ALONE

Fawaz used to say to me that a kind heart was a wonderful quality but one also needed an intelligent mind. I was definitely reminded of his wisdom when one day my once friendly band of poker playing women turned into my worst enemies. Of course there was a ring leader, there always is with bullies. She wasn't from Skelbieh but had married one of Um Sieed's neighbour's sons. She had started gossiping about me and was scolded by Fawaz for being a trouble maker. I can't remember what it was all about but she persuaded the poker group to believe her story and they isolated me by standing at the end of my verandah each morning to gossip and making it uncomfortable for me to leave my room. Of course I could of ignored them, but I had no one else to befriend and felt extremely vulnerable and sad in my aloneness.
I had no contact with my family in Australia except via mail which took a couple of weeks for them to receive my letters. We were still not on friendly terms with Fawaz's family and I was afraid to talk to his friend's wives in case they may not keep my inner most thoughts secret. So there was just me, my inner dialogue and of course BBC on the radio. I had lost not most, but all of my friends in Australia after I married Fawaz. I probably withdrew from them because, trying to mix two totally different cultures combined with intolerance was too difficult a task for me to handle.
There was a long waiting list at the telephone exchange for a phone line. Fawaz's turn had come up when we lived in Australia and his family were given the line, so he had to put his name back on the list again and wait. We also had to wait our turn to buy a car, so we walked everywhere or hired a mini bus if we were to travel out of town. In those days, Syrian people didn't have to wear seat belts or motorbike helmets and I felt so vulnerable as a passenger in a car, because it had been ingrained in me in Australia about the importance of seat belts and how they save lives.
The drivers in Syria were reckless but skilful. When I was a passenger I sometimes felt like I was in a movie where the criminals were in a wild car chase. Speed, honking horns and overtaking were part of the normal course for the drivers. When we travelled outside of Skelbieh I used to ask Fawaz(more like plead),to tell the bus driver to slow down. He told me that if he were to ask that question the driver would only go faster. We settled on a compromise after many arguments about my fear of bus travel. We either hired a private taxi or mini bus to take us out of town or I would spend the rest of my life in Skelbieh.
Fawaz's cousins and friends would give the children rides on their motorbikes and I was very nervous because no-one wore a helmet. Because most of the women wore skirts they would sit side saddle on motorbikes. The younger girls wore jeans so they could just straddle the bike and sit in a more comfortable position.

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