HISTORY OF SKELBIEH
Fawaz would leave early in the morning to supervise the builders and the children and I were left to our own devices. Um Sieed's house was built beneath the level of the road, which meant that her tenants living on the second floor had only to walk a few metres along the verandah to reach the footpath, which in turn, gave easy access for Yasmin and Azzam's daily escape, allowing them to play freely with the neighbourhood children. I was always worried about the childrens' safety, especially the thought, that if they ventured onto the road, they could be injured from a passing car or motorbike. The local men, women and children would walk in the middle of the road and seemed to be oblivious to the passing traffic. They would walk arm in arm taking up most of the thoroughfare and appeared seemingly indifferent to the beeps and curses from frustrated drivers. Before I could discover my venturesome childrens' whereabouts, they were often long gone, hand in hand with a few of the neighbours' children, visiting their father at the building site or playing on the adjoining tel(hill).
Skelbieh is a province of Hama and located about an hours drive north west of its mother city. Its history dates back to the Arameans, a semi-nomadic and agricultural society who lived in upper Mesopotamia (Biblical Aram) during the Late Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Skelbieh also flourished in the days of Apamea. It was situated in an important military position to guard Apamea from attacks from the south. Apamea is located about 5kms north of Skelbieh. It was built by Saluqos Nikator, one of Alexander the Great's generals and the first king of the Seleucids in Syria in 300 BC. He named it after his Persian wife, Afamia. Pompey made the city part of the Roman Empire in 64 BC. After the earthquake at Apamea in 1157, Skelbieh was mainly used as a fortress, protecting its inhabitants from the threats of neighbouring tribes.
Skelbieh is an Aramaic(the language of Jesus Christ) word that means defiant, opposing and stubborn. The first homes on the tel were built from mud, wood and the remains of plants that grew on the banks of the Orontes. Relics such as pottery and olive presses from the Roman period were unearthed during the cultivation of the surrounding land.
We loved to pack a lunch in the warmer months of spring or the cool autumn and ride out to Apamea on Fawaz's Lambretta scooter. I would sit side-saddle behind Fawaz with Yasmin perched on the spare back tyre holding tightly onto me and Azzam would stand at the front of the scooter gripping the handlebars, with his head just above the bottom of the front windscreen. We rode through fields where tender young stalks of wheat were waiting patiently for the summer heat, stopping only at local springs to quench our thirst, or to enable the children to search for mudcrabs.
page 18
Monday, December 27, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
UM SIEED'S ROOM
It was difficult to find rental accommodation in the town because if one rented one's home to someone then it was virtually impossible to evict them. The law at that time was totally in favour of the tenant and the landlord had little or no rights. We stayed with Esser for a week and then moved into Fawaz's uncle's home. His father's brother had died and his aunty, Um Sieed (Sigh-eed) shared a two storied, four roomed cement house with three families. She lived in one room with her young daughter Tamarsill. Her son Fararj and his wife Eptisam lived with their daughter Filly in the adjoining room. Um Sieed rented one of the upstairs rooms to a soldier and his wife from the neighbouring mountains. Fawaz rented the fourth room for our family. The toilet was at the end of a narrow verandah. It faced the street, was an arabic style hole in the floor, had no roof, its walls were made of broken bricks and the door was a piece of hessian cloth hung loosely with nails.
Our room had two windows, one made with a rusted steel frame and the second was boarded up with plywood. The door was made of decorated steel and the unpainted cement walls were very depressing. We rented the room for two years because Fawaz had bought a house about one hundred metres up the road and our room allowed him to be close to us as well as supervise the building of our new premises. We sold our rented house in Australia and used the money that was left after the mortgage was paid, to finance the building of our new home.
Fawaz was hoping for us to move into our newly purchased property but the tenant that came with the sale, refused to move without a payout that equalled the price of the house. It was an old building and Fawaz had plans to build our home on the roof.
