Leaving with us this musical treasure, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, the giant man with the little ukulele and an angelic voice, passed away on June 26, 1997. This Spadecaller video presentation honors the man and his music. Aloha!

In Loving Memory

Thoughts

The song "What a wonderful World" by Loui Armstrong lifts my spirits whenever I listen to it. I was sent an e-mail requesting that I say the words IT IS A WONDERFUL WORLD when I read or heard anything negative. That was not an easy thing for me to do as it was a difficult week so I wrote Wonderful World on my hand and said the words whenever I needed them. I wasn't really in tune with the words so I decided to, as they say "FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT" and was reminded of the beautiful song by Loui Armstrong. (I named one of my children after him.)

The e-mail read

It is a Wonderful World
Hold the ideal vision for our world’s economic stability and harmony among all beings.

Your thoughts matter.

I began my story about my time spent in Syria with a heart full of love for its people, culture, history, art and spirituality. They embraced my children and I and I have been so saddened by the turmoil and grief of the Syrian people. I am continuing my story in honour of the wonderful people I met and lived with and pray for peace.

A SONG FOR SYRIA

AMAZING GRACE sung by Paul Robeson

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ’d!

Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.

written by John Newton

Fairuz sings for the Palestinian People

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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Telsikeen

Telsikeen which translates to hill(tel) and sikeen(knife) was a small village in the Gharb. Fawaz had quite a few relatives living there and they belonged to Bahija's clan. We were invited to Telsikeen to attend a wake after one of Fawaz's uncles had died. On our arrival we were greeted by the children of the household and led across a freshly hosed, uneven, cemented courtyard. We placed our shoes in a neat row and were directed into one of their two rooms and joined the men and women who were sitting Arabic style(on the floor with legs crossed). I was given a shawl to cover my legs and feet as it was apparently easier for me to relax with modesty. The atmosphere was sombre and hardly a word was spoken. Guests had brought goats and sheep as an offering to help the family of the deceased to feed their constant visitors, many of whom had travelled long distances to pay their respects.

I sat next to Fawaz and amongst an older generation of men dressed in their traditional Arabic attire which included their galapea, leather belt and shemly(headscarf).

The women served the food in huge round trays which were full of rice or bourgul (cooked cracked wheat) or freekee(wheat husks thrown into fire and burning charcoal for a small period of time and then de-husked). Bowls of salad and yoghurt and hummus(chickpeas) were placed in the middle of the room on table cloths. Lamb, chicken and goat were the main meats on the menu. A huge tray of rice was placed in front of me and sitting on the top was the skull of a goat that had been cooked with its tongue hanging out. I was offered the dish first as a sign of respect. Everyone was looking at me with eagerness whilst waiting for me to fill my plate with what was regarded as the most delicious part of the goat. I couldn't even look at the goats head let alone eat it and I felt myself slowly fading away but was suddenly jolted back to reality by the sound of laughter coming from the other guests. They were so amused by my reaction that even on such a sad occasion they could not help themselves but laugh at the over sensitive westerner that couldn't look at their cooked goat in the eye(I hope there wasn't one).

That laughter broke the ice and after their bellies were full everyone was more relaxed and were interested in talking to me about my opinion of their country and how I met Fawaz and how long I was going to stay in Syria.

A few years earlier one of the residents in Telsikeen was digging a well in his backyard and to his amazement discovered what was said to be ancient ruins under the village. The government erected signs prohibiting anybody from digging without permission. There were major repercussions if anyone was caught trying to unearth anything that belonged to the ruins that had lay hidden beneath the small farming community for many centuries.

Telsikeen was typical of the many villages that I had visited. The roads were often unpaved, thus were dusty in summer and muddy in winter and the villagers seemed to live outdoors most of the day, unlike Australians who tended to spend a large proportion of their day indoors. The men would sometimes be sitting with friends on the side of the road drinking coffee and sharing an argile(Arabic smoking pipe) or tinkering with their motorbikes.

At the top of an argile a bowl would be filled with tobacco then covered with perforated aluminium foil above which lit coals were placed. The jar or vase at the bottom of the argile was filled with water and the stem sat on top and the down stem below the level of the water. Smoke passed through that section of the body and out the bottom of the stem where it bubbled through the water. That cooled and humidified the smoke. It was then inhaled through the hose which allowed the smoke to be drawn for a distance thus cooling it down. Women and men both smoked from argiles and various flavours of tobacco were used including a home made molasses soaked tobacco.

I wasn't relaxed to be in Bahija's family room when Fawaz's brothers would smoke their cigarettes as both old and young shared the room that was also their bedroom at night. Fawaz asked our visitors not to smoke in our home because he was aware of the effects of passive smoking.

Aziz and Bahija's house was situated at the bottom of a hill and the roads that led to their home were not tarred. In the wet winter months, one would slip and slide their way down the tel and if for any reason one's momentum sped up, caused by the steepness of the hill, or the sludge beneath them gave way, then the unlucky person would end up face down and covered in mud.

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Hama

Hama

The town of Skelbieh was part of the governorate of Hama. It was a sixty minute drive south west of its mother city. Whenever a baby was born in Skelbieh the parents had to register their baby in Hama at the office of Births, Deaths and Marriages. In the past, it was difficult to make the fifty or so kilometre trip to the city, so children from the same family were sometimes registered in bulk lots, on the day of their brother or sister's birth day.That was also the case in Fawaz's family. Aziz used to say that Fawaz was born on the twenty third of November and Bahija would argue that he was born on the thirteenth but I leant on the side of Aziz, because one of his other sons, Manhal, also had the thirteenth of November as his birth date. At least his year of birth was correct.

