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.

page 27

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.

page 24

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.

page 22

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.

page 21

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.

page 20

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.

page 19

HISTORY OF SKELBIEH

Fawaz would leave early in the morning to supervise the builders and the children and I were left to our own devices. Um Sieed's house was built beneath the level of the road, which meant that her tenants living on the second floor had only to walk a few metres along the verandah to reach the footpath, which in turn, gave easy access for Yasmin and Azzam's daily escape, allowing them to play freely with the neighbourhood children. I was always worried about the childrens' safety, especially the thought, that if they ventured onto the road, they could be injured from a passing car or motorbike. The local men, women and children would walk in the middle of the road and seemed to be oblivious to the passing traffic. They would walk arm in arm taking up most of the thoroughfare and appeared seemingly indifferent to the beeps and curses from frustrated drivers. Before I could discover my venturesome childrens' whereabouts, they were often long gone, hand in hand with a few of the neighbours' children, visiting their father at the building site or playing on the adjoining tel(hill).
Skelbieh is a province of Hama and located about an hours drive north west of its mother city. Its history dates back to the Arameans, a semi-nomadic and agricultural society who lived in upper Mesopotamia (Biblical Aram) during the Late Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Skelbieh also flourished in the days of Apamea. It was situated in an important military position to guard Apamea from attacks from the south. Apamea is located about 5kms north of Skelbieh. It was built by Saluqos Nikator, one of Alexander the Great's generals and the first king of the Seleucids in Syria in 300 BC. He named it after his Persian wife, Afamia. Pompey made the city part of the Roman Empire in 64 BC. After the earthquake at Apamea in 1157, Skelbieh was mainly used as a fortress, protecting its inhabitants from the threats of neighbouring tribes.
Skelbieh is an Aramaic(the language of Jesus Christ) word that means defiant, opposing and stubborn. The first homes on the tel were built from mud, wood and the remains of plants that grew on the banks of the Orontes. Relics such as pottery and olive presses from the Roman period were unearthed during the cultivation of the surrounding land.
We loved to pack a lunch in the warmer months of spring or the cool autumn and ride out to Apamea on Fawaz's Lambretta scooter. I would sit side-saddle behind Fawaz with Yasmin perched on the spare back tyre holding tightly onto me and Azzam would stand at the front of the scooter gripping the handlebars, with his head just above the bottom of the front windscreen. We rode through fields where tender young stalks of wheat were waiting patiently for the summer heat, stopping only at local springs to quench our thirst, or to enable the children to search for mudcrabs.

page 18

UM SIEED'S ROOM

It was difficult to find rental accommodation in the town because if one rented one's home to someone then it was virtually impossible to evict them. The law at that time was totally in favour of the tenant and the landlord had little or no rights. We stayed with Esser for a week and then moved into Fawaz's uncle's home. His father's brother had died and his aunty, Um Sieed (Sigh-eed) shared a two storied, four roomed cement house with three families. She lived in one room with her young daughter Tamarsill. Her son Fararj and his wife Eptisam lived with their daughter Filly in the adjoining room. Um Sieed rented one of the upstairs rooms to a soldier and his wife from the neighbouring mountains. Fawaz rented the fourth room for our family. The toilet was at the end of a narrow verandah. It faced the street, was an arabic style hole in the floor, had no roof, its walls were made of broken bricks and the door was a piece of hessian cloth hung loosely with nails.
Our room had two windows, one made with a rusted steel frame and the second was boarded up with plywood. The door was made of decorated steel and the unpainted cement walls were very depressing. We rented the room for two years because Fawaz had bought a house about one hundred metres up the road and our room allowed him to be close to us as well as supervise the building of our new premises. We sold our rented house in Australia and used the money that was left after the mortgage was paid, to finance the building of our new home.
Fawaz was hoping for us to move into our newly purchased property but the tenant that came with the sale, refused to move without a payout that equalled the price of the house. It was an old building and Fawaz had plans to build our home on the roof.
He applied through the courts to have the tenant evicted, to no avail and there were many tense and stressful times between Fawaz and the tenant before he finally accepted a payment to move.
The two years that we spent living in the room were very difficult for me.
There was no kitchen or bathroom. A sink was built in one corner and a brick wall separated the metre and a half by metre and a half square room from the rest of the living quarters. Two double mattresses were piled in one corner, which were used for both the lounge and bedding and a fridge adorned the far right corner next to a cupboard, on top of which sat a gas stove. There was no space left for anything else except our soopeear (Kerosene heater).
Bath time was a family affair, because I thought if I was going to set up the room for one person to have a bath, then we would all take our turn at cleansing ourselves. A large aluminium container with a small stool positioned in the middle of it, replaced the customary bath. I would boil a pot of water on the gas stove and combine it with cooler water in a bucket, to be used with a cup and poured over oneself, followed by a good soaping up and a final rinse. The floor was made of cement, so any water spillage was of no consequence. Yasmin usually bathed first because Azzam had no interest in sitting still for any length of time, especially if it meant allowing me to clean him. I imagined it would of been a sight to watch, with me bare skinned and sitting on a stool made for a 2 year old, in a container less than a metre in diameter and tentatively directing the water that poured from my well worn frayed plastic cup. Luckily, a faded lemon curtain separated my humble bathroom from the daily toilet traffic that passed by my window.
The townsfolk often asked Fawaz, in front of me, how a foreigner could live in such a drab environment, as they could not themselves even contemplate living under the same conditions. I would ask Fawaz to translate to them, that we were lucky to be building our beautiful home made of sandstone and marble and that our accommodation was only temporary.