He applied through the courts to have the tenant evicted, to no avail and there were many tense and stressful times between Fawaz and the tenant before he finally accepted a payment to move.
The two years that we spent living in the room were very difficult for me.
There was no kitchen or bathroom. A sink was built in one corner and a brick wall separated the metre and a half by metre and a half square room from the rest of the living quarters. Two double mattresses were piled in one corner, which were used for both the lounge and bedding and a fridge adorned the far right corner next to a cupboard, on top of which sat a gas stove. There was no space left for anything else except our soopeear (Kerosene heater).
Bath time was a family affair, because I thought if I was going to set up the room for one person to have a bath, then we would all take our turn at cleansing ourselves. A large aluminium container with a small stool positioned in the middle of it, replaced the customary bath. I would boil a pot of water on the gas stove and combine it with cooler water in a bucket, to be used with a cup and poured over oneself, followed by a good soaping up and a final rinse. The floor was made of cement, so any water spillage was of no consequence. Yasmin usually bathed first because Azzam had no interest in sitting still for any length of time, especially if it meant allowing me to clean him. I imagined it would of been a sight to watch, with me bare skinned and sitting on a stool made for a 2 year old, in a container less than a metre in diameter and tentatively directing the water that poured from my well worn frayed plastic cup. Luckily, a faded lemon curtain separated my humble bathroom from the daily toilet traffic that passed by my window.
The townsfolk often asked Fawaz, in front of me, how a foreigner could live in such a drab environment, as they could not themselves even contemplate living under the same conditions. I would ask Fawaz to translate to them, that we were lucky to be building our beautiful home made of sandstone and marble and that our accommodation was only temporary.
page 17
It was difficult to find rental accommodation in the town because if one rented one's home to someone then it was virtually impossible to evict them. The law at that time was totally in favour of the tenant and the landlord had little or no rights. We stayed with Esser for a week and then moved into Fawaz's uncle's home. His father's brother had died and his aunty, Um Sieed (Sigh-eed) shared a two storied, four roomed cement house with three families. She lived in one room with her young daughter Tamarsill. Her son Fararj and his wife Eptisam lived with their daughter Filly in the adjoining room. Um Sieed rented one of the upstairs rooms to a soldier and his wife from the neighbouring mountains. Fawaz rented the fourth room for our family. The toilet was at the end of a narrow verandah. It faced the street, was an arabic style hole in the floor, had no roof, its walls were made of broken bricks and the door was a piece of hessian cloth hung loosely with nails.
Our room had two windows, one made with a rusted steel frame and the second was boarded up with plywood. The door was made of decorated steel and the unpainted cement walls were very depressing. We rented the room for two years because Fawaz had bought a house about one hundred metres up the road and our room allowed him to be close to us as well as supervise the building of our new premises. We sold our rented house in Australia and used the money that was left after the mortgage was paid, to finance the building of our new home.
Fawaz was hoping for us to move into our newly purchased property but the tenant that came with the sale, refused to move without a payout that equalled the price of the house. It was an old building and Fawaz had plans to build our home on the roof.
He applied through the courts to have the tenant evicted, to no avail and there were many tense and stressful times between Fawaz and the tenant before he finally accepted a payment to move.
The two years that we spent living in the room were very difficult for me.
There was no kitchen or bathroom. A sink was built in one corner and a brick wall separated the metre and a half by metre and a half square room from the rest of the living quarters. Two double mattresses were piled in one corner, which were used for both the lounge and bedding and a fridge adorned the far right corner next to a cupboard, on top of which sat a gas stove. There was no space left for anything else except our soopeear (Kerosene heater).