Hama is Syrias fourth largest city on the banks of the Orontes river and its citadel and its ancient waterwheels(norias) are its two most famous features. It has 17 norias dating back to the Byzantine times. They can go up to 20 metres in diameter. Hama has long been a crossroads between the Mediterranean and the East and has a history that dates back to 2,000 BC.

In the north, near the centre of the city of Hama you can find Citadel Hill. A park is situated at the summit and it is a popular area for locals and tourists alike, especially on warm summer evenings. Citadel Hill dates back to the 11th century BC, when Hama was the centre of the Aramean kingdom of Hamath and evidence unearthed dates back to the Neolithic period. Whenever we visited Hama the children loved to play on the slides, swings and monkey bars and picnic on the summit. It was a steep and winding path to traverse but when we reached the top the view of Hama was magnificent, as it was a most stunning and majestic city

The Christian population had their own quarters which was close to Citadel Hill. The children and I would enjoy eating the delicious sweets that the smaller cake shops offered. Yasmin's favourite was halawat al-jibne which was a sweet cheese pastry and a speciality of the city. We used to visit Hama on particular occassions such as Easter to buy chocolate Easter eggs, which were extremely difficult to find even in Hama. I made sure the children never missed out on any of the special treats and celebrations that I grew up with. I used to make their party hats by drawing characters from their golden books and colouring them in.

There was only one occasion that I felt prejudice against me in Syria and that was at a market in Hama when an old lady dressed in black was shouting at me because my long blonde hair was not hidden with a scarf. She was absolutely crazy with anger and Fawaz was nowhere to be seen as he was ahead of me at the souk. Eventually he heard the raucous she was causing and came to my aid. I couldn't understand what she was saying but I know he told her off and she carried on muttering to herself until she was out of view. Fawaz explained to me that she wasn't normal and not to take offence.

I used to dabble in numerology and had brought books from Australia on the subject to study. Sometimes when I would ask an older member of the community his or her birth date they were not one hundred percent sure of the exact day but could remember which season of the year they were born. For example, one man told me he was born just after the summer wheat harvest and another just before the winter rains. I enjoyed practising from David Phillip's book with Fawaz as my interpreter.

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Aziz

The children and I spent six weeks in Australia and during that time I caught up with my family.

We stayed with my mother in her home and I enrolled Yasmin in kindergarten at the local infants school. There were times when I didn't want to return to Syria and I was torn between my love for Australia and the life I once knew and the commitment I had made to my husband and Syria, where the children were surrounded by cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents and the memories of ancestors that dated back many hundreds of years.

Fawaz had reconciled with his father not long after he had bought our property. He was unhappy to be estranged from him for so long, as his father was unwell and dependent on his wife for his every need. Fawaz decided to purchase a wheelchair for his father Aziz, whose only means of mobility between his room and the footpath where he loved to spend his days socialising, was an armchair that one of his eight sons had managed to attach wheels to.

He made an eight hour return trip to Damascus and bought a reasonably priced modern wheelchair for his father but after all the effort he had put into pleasing him with his bright and shiny purchase, Aziz still preferred his well worn, home made, four wheeled, trusty old armchair.

Bahija was devoted to Aziz and she tended to his every need. It was so sweet to see her when she would cook a chicken for the family and save its livers for Aziz. I would watch her lovingly feed him as he consumed with delight one of his favourite foods. Even though his fingers were atrophied he could still manage to hold a spoon and shakily feed himself.

I loved Aziz and he was fond of me. He would be upset if he knew I was ill or sad. Aziz adored his children and grandchildren and I was so proud to be included in his family. Bahija was a tough woman, she had to be, as she had lived a difficult life and struggled for most of it, working hard to feed her children. Aziz rented a shop in the market and stocked it with second hand clothes and shoes. When we first arrived in Syria he would be transported by motorbike or tartoorah (a three wheeled vehicle) to his shop where he would sit and sell his wares. However, his kind and caring nature would see him giving away more clothes then he could sell and he'd return home each afternoon with barely any money in his pocket. On many occasions Bahija would ask him to stop giving away the merchandise, as his own family was in need of money to live on.

He loved honey and in winter time it was very difficult to find someone who sold it. Honey was only available from street vendors or farms. Once, Fawaz bought him eight kilos of honey and it was the first time in four years that my children had tasted it.

I took so much for granted in Australia. Foods were readily available in supermarkets, but not so in Skelbieh. I craved for a slice of toast with butter and vegemite. That was my favourite breakfast. Sometimes we could buy fresh bread rolls from a hawker but I remember only once buying a loaf of unsliced bread and a knob of cheddar cheese in Alleppo. Our Mediterranean diet was healthy and I looked forward to the occasional parcel from Australia containing peanut butter and vegemite.

