that is emotionally possible. I told him I didn't wear gold and I wouldn't wear the fur of an animal.
I wasn't interested in his store and I was tired. My mother and I had been backpacking around Europe and visiting as many theatre companies as we could afford to see.
He was selling furs and jewels to wealthy tourists and I couldn't understand why he was interested in a slightly chubby, jeans clad foreigner carrying a packpack. I refused his offer to go for a coffee, but little did I know that a Judas was in my midst, called Mother and she accepted.
She never let me forget that I wouldn't go to the top of the Eiffel Tower when we visited Paris,(I suffered from a fear of heights) and that I also refused to go to the Folies Bergere. I actually had no other choice as I was suffering with a terrible flu and my only interest for 5 days in Paris was my bed. She wouldn't venture anywhere on her own except to walk around the block that our hotel was situated on.
A warm shower was very welcomed before our coffee date, as we had just travelled by ship from Brindisi in Italy to Patras in Greece and then by train to Athens. My story begins on the night I had coffee with my Arabic Elvis ( he looked like a smaller, darker version of Elvis Presley.)
page 1
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