Bath time was a family affair, because I thought if I was going to set up the room for one person to have a bath, then we would all take our turn at cleansing ourselves. A large aluminium container with a small stool positioned in the middle of it, replaced the customary bath. I would boil a pot of water on the gas stove and combine it with cooler water in a bucket, to be used with a cup and poured over oneself, followed by a good soaping up and a final rinse. The floor was made of cement, so any water spillage was of no consequence. Yasmin usually bathed first because Azzam had no interest in sitting still for any length of time, especially if it meant allowing me to clean him. I imagined it would of been a sight to watch, with me bare skinned and sitting on a stool made for a 2 year old, in a container less than a metre in diameter and tentatively directing the water that poured from my well worn frayed plastic cup. Luckily, a faded lemon curtain separated my humble bathroom from the daily toilet traffic that passed by my window.
The townsfolk often asked Fawaz, in front of me, how a foreigner could live in such a drab environment, as they could not themselves even contemplate living under the same conditions. I would ask Fawaz to translate to them, that we were lucky to be building our beautiful home made of sandstone and marble and that our accommodation was only temporary.
page 17
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Uboo Feherd arrived on his post second world war motorbike wearing his oil stained dungarees. Fawaz looked so prissy sitting behind him with his straight back, suit, tie and black shiny leather shoes.
There was no hugging or kissing as he was not one to show physical signs of affection in public. He listened to my story and I could see he was very upset, yet he knew he couldn't do anything about our predicament at that present moment, because of the position his cousin held in his profession and as the problem hadn't escalated due to my timely actions, there was no recourse except retreat and getting on with our lives.
Fawaz reassured me that we were safe and promised that nothing like that would ever happen to us again and it never did. He made plans for our next course of action, as I refused to leave Skelbieh and the safety it afforded the children and I.
We slept at Esser's home in their visitors' living room, on a double bed that was used as a lounge by day and a bed by night. We were protected from the summer mosquitoes by a flimsy net. As we lay sound asleep, an enemy that couldn't be seen, heard, but felt, gave the four of us a rude awakening. Azzam started to cry and I couldn't stop itching. There we were, trapped under our net and being attacked by a swarm of minuscule flying insects that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. We changed into long sleeved pyjamas, covered ourselves from head to toe with a blanket and still they managed to infiltrate our defenses. It was the most painful and mentally exhausting so-called sleep that I had ever experienced.
page 16
There was no hugging or kissing as he was not one to show physical signs of affection in public. He listened to my story and I could see he was very upset, yet he knew he couldn't do anything about our predicament at that present moment, because of the position his cousin held in his profession and as the problem hadn't escalated due to my timely actions, there was no recourse except retreat and getting on with our lives.
Fawaz reassured me that we were safe and promised that nothing like that would ever happen to us again and it never did. He made plans for our next course of action, as I refused to leave Skelbieh and the safety it afforded the children and I.
We slept at Esser's home in their visitors' living room, on a double bed that was used as a lounge by day and a bed by night. We were protected from the summer mosquitoes by a flimsy net. As we lay sound asleep, an enemy that couldn't be seen, heard, but felt, gave the four of us a rude awakening. Azzam started to cry and I couldn't stop itching. There we were, trapped under our net and being attacked by a swarm of minuscule flying insects that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. We changed into long sleeved pyjamas, covered ourselves from head to toe with a blanket and still they managed to infiltrate our defenses. It was the most painful and mentally exhausting so-called sleep that I had ever experienced.
page 16
Saturday, December 18, 2010
SAFETY
Once the bus reached the plains beneath the mountains, I knew we were close to our destination. We couldn't go to my childrens' grandparents as Fawaz was not in contact with them and I didn't have any idea as to his whereabouts. He had a good friend called Esser and he lived about a kilometre out of town. I asked our most kind and generous new friend to inform the driver when to stop the bus so we could alight and make our way to Uboo Feherd's home. Uboo meant father of, so Fawaz was called Uboo Azzam. Uboo Feherd lived with his wife and children in a faded blue two roomed cement house surrounded by cotton fields. There was no particular path that led to his house so we climbed over rocks and long grass until we found it. To Azzam's delight we were greeted by chickens, a friendly goat, some geese and a dog. Esser's wife came to the door to greet us. She beckoned for us to come in. We kissed each other as is the custom, right cheek ,left cheek and right again and she instinctively knew, what had to be done to relax the children and I. Firstly, she tended to their needs of toileting and feeding them with sandwiches made from flat arabic bread buttered with zarta and oil. She sent them out to play with her children and I was content to know that they were safe and sound in their father's beloved hometown.