page 17

Uboo Feherd arrived on his post second world war motorbike wearing his oil stained dungarees. Fawaz looked so prissy sitting behind him with his straight back, suit, tie and black shiny leather shoes.
There was no hugging or kissing as he was not one to show physical signs of affection in public. He listened to my story and I could see he was very upset, yet he knew he couldn't do anything about our predicament at that present moment, because of the position his cousin held in his profession and as the problem hadn't escalated due to my timely actions, there was no recourse except retreat and getting on with our lives.
Fawaz reassured me that we were safe and promised that nothing like that would ever happen to us again and it never did. He made plans for our next course of action, as I refused to leave Skelbieh and the safety it afforded the children and I.
We slept at Esser's home in their visitors' living room, on a double bed that was used as a lounge by day and a bed by night. We were protected from the summer mosquitoes by a flimsy net. As we lay sound asleep, an enemy that couldn't be seen, heard, but felt, gave the four of us a rude awakening. Azzam started to cry and I couldn't stop itching. There we were, trapped under our net and being attacked by a swarm of minuscule flying insects that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. We changed into long sleeved pyjamas, covered ourselves from head to toe with a blanket and still they managed to infiltrate our defenses. It was the most painful and mentally exhausting so-called sleep that I had ever experienced.

page 16

SAFETY

Once the bus reached the plains beneath the mountains, I knew we were close to our destination. We couldn't go to my childrens' grandparents as Fawaz was not in contact with them and I didn't have any idea as to his whereabouts. He had a good friend called Esser and he lived about a kilometre out of town. I asked our most kind and generous new friend to inform the driver when to stop the bus so we could alight and make our way to Uboo Feherd's home. Uboo meant father of, so Fawaz was called Uboo Azzam. Uboo Feherd lived with his wife and children in a faded blue two roomed cement house surrounded by cotton fields. There was no particular path that led to his house so we climbed over rocks and long grass until we found it. To Azzam's delight we were greeted by chickens, a friendly goat, some geese and a dog. Esser's wife came to the door to greet us. She beckoned for us to come in. We kissed each other as is the custom, right cheek ,left cheek and right again and she instinctively knew, what had to be done to relax the children and I. Firstly, she tended to their needs of toileting and feeding them with sandwiches made from flat arabic bread buttered with zarta and oil. She sent them out to play with her children and I was content to know that they were safe and sound in their father's beloved hometown.
Word was sent via their telephone line to locate Fawaz. Um Feherd could see how upset I was and knew that the only comfort that she could afford me was Fawaz.