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Karachi

At the beginning of 1993 Yasmin, Azzam and I returned to Australia for a visit. We arrived in Australia in January after an eventful plane flight where Yasmin went missing in Karachi. The plane had a stopover at Karachi Airport in Pakistan and the passengers were bundled into buses and taken to a hotel for 20 hours because of a delay in the departure of our adjoining flight.
Once we were provided with the key to our ground level hotel room and we had made ourselves comfortable, I then gave the children a shower and left them to watch the television whilst I tried to take one, but was hampered in my efforts by my skirt. I was unable to undo the zipper because it had broken in Damascus and my sister in law Shehood had sewn me into it so all I could manage was to put my head and shoulders under the water. The weather was stifling and humid and the room had no air conditioner, only a fan. Whilst I was in the bathroom the children had opened the door to the room that led onto a paved area next to a well manicured lawn. Yasmin decided to wander off but Azzam stayed behind and when I found her missing I panicked and kept yelling out her name and asked everyone I met had they seen her, but there was a language barrier and they didn't understand what I was saying. I left Azzam in the room with the door locked and ran down a path that led to tourist shops in which I began looking for her whilst still calling out her name. Finally she appeared from a shop that sold crystals and she was quite unconcerned or unaware of the upset she had caused. I grabbed her, cuddled her and then told her to never ever go walkabout on her own again. She was five years old.
Azzam was not impressed to be left by himself but I had to make a choice and leaving him safely in the room for a few minutes whilst I searched for Yasmin was the best decision I could make at that time.
I was never so happy as when the children and I boarded the plane at Karachi airport, although there were still a few more dramas to overcome before that moment.
Dinner was served in the hotel restaurant and they offered a buffet style meal. I had asked the waitress about the meals I had chosen for the children and she had assured me they were not made with chilli or hot curry.
The thought of a peaceful enjoyable meal was a welcoming relief from the days emotionally draining emergency, until I heard an almighty scream coming from Azzam as he started to run around the restaurant yelling for water. I begged the waitress to bring a jug and chased Azzam until he finally stopped and guzzled as much water as his poor little 4 year old body could handle. That was the end of that meal and we returned to our room and I fed Yasmin unappetising leftover crushed biscuits.
Finally, the bus arrived to take us back to Karachi airport to catch another flight, which was again delayed. It was late at night so the children fell asleep on an airport lounge. After an hour or so we were told our plane was ready to depart and if we could proceed towards the departure gate with our tickets. I desperately tried to wake up Azzam but to no avail. Yasmin woke and could walk but I had our bags to carry and could not lift Azzam as well. There were no staff to help or trolleys and if it hadn't been for a Filipino angel we would not have made that flight. She offered to carry Azzam on her shoulder onto the bus that drove across the tarmac to the awaiting aeroplane and then she carried him up the stairs and into the planes cabin where she gently laid him down in his allotted seat and he lay there in sweet slumber until we landed in Singapore. I thanked her with all my heart and asked her why she had no baggage. She told me she was working as a servant in a wealthy home in Beirut, Lebanon to support her family back home, but her visa ran out and she was picked up without any of her belongings by the immigration police and sent back to her country with a one way ticket.
We changed planes at Singapore and as I sat in the quiet of the plane I knew I was in the company of fellow Australians. There was a difference in the behaviour of passengers on planes filled with predominately Arabic people or Australians. Arabic people were noisier, more friendlier and tended to play with my children. Azzam was offered a Toblerone chocolate from a passenger on our flight from Damascus and he ended up covered in it. When we arrived at Karachi airport he started banging the glass window in the passengers lounge and crying to go outside to play with the aeroplanes. I'm sure part of that not so unusual behaviour was a "sugar high." Australians tended to keep to themselves and not interfere with the peace and quiet of others, unlike the Arabic women who would ask me anything and everything and nothing was out of bounds. Personally, I like a mixture of both cultures.

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Watercolour 2007

                                                Pastel drawing 2006

1 &2 -3&4  My oil paintings 2011 - John Wilson art classes, Katoomba  NSW
paintings 3&4 belong together as one.

1. Azzam and Yasmin with view of Gharb from the tel.
2. Good Friday march.

           1. Lovely gentle and hospitable friends from a small village called the Crayme.
2. Fawaz with friends at the bottom of the An- Nusrayriyeh  mountains.
                             3. Yasmin, Azzam and myself in front of a mud brick dwelling at the Easter  celebrations.

I have my original blog called Evas Art and can now access it so I will post my drawings and paintings onto that blog and continue writing about Skelbieh in Evas gallery.

http://evascreations.blogspot.com/

          1. Bahija with a Bedouin friend and Azzam sitting on his sheep.
          2. Bahija's good friend and neighbour Um Adnan carrying grass to feed
           her goat.

                         1. Its Easter time and the children are singing for eggs
                              and chocolates to add to their basket.
                         2. The children playing in the wheat fields.
                         3. I  hope you give us extra eggs for this photo.

                                  1. Azzam riding a Tartoorah (3 wheeled vehicle).
                                  2. Its great turning two. Azzam's birthday party.
                                  3. Uncle Doorred and the children in Skelbieh
                                      wheat fields. 

1. Northerly view towards Apamea from our verandah.
2. Fawaz, Yasmin, Azzam and myself at the entrance of the Apamea museum.

The children's grandmother Bahija with Yasmin and her uncle Harris sifting wheat to prepare it for winter. 

1. Fawaz's mother, Bahija and his father, Aziz and myself in a Bedouin sheepskin cape.
2. Our trusty Lambretta scooter took us on many adventures.
3. Wood laden donkeys at the top of the mountains near Sloanfee with Yasmin and Azzam.

1. My Bedouin princess friend grazing her sheep under the tel.
2. Yasmin and Azzam dressed ready for school. 

           1. View from the bottom of the mountains.
           2. One of the canals built in the Gharb to redirect the water from
               the Orontes river.
           3. Winter time in Skelbieh.

1. Red poppies cover the tel in summertime.
2. The magnificent An-Nusayriyah mountains and fields east of Skelbieh.
.

Finally the roof of our new home is nearly finished.