Word was sent via their telephone line to locate Fawaz. Um Feherd could see how upset I was and knew that the only comfort that she could afford me was Fawaz.
page15
Once the bus reached the plains beneath the mountains, I knew we were close to our destination. We couldn't go to my childrens' grandparents as Fawaz was not in contact with them and I didn't have any idea as to his whereabouts. He had a good friend called Esser and he lived about a kilometre out of town. I asked our most kind and generous new friend to inform the driver when to stop the bus so we could alight and make our way to Uboo Feherd's home. Uboo meant father of, so Fawaz was called Uboo Azzam. Uboo Feherd lived with his wife and children in a faded blue two roomed cement house surrounded by cotton fields. There was no particular path that led to his house so we climbed over rocks and long grass until we found it. To Azzam's delight we were greeted by chickens, a friendly goat, some geese and a dog. Esser's wife came to the door to greet us. She beckoned for us to come in. We kissed each other as is the custom, right cheek ,left cheek and right again and she instinctively knew, what had to be done to relax the children and I. Firstly, she tended to their needs of toileting and feeding them with sandwiches made from flat arabic bread buttered with zarta and oil. She sent them out to play with her children and I was content to know that they were safe and sound in their father's beloved hometown.
Word was sent via their telephone line to locate Fawaz. Um Feherd could see how upset I was and knew that the only comfort that she could afford me was Fawaz.
page15
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
THE VISITOR
Living in a city in Syria gave us the opportunity to buy delicacies, that otherwise we could not find in a small town such as Skelbieh. Food has always been an important part of my life, not only for survival, but for its actual enjoyment, taste and sensuality. It has also been an emotional crutch and a great source of comfort during difficult times.
I cannot remember buying many tinned food products other than jam, tuna and mortadella. The main foods that were stored in my freezer were ice-cream and frozen fresh vegetables, cut, shelled or peeled in the summer months for use in the winter.
Ninety nine percent of the food we ate was either picked fresh on the farms that morning or the previous day, or killed in the case of meat, chicken or fish, on the same day we bought it. Syrian people liked their meat and vegetables fresh. Meat was a lot more expensive to buy than vegetables, hence, a small amount of meat was used in cooking, with lots of onions, garlic and vegetables in season.
Azzam and Yasmin especially enjoyed the fruit of a cactus called prickly pear or (teen sebbear). Its tubercles had small prickly spines on the skin. The flesh was yellow to dark red in colour, sweet and juicy with crunchy seeds throughout. They were always a treat when we, in later years, returned to the seaside for holidays.
Arabic pastries were rich in honey and sugar and sweet on the tooth. Anything made with dates was my favourite, particularly a biscuit called (mamoul) made from semolina, dates, orange flower water and rose water. It was such a treat to eat out in a restaurant. Fawaz didn't like to eat out and occasionally he would buy a roasted chicken or kebabs.
I missed Australia so much and having no family or friends and no-one to converse with in English was at times difficult to bear.
Fawaz wasn't an easy man to live with. He set high standards for himself and others to live by and his twelve brothers and sisters were afraid to do the wrong thing by him. He was always the head of his Syrian family, because his dad Aziz was oftentimes away hawking his goods to folk in the mountains. I always liked to keep the peace, especially for the sake of the children, so I left many an argument unanswered.
Our time in Lattakia was coming to an end because Fawaz was in the process of negotiating a deal to buy a house in Skelbieh, his hometown. He had many friends and relatives in Skelbieh and his dream was to grow old surrounded by them. That was definitely not my dream. I planned to return to Australia in the future.