page15

THE VISITOR

Living in a city in Syria gave us the opportunity to buy delicacies, that otherwise we could not find in a small town such as Skelbieh. Food has always been an important part of my life, not only for survival, but for its actual enjoyment, taste and sensuality. It has also been an emotional crutch and a great source of comfort during difficult times.
I cannot remember buying many tinned food products other than jam, tuna and mortadella. The main foods that were stored in my freezer were ice-cream and frozen fresh vegetables, cut, shelled or peeled in the summer months for use in the winter.
Ninety nine percent of the food we ate was either picked fresh on the farms that morning or the previous day, or killed in the case of meat, chicken or fish, on the same day we bought it. Syrian people liked their meat and vegetables fresh. Meat was a lot more expensive to buy than vegetables, hence, a small amount of meat was used in cooking, with lots of onions, garlic and vegetables in season.
Azzam and Yasmin especially enjoyed the fruit of a cactus called prickly pear or (teen sebbear). Its tubercles had small prickly spines on the skin. The flesh was yellow to dark red in colour, sweet and juicy with crunchy seeds throughout. They were always a treat when we, in later years, returned to the seaside for holidays.
Arabic pastries were rich in honey and sugar and sweet on the tooth. Anything made with dates was my favourite, particularly a biscuit called (mamoul) made from semolina, dates, orange flower water and rose water. It was such a treat to eat out in a restaurant. Fawaz didn't like to eat out and occasionally he would buy a roasted chicken or kebabs.
I missed Australia so much and having no family or friends and no-one to converse with in English was at times difficult to bear.
Fawaz wasn't an easy man to live with. He set high standards for himself and others to live by and his twelve brothers and sisters were afraid to do the wrong thing by him. He was always the head of his Syrian family, because his dad Aziz was oftentimes away hawking his goods to folk in the mountains. I always liked to keep the peace, especially for the sake of the children, so I left many an argument unanswered.
Our time in Lattakia was coming to an end because Fawaz was in the process of negotiating a deal to buy a house in Skelbieh, his hometown. He had many friends and relatives in Skelbieh and his dream was to grow old surrounded by them. That was definitely not my dream. I planned to return to Australia in the future.
One of Fawaz's second or third cousin who lived in the mountains visited us in Lattakia. He appeared to be friendly and trustworthy although I had no idea what he or anyone else was talking about. I tended to drift off into my dreamworld and live in my own head. Fawaz asked him to check on the children and I whilst he was away on one of his Skelbieh excursions. This particular cousin, due to his occupation, always carried a gun and one morning he came to visit us. His presence afforded me no comfort as he had brought a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag and proceeded to ask for two glasses. I could not speak Arabic so I gestured to him that I did not drink and he immediately started to smile flirtatiously and I was anxious and afraid. I knew I had to leave before he got too drunk and I feared for the childrens' and my safety. They were playing in another room so I apologetically made my exit to check on them and quickly packed a small suitcase with some clothes and ran out the front door into the courtyard, opened our huge steel gate and ran down the footpath, with the children in hand, trying to hail a taxi. As we climbed into our taxi I could see him at the gate watching us depart. The only word I could say to give directions to the driver was "bus." He took me to the bus terminal and I gave him a handful of money as I wasn't sure what the taxi fare cost.
There we were, standing, the children upset and myself a wreck and nowhere to go except Skelbieh. I didn't know how to get to Subarb's house or even the name of her suburb. Fawaz took care of all the day to day travel arrangements and I had never left the house without him because not only would he not allow me but I had no reason to leave.
There were brightly dressed bedouin women sitting on their luggage with children playing near them. Some men were dressed in their galapeas and holding onto goats. There were girls and young men in jeans carrying books, maybe taking a break from their university studies. Everyone had somewhere to go and most knew how to get there except me. A man wearing a suit was standing near the entrance to the makeshift bus shelter and I said the word "Skelbieh" to him with an inflection in my voice which was both a question and a plead. He pointed in the direction of an old fashioned white and red two toned bus. I thanked him and we made our way across the dusty bus depot to buy our ticket. I stood on the stairs of the bus and again I said the magic word "Skelbieh" and gave the driver a five hundred Syrian pound note($15) and he gave me change and I knew then that we were safe at last.
The bus gradually filled with passengers and we were asked by the driver to move from our seats and directed to one seat at the front of the bus. Yasmin, Azzam and I and my small suitcase had to squash into a tiny space. The children were upset and I started to cry. The tears would not stop and a young man called to me from behind. He called me Um Azzam, which means mother of Azzam and kindly offered his seat to Yasmin and I thanked him. He stood in the crowded aisle for the rest of the two and a half hour trip. We exchanged some polite conversation as he could speak some English. Apparently, he knew Fawaz and was sorry that I was so upset. It was Friday, and a public holiday so he was able to have a day off from his studies at the Faculty of Medicine in Lattakia university and return home for some rest and relaxation.

page 14

Lattakia

Azzam took his first steps at the resort even though his extra weight and cotton nappy hindered his initial progress, he finally managed to wobble his way down the slippery marble tiled hallway.
Fawaz rented a two bedroom furnished apartment in the city of Lattakia which was to be our home for the next six months. We lived on the ground floor of an eight storey apartment complex and had our own garden. I was thrilled to have an old fashioned tub washing machine, as I had been washing by hand, which included Azzam's nappies.
We enjoyed being tourists and visited as many ancient sites as we could and walked along the covered cobble stoned streets of endless markets called, souks.