1. Azzam protecting his beloved Apamea.
2. The children on their way home from the fields of chick peas.

The castle of Madik next to Skelbieh and overlooking Apamea.

1. The children's uncle Sieed and myself next to the building of our new home.
2. Yasmin and Azzam taking a leisurely walk in the fields with Skelbieh tel (hill) behind them.
3. It's snowing and Yasmin and Azzam and their scallywag friends.

Yasmin, Azzam and friends climbing the ancient archways of Apamea.

Azzam at 4 years of age making pancakes in our one room abode.

1. Our Greek island romance.

2. Verandah and rented room in Um Sieeds.

3. Easter celebration pageant.

The Stars

At first it was so unusual for me to wake up in the morning and wave at my pyjama clad neighbours as they emerged from their beds. During the summer months I slept very soundly under our cotton tent. The thick cement walls of our house would hold the days heat and it was almost impossible to have a good nights sleep inside, so we took our bedding onto the roof and slept there.
Arabic style houses were built with steel and cement and the roof was flat and ready for another floor to be added in the future. There were many uses for the roof. Foods were dried, carpets hung and cleaned and the washing was put out to dry on the roof.
As dusk was approaching, I would take up our mattresses and sheets and cotton tents and set up our nights sleeping arrangements. Two long dowling rods covered in a light see-through white cotton material, would be tied to steel columns for support. Underneath the makeshift tent would be placed the bedding and a lamp or torch.
But before everything was taken up the stairs to the roof, I would hose it down, not only to cool it, but also to remove the dust that would constantly blow in from the surrounding fields.
In those years the Syrian government allowed its citizens restricted access to electricity. There was a shortage of water flowing into Syria because of dams that were built on the Euphrates river in Turkey. Electricity could only be used for a couple of hours a day. I would wait for it to be turned on and then I would rush and use the washing machine, vacuum cleaner and air conditioner. The hot water system could then heat up and we were able to finally have a shower or bath. Some households bought a fuel generator and most stoves used gas.
The children would go to sleep as soon as the sun set because the lack of electricity meant the house was in darkness except for a few candle lights. They were confined to their mattresses under the cotton tent because I didn't allow them to play in the dark near the edge of the roof.
I would complain to Fawaz when he would leave the children and I alone in the evening and visit his friends to talk business and socialise. He said that it was essential for him to keep in touch with what was happening in the community.
The stars with their magnificent beauty were ever present as my companions of the night. I used to see the most strange and unusual sights. Once there was a bright object flitting around the stars and moving in all directions. I was fascinated with the light and followed its antics for hours.
I learnt to be at peace with myself on those long hot summer nights.

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The Move

The day had finally arrived for my family to move into our new home. There were still many jobs to be completed on the house but it was liveable and most importantly, we had our own toilet and kitchen. The cement walls, doors and window frames needed painting and the kitchen and main lounge room were open to the elements of rain, wind and snow because the carpenter from the city of Hama was late delivering our specially designed doors.
Whenever a trades person worked on our home we were contracted to provide them with one main meal a day. I couldn't manage to cook for five to ten men on my one gas stove, so we provided them with takeaway food which included chicken, kebabs, hummus and salads.
We employed tilers from a nearby mountain village and they stayed with us whilst they completed the bathrooms. The painters were using oil based paint and we had to keep moving from room to room with our bedding etc. until they completed the ceilings and walls.
Unfortunately the carpenters from Hama had difficulty finishing the main doors so I used to cook in the kitchen during the winter wearing a beanie and scarf and dodging the snow that used to blow in with the westerly winds.
I moved from living in one room to ten, plus two bathrooms. We furnished one lounge room, a dining room and two bedrooms. Two sections of the lounge room were decorated with traditional Arabic floor seating. A multicoloured velvet couch with two matching chairs filled the remaining space. We used our lounge room for greeting visitors and it was also our bedroom and dining room. It was the warmest room in winter and the coolest in summer. The rest of the house was gradually furnished but Yasmin and Azzam were more than happy to use the other rooms as their personal play area.
During the summer we would block the entrances to the front two rooms and fill them with about fifteen centimetres of water. The children used to joyfully slide on their bellies from one room to another.
It was a huge chore but good exercise when I cleaned the floors by using a hose to water them and then a messarhah (a rubber implement similar to a window cleaner) to push the water into the drains. The floors were made from marble tiles with each one a masterpiece of natural beauty.
I used to cook for hours each day. Traditional Arabic food needed much time and patience to make.
A chicken was slaughtered on the day it was bought and I would gut it and take out the liver and giblets. The giblets were then cut in half and the feed that the chicken had been eating that day was removed. The undigested grains would still be warm. The fish were bought from fish farms and Fawaz brought them home already scaled and cleaned but they would still manage to wiggle and scare me, especially when they would jump from their container and onto the floor. I intensely disliked cutting off their heads. Fresh meat was hung from hooks in small shops and cut according to ones order. Minced meat was ground in front of the customer.
Life revolved around food and the one important meal of the day. The main meal was served between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, after which it was time for a nap. In summer the shops closed their doors at one and reopened at five. During winter they closed earlier but didn't reopen because of the cold and snow.
The summer temperature would be a constant 40C or more in the day and cool down at night. We used to take our afternoon nap on the bare tiled floor in front of the door to collect any small breeze. In Australia one could have all four seasons in one day. The blustery southerly winds would blow in from the Antarctic and change the searing heat into cool rain and sometimes hail and as quick as the storm would arrive it would depart. In Skelbieh the hot weather was constant and long. The sky was invariably blue and I could always expect the overwhelming heat of the afternoons.