One of Fawaz's second or third cousin who lived in the mountains visited us in Lattakia. He appeared to be friendly and trustworthy although I had no idea what he or anyone else was talking about. I tended to drift off into my dreamworld and live in my own head. Fawaz asked him to check on the children and I whilst he was away on one of his Skelbieh excursions. This particular cousin, due to his occupation, always carried a gun and one morning he came to visit us. His presence afforded me no comfort as he had brought a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag and proceeded to ask for two glasses. I could not speak Arabic so I gestured to him that I did not drink and he immediately started to smile flirtatiously and I was anxious and afraid. I knew I had to leave before he got too drunk and I feared for the childrens' and my safety. They were playing in another room so I apologetically made my exit to check on them and quickly packed a small suitcase with some clothes and ran out the front door into the courtyard, opened our huge steel gate and ran down the footpath, with the children in hand, trying to hail a taxi. As we climbed into our taxi I could see him at the gate watching us depart. The only word I could say to give directions to the driver was "bus." He took me to the bus terminal and I gave him a handful of money as I wasn't sure what the taxi fare cost.
There we were, standing, the children upset and myself a wreck and nowhere to go except Skelbieh. I didn't know how to get to Subarb's house or even the name of her suburb. Fawaz took care of all the day to day travel arrangements and I had never left the house without him because not only would he not allow me but I had no reason to leave.
There were brightly dressed bedouin women sitting on their luggage with children playing near them. Some men were dressed in their galapeas and holding onto goats. There were girls and young men in jeans carrying books, maybe taking a break from their university studies. Everyone had somewhere to go and most knew how to get there except me. A man wearing a suit was standing near the entrance to the makeshift bus shelter and I said the word "Skelbieh" to him with an inflection in my voice which was both a question and a plead. He pointed in the direction of an old fashioned white and red two toned bus. I thanked him and we made our way across the dusty bus depot to buy our ticket. I stood on the stairs of the bus and again I said the magic word "Skelbieh" and gave the driver a five hundred Syrian pound note($15) and he gave me change and I knew then that we were safe at last.
The bus gradually filled with passengers and we were asked by the driver to move from our seats and directed to one seat at the front of the bus. Yasmin, Azzam and I and my small suitcase had to squash into a tiny space. The children were upset and I started to cry. The tears would not stop and a young man called to me from behind. He called me Um Azzam, which means mother of Azzam and kindly offered his seat to Yasmin and I thanked him. He stood in the crowded aisle for the rest of the two and a half hour trip. We exchanged some polite conversation as he could speak some English. Apparently, he knew Fawaz and was sorry that I was so upset. It was Friday, and a public holiday so he was able to have a day off from his studies at the Faculty of Medicine in Lattakia university and return home for some rest and relaxation.
page 14
Living in a city in Syria gave us the opportunity to buy delicacies, that otherwise we could not find in a small town such as Skelbieh. Food has always been an important part of my life, not only for survival, but for its actual enjoyment, taste and sensuality. It has also been an emotional crutch and a great source of comfort during difficult times.
I cannot remember buying many tinned food products other than jam, tuna and mortadella. The main foods that were stored in my freezer were ice-cream and frozen fresh vegetables, cut, shelled or peeled in the summer months for use in the winter.
Ninety nine percent of the food we ate was either picked fresh on the farms that morning or the previous day, or killed in the case of meat, chicken or fish, on the same day we bought it. Syrian people liked their meat and vegetables fresh. Meat was a lot more expensive to buy than vegetables, hence, a small amount of meat was used in cooking, with lots of onions, garlic and vegetables in season.
Azzam and Yasmin especially enjoyed the fruit of a cactus called prickly pear or (teen sebbear). Its tubercles had small prickly spines on the skin. The flesh was yellow to dark red in colour, sweet and juicy with crunchy seeds throughout. They were always a treat when we, in later years, returned to the seaside for holidays.