Lattakia is the main port city of Syria and has a long history of occupation from the Phoenicians, Romans, Crusaders and the Ottoman Rule as well as the French.
We visited Ugarit, an ancient city of Syria situated 10 kms north of Lattakia on the Meditteranean coast. I remember climbing the hills surrounding the ancient ruins and having the most magnificent view of both Ugarit and its coastline. Azzam and Yasmin played hide and seek between the ancient brick structures that jutted out all over the field where a once mighty city was built.
Ugarit flourished from about 1450 to 1200 BC, and then it was completely deserted. In 1928 a farmer accidentally opened an old tomb while plowing a field. He had stumbled upon Ugarit. The subsequent excavations revealed an important city and the Ugaritic alphabet comprising of thirty letters corresponding to sounds was found inscribed on clay tablets. It is said, that it is the oldest alphabet in the world.
I was fascinated with the history connected to the Temple of Baal at Ugarit. Worship of Baal, was practised by Syria’s Semitic peoples and the Canaanites, of whom its worship is mentioned in the Bible. Baal represented strength, fertility and control of the weather. We would often take an evening walk through the city to the port and buy corn on the cob and roasted chestnuts from street vendors and sit consuming our delights, at the feet of the huge statue of Baal which adorned the entrance of the antiquities museum.
The Syrian people have had many sad years under foreign occupation and in an agreement known as the Sykes-Picot agreement, Syria was put under French rule in 1920. The United Nations Security Council came up with a resolution demanding France's withdrawal from Syria in 1946.

page 13

MILITARY SEASIDE RESORT

Yasmin and Azzam lay asleep on the backseat of the taxi, with the rhythmic sound of the engine lulling them into an even deeper, relaxed slumber.
Several hours later we arrived in Lattakia. The taxi pulled up at the gate of Fawaz's sister, Suharb. His kind and gentle sister warmly welcomed us into her home. She lived in a three roomed apartment built over her father-in-law's house, in an outer suburb of the city.
We had lived out of our suitcases since our arrival in Syria, six weeks earlier and I was adept at finding our articles of clothing at a moments notice. Moving houses wasn't a foreign activity for me. My life had been one of many abodes and I was never insecure at the thought of finding a new residence. We stayed with Suharb for a week or so and moved into the Syrian army beachside resort apartments, which were vacant because it was the winter season. The Meditteranean military coastal resort had soldiers standing guard at every entrance. The Syrian army had to a be alert because there was always a threat of assassination of top military personnel by one of Syrias' enemies. Syria was prepared for any threat of invasion or war. The knowledge of which was a sobering thought at the time and quite nerve-racking nevertheless, for an Australian born pacifist.
The apartment was sparsely furnished and the floor was made of marble which was cool in the summer months but very cold in winter. Our daily routine consisted of preparing meals, bathing and our daily stroll to the beach. Watching the glistening sunset over the Meditteranean ocean always managed to gently raise my spirit. Azzam and Yasmin were living for the moment as children do and I followed in their astute wisdom. As far as I was concerned our adventure had just begun and I kept that innocent outlook on life for most of the nine and a half years that we lived in Syria.
I wasn't used to seeing soldiers carrying guns in Australia and the sight of the armed men standing at the gates always made me nervous. On many occasions Fawaz had to travel outside of Lattakia and I was left to look after the children.
I can remember feeling nervous and alone in a strange country whose language I could not understand and the arabic letters of their alphabet had no meaning to me. Whilst the children were oblivious to anything except their present needs and desires, I was creating in my mind, dark scenarios involving abandonment and helplessness. I imagined Fawaz not returning and the subsequent events that would follow. There was no Australian Embassy in Syria. It was situated in Lebanon. There was no-one to talk to except my beautiful children and at the early ages of 18 months and 3years old, our conversation was limited.
We had a black and white television in our bedroom and after the children would go to sleep at night I would desperately try to find the local TV channels, but was thwarted in my efforts as there was no antennae attached to the television. I drew on my experiences during my childhood (which included using the outside toilet and a plank of wood to make a see-saw) where I was always building and pulling things apart to mend and until now can usually find a result for most simple household repairs. I never left the holiday resort without Fawaz, so I had to rely on the few items that I had in the kitchen. Anything made of a metal substance would of been ideal and I found the simple pot scourer helped to solve my problem. After I untangled the metal spagetti-like thread, I attached one end to the empty antennae section at the back of the television and trailed the remaining thread along the floor and out the window, along the verandah railing and wrapped it around a metal pole. The moment had come to see if my invention was going to fill my empty night hours with companionship, even if if wasn't to be a two way relationship, I was willing to settle for unrequited love.
After tuning the television for a few seconds, to my surprise, I managed to find a TV channel. It didn't matter that I couldn't understand what was being spoken. I had my company for the night and I slept soundly with the knowledge that I was not alone.