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Death

The local Greek Orthodox cemetery was situated below the tel on the northern edge of town. Anyone from the Muslim faith were buried outside of Skelbieh. I once visited the grave of my children's great grandfather. The acre of land allotted to his faith by the local council was overgrown with weeds and resembled anything but a cemetery. There was no huge pomp and ceremony when someone died from the Alawyn faith. The person was washed in scented oils and wrapped in white cloth and buried with a prayer service within, if possible, twenty four hours of their death. The men accompanied the body to the gravesite. The deceased was laid in the grave without a coffin on his or her right side, facing Mecca. At the gravesite, it was discouraged for people to erect tombstones, elaborate markers, or put flowers or other momentos. Rather, they were encouraged to humbly remember Allah and His mercy, and pray for the deceased.
Loved ones and relatives observed a 3 day mourning period.
In Islam when one died, everything in this earthly life was left behind, and there were no more opportunities to perform acts of righteousness and faith. The Prophet Muhammad once said that there were three things, however, which may continue to benefit a person after death: charity given during life which continues to help others, knowledge from which people continue to benefit, and a righteous child who prays for him or her.
The funerals of the Skelbieh Greek Orthodox faith were remarkably different.
When someone died in the town everyone knew about it. It didn't matter what time of day or night that the person died the townsfolk would gather at the deceased family home and then proceed to walk through the town mourning and shooting their rifles into the air. The women wore black and would wail and scream and some would tear at their clothing. Sometimes there would be hundreds in the procession and I would stand on my veranda and watch them as they passed by our home. An eerie and foreboding feeling would come over me as I was faced with my own mortality.
Only the men were allowed to bury the body after the church service and they would make their way down the tel carrying the coffin into the graveyard. There were quite a few families who owned their own tomb and the coffin was then respectfully laid inside the crypt or lowered into an open grave. A period of mourning would begin and for seven days their friends and neighbours would visit and pay their condolences to the closest family members of the deceased person. They then would be offered a sip of strong sugarless Arabic coffee and directed to take a seat on one of the chairs that were placed around the room or in a tent on the street. Men were always separated from the female visitors.

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The Mountains

One of the mountain villages that we used to visit was called Murdash. It was situated on the eastern slope of the An-Nusayriyah mountains. Fawaz's friend Chehardy lived there with his very attractive wife and three beautiful daughters in a modest two roomed cement home. He was a teacher of economics at Skelbieh high school and had been Fawaz's friend for many years. Fawaz used to boast that his friend always ate a knob of garlic every day with his main meal and had never had a sick day in his life.
His home was the last building on the dirt road and across the steep rocky outcrops that bordered his property lived wild boars, mountain goats and hidden deep into the mountains away from the hunters were the elusive hyenas.
One day when Azzam was about eight years old he came running home all excited because he had seen a hyena in a cage at the bus depot and the men who had caught the frightened animal were displaying it to all who were interested. I don't know the authenticity of the following story but it made me aware of the dangers of walking alone in the mountains in Syria.
Apparently a doctor and his wife and children were driving across the An-Nusayriyah mountains to the seaside city of Lattakia and it was getting on dusk when he pulled over to the side of the road and ventured into the forest to find a hidden section to relieve himself of his bodily wastes when a hyena attacked and killed him. Maybe that story was an urban myth but I wasn't going to take any chances.
Hyenas were rare but could still be found in the mountains and there were reports that they had even been seen in the Gharb. I heard a story from a relative who lived in the village of Sloanfee which was located on one of the highest peaks of the mountain range, that a tiger had been spotted there on more than one occassion.
Fawaz's family did not eat pork but a few of the Christian Skelbieh folk enjoyed hunting in the mountain for wild boar during the spring and summer months.
There were dangerous and venomous snakes in Syria which included the Egyptian cobra which was yellowish, dark brown, or black with brown crossbands. There was also the Levant viper which was
grey to pale brown with large dark brown spots on the top of the back and the Palestinian viper that was olive to rusty brown with a dark V-shaped mark on the head and a brown, zigzag band along the back.

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Red Poppies

I loved the feel of the fresh breeze and the smell of newly harvested cornfields and the sight of the buffalo herds grazing alongside the narrow roads that led westerly to the quaint villages nestled on the slopes of the mountains. My senses were never as awakened as when I was a pillion passenger on a motorbike. For some strange reason I felt that I belonged, in a country that I had no previous history with, or thoughts of visiting before I married Fawaz and yet, it was home to me. We used to stop along the roadside and pose for photographs next to the translucent water that was trickling from newly formed ponds and beside fields of wild red poppies where the children and I would lie and cuddle and I would feel so full of love and joy. If Fawaz happened to notice any dandelions or (laboon) growing in the wild he would pullover to the side of the road and take out his knife and proceed to cut and slice the nettle type plant and eat it. He used to tell me it was medicinal and the children enjoyed their share, although I tentatively consumed a tiny quantity when I took my first bite but on future excursions I stood in line to receive my treat. Syria did not have a national flower but Syrians considered Jasmine as their national flower. Some of the native flowers grown in Syria were Hyacinths, Lebanon Cedar, Hibiscus syriacus, Cedrus libani, tulips, Damask Roses, Carnations, Cabbage Flowers and various varieties of Orchids.
The mountain range was very steep and the trees were unlike the Australian gum trees. Yew, lime and fur trees grew in the mountains. The trees were stumpier, shorter, and more evergreen than the native trees of Australia. Hawthorn bushes grew in abundance. Small villages were built high along the cliffs and the roads were treacherous to navigate. Sometimes when a car or truck passed us I could hear the rocks that were dislodged plummeting down the escarpment and I would sit frozen with fear and pray as hard as I could for a safe journey to our destination.

