The children were playing in the fields next to their grandparent's house and thoroughly enjoying themselves when I spotted a Bedouin tending to his flock of brown faced, fat tailed Awasi sheep. He looked so regal dressed in his silk embroidered black linen galapea, blue jacket and shemagh (traditional Arabic headgear). Azzam ran towards the sheep and like a bull at a gate he found himself in the middle of the flock and nudging them along a narrow pathway towards his play area. The shepherd was most amused at his antics and I tried to intervene and grab Azzam but he managed to wiggle his way out of my arms and run for shelter behind the sheep. Fortunately, Bahija arrived and managed to coax Azzam out of the flock and gain his trust by talking to the man about allowing Azzam to sit on the back of one of his sheep. He politely obliged and Azzam sat proud on the animals back although betwixt as to what he had got himself into. He was then content to bid farewell to his new friend and we made our way home with a promise to visit Azzam's animal friends and their keeper the following day.

The children's uncle Suhbarn was an artist and a sculpture. He worked in Lebanon and made sculptures of eagles, lions, mother Mary and other religious deities. He lived the life of a tortured artist and poet who spent his idle days in cafes, chain smoking and drinking Arabic coffee with friends whilst discussing the whys and wherefores of life's peculiarities. He was fascinated by my outlook on life and the enjoyment I took from the simple pleasures that most people he knew took for granted. He accompanied the children and myself on many of our excursions to the fields and even taught me how to shoot a gun and rifle. When he had a bit too much to drink he was banished from the house and he slept in his tent that he erected in the meadow adjacent to Fawaz's family home. He was such a character and known as one of the strongest men in the town and nobody picked a fight with him unless they had a death wish. He would click his fingers and his sisters would come running and answer to his every whim. I was so annoyed with him not long after I had arrived in Syria when I caught him fighting with Hozarm his younger sister, who was about seventeen at the time. He was yelling at her in the kitchen and trying to hit her and she was cowering in a corner, so I stood in-between them and chided him for his cowardice whilst holding him back from his sister. He had no idea of what I was saying but he got the gist and never displayed such rude behaviour in front of my presence again. I disliked the way the girls were at the beck and call of their brothers to make them coffee or tea or iron their clothes or dry their hair. I knew that Yasmin would not be following in her auntie's footsteps.

I only saw one woman drive a car in Skelbieh as it was not common for them to ride a motorcycle or drive. The women were in charge of the home and housework and men would often purchase the food. The baker opened at four in the morning and most families sent someone out to buy bread each morning at about five o'clock.

Bahija could not read or write in Arabic. When she was younger she would help around the home and was married at sixteen years of age. She gave birth to sixteen children but only twelve survived. Both of her younger daughters completed year twelve at high school and she was very proud of their achievements. Fawaz, her eldest child left Skelbieh when he was nineteen to work overseas in Greece. Her next son Mann worked between Lebanon and Syria and Manhal moved to work and live in Russia. Mohunned, Dored and Harris all worked in Lebanon at one time or another and Dored also worked in Saudi Arabia. Hazim moved to Baalbek in Lebanon to work as a welder and married one of their local girls.

Bahija would worry about all her children, especially if they were away from their home. I remember one morning she was distraught because of a dream that she had the previous evening. She dreamt that something untoward had happened to her youngest son Harris. At that time he was working in Beirut and she sent two of her sons to Lebanon to find Harris and check that he was ok. There was no other way to contact him except by sending someone over there.

Of course he was perfectly healthy and enjoying his stay and she was content to know that her dream was not a premonition of an ill fated adventure.

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