Bundle of Love

The night before I gave birth to my third child I was filled with fear. Earlier in the day I had been told by the doctor at the local hospital to return home and prepare myself for an induced birth on the following day. There had been complications and a real threat of having a still birth. I wanted to be surrounded by nurses and doctors and machines to monitor my babies heart but instead, I lay awake all night having dreadful visions of the grim reaper. On this one occasion I wished I hadn't been gifted with such a vivid imagination.

The next morning I kissed my beautiful Yasmin and Azzam goodbye. They were extremely upset that I was leaving them, even though as it turned out, I was only in the hospital for approximately four memorable hours.

It was not the custom for the father to watch the birth of their child in Syria but Fawaz was not going to miss out on the birth of our third baby, so he and the ill tempered old nurse were in a Mexican stand off and of course, Fawaz won.

The Russian wife of the local paediatrician happened to be passing my room and popped her head in and commented that my bed and blanket were in a worse condition then the ones found in a Russian prison. Her comments only added to my anxiety and when I had to use the toilet I found it under the stairs and the steel mobile drip stand could not fit in the tiny space so I had to enter unaided with the stand on an angle and use the hole in the floor.

The local Skelbieh folk were fed up with the poor standard of their only private hospital and that prompted a group of local medical specialists to plan and build a new modern hospital.

It was still in the process of being built when I gave birth to my third child.

Fortunately, there were no complications during the birth and we were blessed with a healthy three and a half kilo baby boy. That was a surprise to me because a previous ultrasound apparently showed that I was having a girl. Nevertheless, I loved my son from the first moment I lay eyes on him. Yasmin and Azzam were waiting excitedly in the ward to join their baby brother.

After about an hour of observation, the baby and I were allowed to go home. We didn't own a car and there were no taxis in the town so our only means of transport on that day was with one of our friends who owned a pickup. Fawaz and the two older children drove home first and the driver came back with Fawaz to take the baby and I. It was wintertime and it was snowing and all I cared about was the bundle of love that I held in my arms.

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As I walked the winding and narrow streets between the old mud houses on the tel I was taken back to another time and century when the only means of transport were donkeys or horse and cart. There was only enough room to fit two people walking side by side and the surface of the ground was rocky and dusty. Sometimes I felt as though I was an intruder walking around the narrow passageways of the closely knit hill dwellers. Although, I did have two older female friends who seemed to be the matriarchs of the hill society. They were huge in stature, loud with laughter, strong in defiance and with hearts of gold. Whenever they saw me taking one of my strolls or shortcuts through the tel they would call out to me to come and join them for coffee or tea and upon my arrival they would squeeze my cheeks with their huge earth worn hands, then proceed to suction the moisture from them with kisses to the left, right and left again. By the time the two of them had finished their greeting on me I was in need of a strong Arabic coffee. They would talk and laugh and cuddle me and most of the time I didn't have a clue as to what they were talking about but I loved them nevertheless.

Once, on one of my afternoon walks I came across a pool of blood that was trickling down the narrow passageway. As I approached the source of the blood I could hear music and the sound of merriment coming from one of the courtyards. A goat had been sacrificed and its blood spilt at the entrance to the bride's family residence in honour of her intended nuptials.

When we moved into our new home Fawaz's mother wanted to kill a chicken and spread its blood over the front entrance for good luck but thank goodness Fawaz told her it wasn't necessary.

The Skelbieh women were very superstitious. They believed in the evil eye. If a child fell sick or a lady had a miscarriage or someone was losing too much hair then it was often blamed on the evil eye. They would say that a woman without a child was jealous and if that emotion happened to be directed at a particular person then the power of their thought combined with their feeling would cause something bad to happen to the individual. To protect a baby from the curse, the mother would pin a tiny blue glass replica of an eye onto the infant's clothing to reflect any negative thoughts that may have been directed towards it.

Once the family had decided that a curse had been placed on the child then they would take means to remedy it. A ball of lead was then placed in a large spoon and heated over an open flame. Once it had melted a pot of cold water was safely held over the head of the child, The lead would then be dropped into the water and a popping sound could be heard. That meant the curse had been lifted and the child was safe. The lead would form into a new shape in the cold water and that would give the family a clue as to the perpetrator of the curse.