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The Gharb
The fertile plain of north west Syria is called the Gharb. Skelbieh was built on the plains of the Orontes river which was often in flood and due to an extensive government project was finally flood free and turned into usable land. The Ghab project began in 1953 and in 1968 the plains were completely drained and an extensive network of canals and dams were built which provided irrigation to the surrounding areas.
Fawaz's family owned their six acre farm in the Gharb. Approximately fifty years had passed since the then Communist government took possession of the agricultural land in the Gharb and surrounding areas from rich landowners, who also had control over their village and its occupants. The landlords were given the largest portion of land and the rest was divided amongst the people.
Each season they would rotate their crops between wheat, corn and sunflowers. During the summer months, Fawaz's mother Bahija and her husband Aziz would tend to their fields in the early hours of the morning from 4am to 9am and from 4pm onwards until sunset. They sold their wheat harvest and sunflower seeds to the highest bidder and kept enough wheat to take to the mills in a neighbouring town called Madik, where it was not only ground into white flour, but also fine grains of bourgul for tabouli and coarser grains to be cooked with meat.
During the colder winter months Bahija would use the produce from her land to feed her thirteen children, friends and family. She spent the summer months busily sifting, peeling, scooping and preparing the winter food.
She would spend days on end sifting the wheat grains to rid them of husks. There were at least three different implements that she used with each one having graded holes in their steel mesh. After she completed her ritual wheat sifting, she would make her traditional tomato paste using at least thirty kilos of ripened tomatoes. Her daughters and daughter-in-laws who were living with her would help and she literally had an assembly line of workers preparing the food which included chencleesh(dried salted yoghurt rolled in thyme), pickled cucumbers, onions, capsicums, cauliflowers and grape leaves. Macdooce was made from scooped out eggplant filled with walnuts, chillies and peanuts and left with huge stones flattening them in the sun, then packed into large jars that were at last filled with oil and left to be consumed during the cold winter months.
Scooped out zuchinni and eggplants were also dried in the sun to be later cooked with meat and rice. Sundried grapes, apricots and apples were always a favourite and If any vegetable or fruit could be dried, frozen or pickled then it found its way onto the winter menu.

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Love and Religion

Love and Religion
Whilst living in Syria, I heard many sad stories from women about their broken hearts and unrequited love. There was one theme that frequently appeared to be entwined with the sadness of their memories and that was their families' disapproval of their love interest.
Fawaz was Muslim and I was baptised in the Roman Catholic church. My in-laws didn't seem to have any problems with my religious background and they visited me during both Christmas and Easter celebrations.
The church and Skelbieh folk did not allow anyone from their Greek Orthodox faith to be married outside of their religion and if one did stray and commit such an offence, they were shunned and banished from the town. I found it difficult to accept such prejudice and was glad to know that Fawaz's family had welcomed me into their clan.
They were Alawis, originally from the villages in the mountains called An-Nusayriyah Mountains, also known as al-Alawiyeen Mountains that were situated west of Skelbieh and running north-south, parallel to the coastal plain.
Doctrines from other religions, in particular Christianity are incorporated into the Alawi faith. They split from the Shi'a Ismailite sect but like Ismaili Shia's, Alawis believe in a system of divine incarnation. Unlike them, Alawis regard Ali as the incarnation of the deity in the divine triad. As such, Ali is the "Meaning;" Muhammad, whom Ali created of his own light, is the "Name;" and Salman the Persian is the "Gate." There are many secrets in the Alawi religion and only a few chosen faithful are elected to learn the religion in stages, after a lengthy process of initiation. Their prayer book, the source of religious instruction, is the Kitab al Majmu, and the Quran. They recognize the five pillars of Islam, which they interpret in a wholly metaphorical sense to fit community belief.
There is no specific building for prayer and only the men take part in worship.
Alawis were one of Syrias' most repressed minorities for centuries, but after Alawi President Assad came to power in 1970, the well being of the Alawis improved considerably.
Fawaz's family originated from B'Syndyanna and migrated to Skelbieh. They were very open-minded and accepting. Their best friends were Christians and during my time in Skelbieh I never heard a negative comment nor witnessed any prejudice, only gratitude and love between them.
Fawaz was the only member of his immediate family that married outside of his families' faith. He was in love with a Skelbieh girl when he was younger but her family refused to allow her to marry him. One of his relatives used to pine over what may have been if her father had accepted her to marry her first love.
There were a few young women who fell in love outside of their Greek Orthodox faith and had to live outside of their town. One in particular, was the sister of a friend of Fawaz's and her mother would sneakingly visit her daughter without the knowledge of her husband.
When Azzam was about seven years old he came home from school one day and asked me why he wasn't allowed to marry a girl from Skelbieh. He didn't understand why his friend had held that opinion and I managed to allay his concerns by telling him that when he was old enough he could marry anyone he chose.

