Ammar Habib - The Heart of Aleppo - A Story of the Syrian Civil War

Quickly going upstairs and onto the second floor, I stay away from the windows like before. More of them have been shot up now, and the glass on the ground crunches under my feet. I hear the distant chaos. It’s all the same: endless racketing gunfire and booming explosions. It sounds further than last night. God-willing, the fighting will be far from here when we depart.

Stepping into the kitchen, I see the picture by the phone again. There’s enough light this time for me to see the details. The photograph is encased in an old frame. The man in the photo is… is Jari. He’s so much younger, but it’s undeniably him. Holding a newborn baby girl, he proudly looks at the camera. His eyes are the same as I saw last night when he watched us eat, and his smile beams with joy.

I take a deep breath before tearing my gaze off of the picture. I need to gather supplies. There’s not much in the fridge, but I hurriedly go through the cabinets one by one. The kitchen’s window is broken, so I do my best to not make much noise. I don’t want anybody who might be outside to know that somebody is in here. I feel the heat coming in through the opening. Even when I have the chance, I don’t dare look outside.

There’s a large sack with sturdy straps that I can hang off of my shoulder. I take whatever food I can that’s easy to carry: a few pieces of large pita bread, some mangos, and a box of dates. Packing it all in the sack, I then fill a few canteens with water. It’s not much, but I pray to Allah that it will be enough.

When I arrive back down, Salman and Fatima are just finishing their searches as well.

“I found some wrapping and disinfectant,” Fatima says. She has a similar, but smaller, sack slung over her shoulder.

Salman nods in approval. “There were some flashlights and batteries in some of his drawers. Anything in the kitchen, Zaid?”

“I bagged anything that will be easy to carry and eat.”

“ Alhumdulillah .” Uttering the thanks to God, he takes the canteens from me.

I finally notice what he is wearing around his waist. My first reaction is disbelief. I’ve never seen Salman wear something like that. However, after a few quick blinks, I realize that I’m not hallucinating. “You’re taking Jari’s pistol?”

Fatima sees it too, her eyes widening. Salman simply nods.

“If a soldier sees you with it, they might mistake you for a rebel.”

“It’s not only the army and rebels that I’m worried about,” he replies. “When bad things like this happen, sometimes the worst sides of people reveal themselves. And God forbid if that happens, I’d rather have this with me than not.”

We step out of the shop together with Salman half a step ahead of us. The first thing that hits me is the odor. It’s the foul stench of smoke and flames mixed with something else. It’s so thick that I can hardly breathe. The next thing is the heat. The summers of Aleppo have never felt this hot, this… dry.

Coming onto the street, I cough a few quick times and instinctively try and shield my nose and mouth from the stench. But it’s more than smoke. The smoke reeks and is blended with an odor that I’ve never smelt before. It nearly makes me throw up.

What has happened to this city?

My gaze is drawn to the shop across the street. Or, what’s left of it. The three-story building is now just a pile of bricks, stones, and ash. It lies there in a mountain of blackened rubble. It’s as if the shop was never even built. The building on its left now has half of its wall blown to bits. I can see its decrepitated insides. It’s slightly leaning to the side, threatening to topple over at any moment. It’s not the only damaged building. Most buildings lining up the street are only damaged by the gunfire, but a few are as bad as this one. Some are still on fire. I hear the faint crackling of flames and feel the heat coming from all sides.

Fatima gasps and turns away, but Salman and I observe what’s left of the street. The road is littered with the remains of vehicles. Many are shot up and riddled with bullets. I doubt even their owners would be able to recognize them now. The ones not ripped to shreds from gunfire were lit up in explosions. Many of them are still smoking. Their metal is covered in ash, their windows blown to bits. Their insides are burned out, and their engines are now just debris.

Trees are uprooted and poles are knocked over. Several have collapsed onto the road, wrecking vehicles. It’s like the scene from those pictures we’d see in the textbooks. The pictures of World War II. The pictures of Rwanda during their civil war. The pictures of Baghdad after it was invaded.

There’s no sign of life anywhere. It’s as if the apocalypse has come.

I finally see Jari. I see the man who saved us from becoming a part of this scene. He’s only a few paces away, next to a streetlamp. With his back to me, his limp body is lying on his side as if he’s sleeping on the dirt road. His outstretched arm covers his face, and there’s a dark red stain on the sleeve over his forehead.

We don’t say anything. Not a word. We don’t even look at each other. Instead, we keep our gazes on him as the dim rays of the evening sun reflect off of our savior.

For a moment, a part of me thinks that he’ll wake up at any second. But I know better now. I inhale a deep breath. Without thinking, I take a few steps towards him. Salman and Fatima follow. I crouch down right next to his body. There are some flies buzzing around his head. I want to swat them away, but I can’t move a muscle.

Jari’s arm still covers his face, almost tempting me to reach out and move it out of the way. But I don’t want to remember his dead eyes. I want to only remember the courageous ones I saw step out of that door to face certain death.

Behind me, I hear Fatima make a low prayer for him. She whispers the words always said when we learn of a death. “To God we belong, and to Him we all return.”

Salman crouches down next to me and lays his hand on the corpse. His head hangs low for a moment as he whispers something too. Being right next to Jari, I now know what that foul odor is. It’s death. After what feels like a long time, I kiss my right index and middle finger before touching Jari’s grizzled cheek with them. He’s cold, much colder than he looks.

As I slowly rise back to my feet, I hear Fatima behind me. “Shouldn’t we find Bilal?”

“We need to move,” Salman answers.

“But—”

“It’s what he’d want.” Salman pauses. “Whatever you do tonight, don’t look at any of the bodies you might see. Especially their faces.”

I don’t reply as I keep my eyes on Jari.

“Understand?”

After a moment, I slightly nod, still not breaking my gaze from Jari.

Salman turns to his sister. “Fatima?”

“…ok.”

The foul stench is everywhere. It floods the buildings and road. It’s in every crevice. It’s soaked into the very brick and mortar of these streets I used to know.

We walk in a single file: Salman up front and me in the back. The sack quickly grows heavy on my shoulder, soon seeming as if it’s filled with bricks. But I trudge on. The weight of the sack is nothing compared to what my heart is feeling right now as I see the city I call home—a city that has stood for over 7,000 years—suddenly turned into wreckage.

Not long into our journey, the last rays of sunlight disappear over the horizon and leave the forsaken city shrouded in darkness. The few street lamps and lights still standing are not illuminated. With smog encompassing the city, the stars and moon are nowhere to be seen tonight. Neither is a single stray animal. Surrounded by a thick forest of smoke and fog, I can’t even see ten feet in front of me.