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Fields of Gold

Listening to Eva Cassidy's song Fields of Gold brings back memories of the days spent with my children in the meadows surrounding Skelbieh. I loved watching the field ants as they followed each other in unison carrying their humble offerings on their back. The harsh sun and parched summer months had left their toll on the sun baked soil. The golden stalks of wheat were ready for harvest after the sleepy winter months had passed into a romantic and wistful spring then into summer when the townsfolk would be in a hive of activity busily reaping the rewards from their ripened crops.

The watermelon truck would park in the street under the shade of our veranda and Fawaz would haggle with the driver for a cheaper price per kilo. The workers would be having a siesta on top of the melons and once a price was agreed upon the children and Fawaz would collect the fruit from the truck and carry the twenty or so watermelons up two flights of stairs.

We bought boxes of apricots, peaches, mulberries, cherries and stone fruits that were grown in the nearby mountains at the local fruit and vegetable market. In summer we ate boiled, white, salted cheese made from sheep's milk with watermelon slices for breakfast.

The local theme park would open its gates in the evening and the children would enjoy a ferris ride or a drive in a dodgem car. Young men would be arm in arm strolling down the main thoroughfares perusing the scene for a glimpse of their sweethearts.

At open air summer cafes one could buy ice cream and soda with a home made jelly like sweet called kesharf. If one wasn't in the mood for an evening stroll, then they were probably sitting outside and enjoying the company of friends and family. The cooler Mediterranean nights brought much relief from the searing heat of the day.

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Anaesthetic

I was in such awe of the women in the town, because unlike myself, most of the women and men used to visit the dentist to have their teeth filled or pulled without the use of any anaesthetic. Fawaz would ask the dentist, much to his amusement, to give me a needle for any dental work. To suffer any unnecessary pain was not something I was used to. On one occasion Fawaz's brother was swimming in the Mediterranean sea whilst he was taking a break during his compulsory army service and he cut his foot on an extremely sharp and jagged rock. Without much ado he simply sewed up the the gash using a needle and thread.

During the European Economic Community embargo placed upon Syria in the early 1990s there was a shortage of essential medicines which included anaesthetics used by dentists. I can remember the agony I was forced to endure for two weeks due to an infected tooth and the dentist saying to me that he wasn't sure whether or not it needed to be removed. The pain was so severe that I was taking panadol every two hours. There were many occasions where I'd kneel on the floor with my head in my lap and pray for help. Finally I was referred to a dentist in Hama who immediately performed an operation on my lower left jaw for an infected, impacted wisdom tooth. However he did not have enough anaesthetic to last the whole operation so I was crying with the pain I was feeling as soon as he finished the last stitch and the agony I experienced on the journey home was unbearable. My face was purple and swollen for at least a week.

A few months later I suffered a miscarriage. I wasn't aware that I was pregnant when I was taking the painkillers which had caused distress to the foetus. Again, I experienced a nightmare trip to the recently opened private hospital where the keys to the operating theatre cupboard had been accidentally taken home by the night nurse. We had to wait for them to be returned before my operation could take place. Again, I was under anaesthetic but this time I was aware of the surgeon scraping my womb and unable to move or tell anybody that I was still awake. Not long after the remaining anaesthetic wore off I was on my way home on a cold winters night and grateful I had survived the most horrific haemorrhage and unforgettable nightmare.

That is not to say that everyone had my experiences. I definitely think that it was an unfortunate set of circumstances.

Azzam came home one morning crying with pain because he had cut his ankle and foot on a broken glass bottle that was hidden in the grass.

The cut was so deep that I could see his bone. Fawaz had already left the house and I was alone. I carried Azzam downstairs and stood in the street frantically calling out "help" in English. Luckily, a concerned young man could understand the distress I was in, so he approached Azzam and I and took Azzam from my arms and hailed down the nearest motorbike rider, then hopped on the bike and carried him to the local hospital. Skelbieh folk didn't need telephones in times of emergency. The word was sent via passing traffic to find Fawaz as his son was in hospital and so be it, he was found. In less than half an hour he was scrubbed up and watching the surgeon perform a sensitive operation sewing Azzam's nerves and flesh together. He performed the job of a neurosurgeon because in a small town far from the city of Hama and with little time to repair the damage done to Azzams ankle and foot the surgeon did what he had to do.

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