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It was always exciting to meet someone in Syria who spoke English fluently. Fawaz's educated friends could speak some words in English but most of their English vocabulary was acquired from textbooks.
Overseas tourists travelling north usually passed through Skelbieh on their way to Apamea. They arrived in tour buses or made their way to the ancient ruins in a taxi. Occasionally a backpacker or two would stopover at Skelbieh to look for overnight accommodation. There were no hotels or rooms to rent in the town and sometimes the locals would direct them to our home and we would offer them to stay with us for a night.
One evening we provided a humble mattress to a tired and friendly English speaking tourist from Holland. She shared our one room at Um Sieeds. On the following day we took her for a tour of Apamea and she cheerfully and trustingly rode on the back of Fawaz's cousin's motorbike. She had previously visited Australia and one of her very good friends was also a friend of my mother who was living in the Blue Mountains in NSW.
There was one occasion when a very charming, handsome, young Moroccan was brought to our home. We had just moved into our new unfinished dwelling and he was in need of a warm bed for the night. He spoke many languages and told us that his father was murdered during a tumultuous political upheaval in Morocco. He portrayed his father as a very important man in Moroccan politics and he was very upset that he had been assassinated. After he stayed with us for a few days we were beginning to feel very uncomfortable with his visit.
Whenever a resident in Skelbieh had a visitor for a night or two it was imperative that they reported to the local police station.
One afternoon our mysterious visitor took Yasmin for a walk through the town whilst I was having a siesta. When I woke to find her missing I panicked and immediately sent Fawaz's brothers out on their motorbikes to search for them. My heart was racing as I condemned myself for being so trusting and angry that he had taken my daughter for a walk without my permission. They were found at the other end of town, relaxed and happily consuming their ice creams and wondering what all the fuss was about.

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The Gulf War

The Persian Gulf War (August 2, 1990 – February 28, 1991) took place whilst we were living in Um Sieed's room and building our new home. The invasion of Kuwait by Iraqi troops began on the 2nd of August 1990 and was internationally condemned. Economic sanctions were placed against Iraq by members of the UN Security Council. American forces were deployed to Saudi Arabia and helped by other countries which formed a Coalition. Syrian troops and the United States found common ground in liberating Kuwait. I was very nervous for the safety of my family because during the Gulf war Iraq launched Scud missiles against coalition military targets in Saudi Arabia and against Israel.
I knew Israel had a nuclear plant and was terrified that there was a possibility of a direct hit on the nuclear facility from an Iraqi missile and the after effects it would of caused in the region. I was worried that the war would escalate, so I had an escape route planned in my mind. It included a border crossing with Turkey, then Greece and finally Australia.
My main concern was not only for the welfare of my children, but also for the safety of Syria's citizens and the innocent people from all countries involved.
I had no pre-conceived ideas about the politics in the Middle-East before I met Fawaz. My knowledge of Middle Eastern affairs was limited.
Fawaz had a scar on his chest that was the result of a bullet wound during the Six Day War with Israel. The war was fought between June 5 and June 10, 1967, by Israel and the neighbouring states of Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. At the war's end, Israel took control of the West Bank and East Jerusalem from Jordan, the Golan Heights from Syria the Gaza Strip and the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt.
I knew the political situation between Syria and Israel was volatile and I prayed for the return of the Golan Heights to Syria. The innocent victims, women and children were suffering and I prayed for peace.

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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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SCHOOL

Yasmin was six years old when she started school in year one on the 14th of September 1992. I can remember her being so excited on her first day of school. She wore a neat brown tunic which covered her clothes and a bright orange scarf that was tied around her neck and a boat shaped cotton cap was perched precariously on the right side of her head. It wasn't the first day of school that I had imagined for my daughter. We were still living in our one room at Um Sieed's. Yasmin walked to school with a group of neighbourhood children and she excitedly waved goodbye to us and independently took her first steps into a new world of learning and friends.
The school days were divided into two shifts. The first commenced at seven am and the second at twelve noon. Winter time was the most difficult time for the early morning shift because it would be so cold and the ground was either muddy or slippery from ice or snow.
Yasmin never complained, even when she returned home each day and had to begin her English lessons with me. However, Azzam wasn't going to be a pushover, as he had a feisty spirit and regarded our English lessons as time ill spent because he thought he was better off outside and playing.
Yasmin was happy and any pre-conceived ideas of a classroom filled with books, colourful posters, comfortable furniture, library and equipment soon faded and in its place grew a deep gratitude that Yasmin had the opportunity to learn to read and write in her father's language.
The classrooms were very basic and the children sat on a wooden bench with a desk and a chalkboard at the front of the room. They each had their own textbook for each lesson which included reading, maths and handwriting. She had homework to complete every afternoon and was a diligent student. We hired a tutor when Azzam and Yasmin reached year three and four to help with their homework, because Fawaz was often not home and I was unable to assist them. However I did manage to reach year three level in reading and writing because I used to study from their textbooks.
Schooling was compulsory until year six in upper primary school. Most of the children in Skelbieh continued onto secondary school and tertiary education.