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Fawaz's family were very proud of him living in Australia and married to an Australian. They imagined the land of koalas and kangaroos to be populated with wealthy people and that their son was one of them. Little did they know that we were just average wage earners with a mortgage and children to care for. We took out a second mortgage on our mountain brick veneer home to finance our trip and rented both upstairs and downstairs. The money left over after our mortgage was paid each month was more than enough to live comfortably and help the family build onto their two roomed home.
Fawaz's father Aziz was an honest, kind man and very learned. When he was in his teens the local Greek Orthodox priest had taught him to read and write in Arabic. He was always reading and had many stories from the past to tell his children. His wise advice was welcomed by the townsfolk. They used to go to him to mediate between family disputes or to help with their many and varied problems. It wasn't unusual to see him sitting outside his home in winter with a blanket over his legs and wearing his favouite galabeya covered with his black sheepskin bedouin cape.
His friends would come and join him and arabic coffee was in endless supply.
There was an understanding between Aziz and Fawaz that whenever Fawaz returned to settle in Syria, then the house that he had built and paid for would be signed over to him. Aziz agreed to do that so Fawaz started building a further four rooms downstairs for his family and a second storey which was to be our part of the house.
The steel columns and cement brick walls had started to take shape and everyone was excited to see the gradual emergence of a new family home.
Unbenownst to Fawaz, his father was taking advise from family members and friends urging him to keep the house in his name. When the documents were ready and waiting to be signed by Aziz, he broke the news to Fawaz that he wasn't going to sign them. Fawaz was devastated, he felt betrayed and used and a huge argument ensured and we moved out of the unfinished building which we no longer called home.
The huge yellow 1960's taxi arrived at ten o'clock that night and we piled into it with our only worldly possessions and then it dawned on me that the life I had envisioned for my family in this once hospitable house was gone and our future uncertain. It brought back memories from the past and my stomach ached as I clung to my two sleepy children. We drove easterly into the pitch black of the mountain range and towards the Meditteranean seaside city of Lattakia.

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THE FAMILY

After we arrived from Australia we spent six weeks living with my in-laws and six of their thirteen children. That meant that there were twelve people living in two rooms. The toilet was a hole in the concrete floor with a small hose attached to a tap next to the hole. It was quite an art form to crouch down and follow the set procedure of cleansing oneself with a hose. I would end up spraying the wall, myself and soaking my shoes with cold water. The kitchen was very small and had a concrete bench and a large sink with one cold water tap with a hose attached to it. There was a refrigerator, gas stove and two or three small wooden stools about thirty centimetres tall. Fawaz's mother and sisters used to sit on the stools and prepare their food. It always amazed me how they would cut up and dice the vegetables in their hands without using a chopping board. I used to watch them holding a cotton white peeled potato and dice it with a sharp knife and the blade just skimming over their toughened weatherworn skin.
The peelings and any unwanted vegetables would land on the floor and after the food was prepared and before the cooking process took place, the floor would be sprayed with water and a T shaped wooden implement,(called a messarhah) with a rubber bar attached to it would be drawn across the surface and the water and peelings would be removed.
Pots and pans were enormous and they catered with at least twenty people in mind as there would usually be a visiting brother, sister, cousin, friend or relative.
We sometimes visited relatives who lived in small villages high up in the mountains or on the fringe of the desert and their dishes were washed using their only household tap which was usually situated outside of the house. Of course there were many wealthy families living in Syria but Fawaz came from a financially poor family but rich in love and spirit.
There was lots of chatter and merriment when the women were cooking and the men waited eagerly for their meal. The women were very fussy and nervous about preparing their dishes, especially if they had visitors. They took great pride in cooking and never seemed to whinge or appear burdened by their day to day housework (unlike myself). They paid attention to every detail and were very houseproud. Fawaz's family didn't have many material possessions but they were happy with their lot. The women served the men and Fawaz expected the same from me.
We shared the cooking and housework in Australia. He was a housedad looking after Yasmin and Azzam when I was at work. The evening meal was cooked and the house always looked clean when I returned home in the afternoons.
That wasn't to be in Syria. He was the head of his family and that meant our family. His dad was bed bound and an invalid. Everyone came to Fawaz to have their problems solved both financially and legally. The whole town respected him because he was the first person to ever travel overseas working on ships from Skelbieh. They looked up to him because he had lived and worked overseas and they just assumed he was wealthy.
His family lived from season to season, harvest to harvest. If the weather wasn't favourable then their income was small and they borrowed from the bank. Fawaz would pay off their debts and support his family as he was the eldest child.

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