Arabic pastries were rich in honey and sugar and sweet on the tooth. Anything made with dates was my favourite, particularly a biscuit called (mamoul) made from semolina, dates, orange flower water and rose water. It was such a treat to eat out in a restaurant. Fawaz didn't like to eat out and occasionally he would buy a roasted chicken or kebabs.
I missed Australia so much and having no family or friends and no-one to converse with in English was at times difficult to bear.
Fawaz wasn't an easy man to live with. He set high standards for himself and others to live by and his twelve brothers and sisters were afraid to do the wrong thing by him. He was always the head of his Syrian family, because his dad Aziz was oftentimes away hawking his goods to folk in the mountains. I always liked to keep the peace, especially for the sake of the children, so I left many an argument unanswered.
Our time in Lattakia was coming to an end because Fawaz was in the process of negotiating a deal to buy a house in Skelbieh, his hometown. He had many friends and relatives in Skelbieh and his dream was to grow old surrounded by them. That was definitely not my dream. I planned to return to Australia in the future.
One of Fawaz's second or third cousin who lived in the mountains visited us in Lattakia. He appeared to be friendly and trustworthy although I had no idea what he or anyone else was talking about. I tended to drift off into my dreamworld and live in my own head. Fawaz asked him to check on the children and I whilst he was away on one of his Skelbieh excursions. This particular cousin, due to his occupation, always carried a gun and one morning he came to visit us. His presence afforded me no comfort as he had brought a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag and proceeded to ask for two glasses. I could not speak Arabic so I gestured to him that I did not drink and he immediately started to smile flirtatiously and I was anxious and afraid. I knew I had to leave before he got too drunk and I feared for the childrens' and my safety. They were playing in another room so I apologetically made my exit to check on them and quickly packed a small suitcase with some clothes and ran out the front door into the courtyard, opened our huge steel gate and ran down the footpath, with the children in hand, trying to hail a taxi. As we climbed into our taxi I could see him at the gate watching us depart. The only word I could say to give directions to the driver was "bus." He took me to the bus terminal and I gave him a handful of money as I wasn't sure what the taxi fare cost.
There we were, standing, the children upset and myself a wreck and nowhere to go except Skelbieh. I didn't know how to get to Subarb's house or even the name of her suburb. Fawaz took care of all the day to day travel arrangements and I had never left the house without him because not only would he not allow me but I had no reason to leave.
There were brightly dressed bedouin women sitting on their luggage with children playing near them. Some men were dressed in their galapeas and holding onto goats. There were girls and young men in jeans carrying books, maybe taking a break from their university studies. Everyone had somewhere to go and most knew how to get there except me. A man wearing a suit was standing near the entrance to the makeshift bus shelter and I said the word "Skelbieh" to him with an inflection in my voice which was both a question and a plead. He pointed in the direction of an old fashioned white and red two toned bus. I thanked him and we made our way across the dusty bus depot to buy our ticket. I stood on the stairs of the bus and again I said the magic word "Skelbieh" and gave the driver a five hundred Syrian pound note($15) and he gave me change and I knew then that we were safe at last.
The bus gradually filled with passengers and we were asked by the driver to move from our seats and directed to one seat at the front of the bus. Yasmin, Azzam and I and my small suitcase had to squash into a tiny space. The children were upset and I started to cry. The tears would not stop and a young man called to me from behind. He called me Um Azzam, which means mother of Azzam and kindly offered his seat to Yasmin and I thanked him. He stood in the crowded aisle for the rest of the two and a half hour trip. We exchanged some polite conversation as he could speak some English. Apparently, he knew Fawaz and was sorry that I was so upset. It was Friday, and a public holiday so he was able to have a day off from his studies at the Faculty of Medicine in Lattakia university and return home for some rest and relaxation.
page 14
Lattakia
Azzam took his first steps at the resort even though his extra weight and cotton nappy hindered his initial progress, he finally managed to wobble his way down the slippery marble tiled hallway.