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Festivals

Azzam and Yasmin had so much fun during the religious festivals in Skelbieh. I would enjoy them once the initial stage of thoroughly cleaning our room, preparing sweets and treats and buying new clothes for the family was over. Cleaning consisted of taking everything out onto the verandah, hosing down the cement floor and walls and scrubbing our large intricately designed piece of carpet with soap and a brush. My dresses and summer jackets were made by a dressmaker and the childrens' clothes were bought from the clothing stores in town.
Whenever someone would return from Lebanon with second hand leather shoes made in Italy or Europe they would be eager to show off their new addition to their wardrobe. The young women of Skelbieh modelled their clothes and hairstyles on the latest French and Italian designs. They were extremely weight conscious and when they left their home to visit friends or to go on their evening stroll, they were impeccably dressed, arm in arm with a friend or two, giggling and making comments on the attire of their competition and pretending not to notice the admiration of the local young men.
The Greek Orthodox Easter and Christmas celebrations were the perfect time for the women to show off their stylish clothes, make-up and hairstyles. There seemed to be a hairdresser around every corner and they were always busy. I had long waist length blonde hair so they didn't make a living from my custom.
Syrian food was delicious and their Arabic sweets were scrumptious but I can't say as much for their chocolate. During the festivities people bought sweets to give to their visitors. They were wrapped in foil of varied colours and prepared in various shapes and sizes, but unfortunately for me, they were made from dark chocolate with lots of palm oil which didn't tempt my taste buds. Visitors were offered chocolates, home-made biscuits and a sip of sugarless strong Arabic coffee that had been boiled with about five or six cardamom pods in a Dallah(a special Arabic pot for making coffee). It was usually placed into a Thermos flask and served in a small cup without a handle.
Fawaz was Muslim so we used to visit his friends during the Christian celebrations. Each morning for three days we would wear our new clothes and set out on foot to visit our neighbours, then work our way towards the perimeter of the village visiting as many friends as possible, then return home for lunch and a nap and in the late afternoon we would begin again. Each visit would last only fifteen minutes or so and then we were off to the next house.
On Easter Sunday and Christmas Eve the townsfolk would gather at the church on top of the tel and slowly walk behind a huge wooden cross which was held by at least four men. The father of the church would lead the procession as they wound their way down the narrow dirt streets of the tel. The older women wore their best traditional Skelbieh folklore costume, which was made from either black or navy blue velvet or cotton, depending on the season. Their headdress was made from a dark blue and gold silk scarf wrapped around their head and above it a handmade designed white cotton scarf was wrapped over the forehead and base of the skull and left hanging on both sides. The older women would wear their gold coins that were threaded together and tied at the back of their heads under the scarves and were displayed just below their white scarf on their forehead. They would waddle down the road at the side of the tel and they affectionately reminded me of a group of graceful penguins. The procession would continue on through the main thoroughfare of Skelbieh, where it would pause and the people would dance and sing and pray.
St. George's Monastery (Deir Mar Jirjis) was a Greek Orthodox monastery located in northwestern Syria, south west of the city of Homs. St. George's Monastery was built in the late 5th or early 6th century. Every year for a few days in September, hundreds of people from Skelbieh would make a pilgrimage to the monastery to celebrate the feast of the elevation of the Holy Cross. They travelled by cars, micro buses and motorbikes. In fact, hundreds of motorbikes, because nearly every family in town owned a motorbike, but very few in those days owned a car, including us. On their return journey from the monastery the whole town would wait for the familiar roar of the bikes as they entered the town with two and sometimes three men riding one bike. They rode side by side making as much noise as possible whilst others were perched on the roof of their buses singing and playing musical instruments. The combination of speed and smoke from their exhausts and the ear numbing noise they were making, was very exciting albeit extremely dangerous.

Syria was a very religious country and the towns were built according to the faith of the people. Even the cities had their separate Muslim, Christian and Jewish quarters. Muslims were estimated as constituting eighty seven percent of the total population. Seventy four percent were members of the Sunni branch, while the remaining thirteen percent were Alawites, Ismailis and other Shia groups. The rest of the population were made up by Christians, while three percent were Druze and Jewish.
During the Muslim festivals the townsfolk used to visit Fawaz and his family. Again, we would offer the traditional coffee, sweets and biscuits, although my biscuits weren't home-made. Fawaz used to order at least five kilos of besbar(a large round shortbread biscuit), from the local bakery about a month before the celebrations began.
Eid-ul-Fitr (the "Festival of the Breaking of the Fast"), occurs as soon as the new moon is sighted at the end of the month of fasting, namely Ramadan.
Eid-ul-Adha (the "Feast of Sacrifice") is the great festival of Islam and its most important feature is the sacrifice of an animal (cow, goat, sheep, or other appropriate beast) in commemoration of the ram sacrificed by Abraham in place of his son.

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Tammarah

Tammarah always carried a bunch of flowers when she used to visit me. Her kindly gesture made sure that mother nature was represented in my humble one room abode. She wasn't known for her soft and gentle ways, but more so as a tough, wiry, wrinkled, cranky, childless widower that one would be in fear of locking horns with. Tammarah held a soft spot in her heart for me and would visit me regularly and stand in my doorway until I invited her in, but would never sit down or visit for long. She had a reputation for being unreasonable and gossipy and no one ever knew her age, but I believe her cantankerous nature kept her sprightly and young. Fawaz and I would give her money when she visited because she lived on the generosity of the townsfolk and her brother, who lived in another village further north of the country. She kept chickens and had a vegetable garden although her pride and joy was her flower garden. I was privileged to once enter her one room and saw it was sparsely decorated but had the basic comforts of any home. A bed, gas burner, table and chairs and a cupboard were all placed with precision and thought.
Tammarah lived next door to Um Sieed and like her neighbour, her land and home was situated below the surface of the steep road that adjoined her property, only separated by a footpath where some of the local children (and I am ashamed to admit, that sometimes included Azzam) would throw stones onto her roof and continually call out her name until she ran after them with a stick in hand, swearing and chasing the children down the road promising to tell their parents on them. She died many years later on a cold and snowy evening. She was found lying next to her soo-peear(heater), with the match stick she was going to light it with, still in her hand. Tammarah was over one hundred years old.

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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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