Poker
December 30th 2010 continued from previous posts

The days in our one room would pass slowly, especially being forced to stay indoors during the searing summer and snowy winters. I found a fun activity to pass the time and as well as enjoy the companionship of other women. Fawaz wasn’t too happy about my new hobby because he had heard rumours that I was the popular subject of idle gossipers. The educated Russian wives of his three very good friends were working as doctors and one as a pharmacist. I on the other hand was using my time to sharpen my poker skills. The ladies and I would meet each morning after our housework was complete and enjoy a friendly game or two of poker. Most of the children were of similar ages and they delighted in playing with each other whilst their mothers drank matte tea(a caffiene free Argentinian plant used as a tea and drunk through a decorated metal straw with a filter in the bottom end of it.) We all used to smoke the cheaper Syrian brand cigarettes which were harsh on the oesophagus and gave me quite a head spin. Marlboro cigarettes were contraband and more expensive. I was quite a card shark in those days because I poured all my mental energy into learning how to outwit my opponents.
The arabic words for king of hearts or nine of spades or its my turn to deal, just rolled off my tongue as if I was a native speaker of the language. Skelbieh had its own dialect which they called Socloobee and my new band of women were proud of my village accent.
Wednesday 29th December 2010
Summers in Skelbieh were long and extremely hot, while winters were short with severe cold winds and oftimes it would snow. There was one swimming pool in the town and its water was drawn from the local spring, where in times past the townsfolk used to gather and fill their ceramic urns and transport them home balanced securely on their heads. There were segregated swimming days for males and females. Men were allowed to swim from Monday to Wednesday and women on Thursdays.
Sunday was set aside as a family day. The water was shockingly cold and it left my outer limbs quite numb. Women were only permitted to wear full bathers and not cover themselves with t-shirts. Before the pool opened in the mid 1990’s it was commonplace for only the boys to learn to swim. They usually taught themselves by trial and error at the local waterholes. Yasmin and Azzam learnt to swim in the ocean. We used to visit Lattakia in the humid 40degree Celsius summer months and rent a holiday flat by the coastal waters of the Mediterranean. Most of the popular beaches were privately owned and we paid to use the beach and its facilities. In Australia the beaches were free and I was used to being tumbled about in the rough surf. The opposite was true of the clear, gentle, sapphire blue water that lapped onto the sandy shores of the Syrian coast. I’d love to watch the Arabic women, light-heartedly splashing ankle deep in the sea and gingerly making their way to deeper water whilst covered from head to toe in their saturated clothing that clung to their nubile figures. There were women wearing burkas and girls wearing bikinis and I was always at peace playing with the children and enjoying our lazy summer holidays.

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Apamea

In Apamea most of the uncovered ruins date back to the Roman and Byzantine ages. The main avenue is about 2km long and is enclosed by columns with spiralled fluting. Apamea was destroyed in the 12th century by two violent earthquakes. Although many columns are still standing the rest are being restored to their original beauty. When Yasmin and Azzam grew older they used to climb the columns, especially the archways. Their father would take them for long walks, retracing his childhood memories, where he used to play with his friends in the ancient pile of stones that was once the amphitheatre, or tell them stories about a tunnel built from Apamea and ending at the springs in the mountains to the west. Of course, I was anxious for them to get down off the archways but it appeared that they delighted in showing off their inherited fearless nature. Fawaz would take us on many adventurous journeys and often times I was an unwilling tourist when I saw the treacherous roads we were to travel along or windy mountain heights that apparently were waiting for us to climb.
Yasmin was approximately 8 years old when she fell from one of the huge ancient stones bordering the main thoroughfare of Apamea and as a result, broke her front tooth in half. They were lucky to escape with only scratches and bruises and until now they treasure their wonderful childhood memories from their magical Apamea days.
There is still so much to unearth and discover at Apamea. It is illegal to dig for treasure or sell any antiquities outside of the country. Syrians need to keep their wealth of priceless artifacts for themselves and future generations. On one of our many excursions to Apamea, we passed through a small village where Fawaz pointed out a brown tiled, richly adorned house that was built by the use of illicit income of one of Apameas tomb raiders. Needless to say, he wasn’t enjoying the proceeds of his illegal activities because he was a guest at one of the governments penal institutions.

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