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.

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