Fawaz rented a two bedroom furnished apartment in the city of Lattakia which was to be our home for the next six months. We lived on the ground floor of an eight storey apartment complex and had our own garden. I was thrilled to have an old fashioned tub washing machine, as I had been washing by hand, which included Azzam's nappies.
We enjoyed being tourists and visited as many ancient sites as we could and walked along the covered cobble stoned streets of endless markets called, souks.
Lattakia is the main port city of Syria and has a long history of occupation from the Phoenicians, Romans, Crusaders and the Ottoman Rule as well as the French.
We visited Ugarit, an ancient city of Syria situated 10 kms north of Lattakia on the Meditteranean coast. I remember climbing the hills surrounding the ancient ruins and having the most magnificent view of both Ugarit and its coastline. Azzam and Yasmin played hide and seek between the ancient brick structures that jutted out all over the field where a once mighty city was built.
Ugarit flourished from about 1450 to 1200 BC, and then it was completely deserted. In 1928 a farmer accidentally opened an old tomb while plowing a field. He had stumbled upon Ugarit. The subsequent excavations revealed an important city and the Ugaritic alphabet comprising of thirty letters corresponding to sounds was found inscribed on clay tablets. It is said, that it is the oldest alphabet in the world.
I was fascinated with the history connected to the Temple of Baal at Ugarit. Worship of Baal, was practised by Syria’s Semitic peoples and the Canaanites, of whom its worship is mentioned in the Bible. Baal represented strength, fertility and control of the weather. We would often take an evening walk through the city to the port and buy corn on the cob and roasted chestnuts from street vendors and sit consuming our delights, at the feet of the huge statue of Baal which adorned the entrance of the antiquities museum.
The Syrian people have had many sad years under foreign occupation and in an agreement known as the Sykes-Picot agreement, Syria was put under French rule in 1920. The United Nations Security Council came up with a resolution demanding France's withdrawal from Syria in 1946.
page 13
Fawaz rented a two bedroom furnished apartment in the city of Lattakia which was to be our home for the next six months. We lived on the ground floor of an eight storey apartment complex and had our own garden. I was thrilled to have an old fashioned tub washing machine, as I had been washing by hand, which included Azzam's nappies.
We enjoyed being tourists and visited as many ancient sites as we could and walked along the covered cobble stoned streets of endless markets called, souks.
Lattakia is the main port city of Syria and has a long history of occupation from the Phoenicians, Romans, Crusaders and the Ottoman Rule as well as the French.
We visited Ugarit, an ancient city of Syria situated 10 kms north of Lattakia on the Meditteranean coast. I remember climbing the hills surrounding the ancient ruins and having the most magnificent view of both Ugarit and its coastline. Azzam and Yasmin played hide and seek between the ancient brick structures that jutted out all over the field where a once mighty city was built.
Ugarit flourished from about 1450 to 1200 BC, and then it was completely deserted. In 1928 a farmer accidentally opened an old tomb while plowing a field. He had stumbled upon Ugarit. The subsequent excavations revealed an important city and the Ugaritic alphabet comprising of thirty letters corresponding to sounds was found inscribed on clay tablets. It is said, that it is the oldest alphabet in the world.
I was fascinated with the history connected to the Temple of Baal at Ugarit. Worship of Baal, was practised by Syria’s Semitic peoples and the Canaanites, of whom its worship is mentioned in the Bible. Baal represented strength, fertility and control of the weather. We would often take an evening walk through the city to the port and buy corn on the cob and roasted chestnuts from street vendors and sit consuming our delights, at the feet of the huge statue of Baal which adorned the entrance of the antiquities museum.
The Syrian people have had many sad years under foreign occupation and in an agreement known as the Sykes-Picot agreement, Syria was put under French rule in 1920. The United Nations Security Council came up with a resolution demanding France's withdrawal from Syria in 1946.
page 13
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