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

A few blocks later, I think I hear some sirens not too far away. They sound like police sirens. Or maybe an ambulance’s. Salman and Fatima don’t seem to react to it. However, the noise disappears as if it was never there, just like everything else tonight. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. We march on.

The longer and further we go, the louder the sound of silence becomes. It grips my soul like an unrelenting leech. It speaks into my heart, letting me know just how forsaken these streets have become. Is the entire city as desolate as here?

The silence is faintly broken by the crackling of a fire. It sounds like burning debris. I see it up in the distance as it dimly breaks through the mist. A few steps closer and I notice that it’s coming from an alley up ahead.

There’s a large heap of wreckage between us and the fire. Salman nearly runs into the debris before stopping. It’s about twice as tall as him. The mountain is made up of a bunch of bricks from a toppled building that’s overrun onto the road. He looks to the right and then the left. There’s no way around it.

Salman expertly climbs it. His movements are slow. The higher he goes, the more loose pieces of debris he unintentionally knocks down. With each move, he makes sure to find a stable footing before taking the next step. He arrives at the top with relative ease. Finding a firm area to plant himself, he turns around and offers Fatima his hand. After she takes it, he pulls her up and over to the other side. It’s almost effortless for him.

He firmly takes my hand next. As he pulls me with a heave, I grab a piece of debris that is jutting out and kick off of another to help push myself towards him. He lets out a groan as he yanks me upwards. The heavy sack isn’t making it any easier. I sense it pulling on my shoulder, forcing a pang of pain to run through it. My arm feels like it’s going to break off. As soon as I’m at eye-level with the top of the wreckage, I grab it with my free arm and help pull myself up. I groan in pain, my face turning red. My entire body is shaking as I dig deep to find my strength. Going up a few more inches, I throw my chest onto the mount and quickly worm myself onto it. As I do, a jutting brick’s edge sharply jabs into my side, but I barely give it a wince.

Salman hops down to join Fatima. I follow him. My feet hit the ground hard, shooting a shot of pain up my legs. The sack violently smashes against my sore upper knee, and I almost fall over before Salman catches me. That hurt more than I thought it would. As I rise back up, the foul odor immediately hits me.

Finally on the other side, we take a moment to catch our breath before moving on. Passing the alley with the light, I look into it. There’s a trashcan on fire, dimly illuminating the narrow lane. Not far from it is a woman. She’s sitting with her back against the brick wall. Her head hangs low and her knees are up to her chest. There is a child with her, no older than three. He’s clutching her shoulder as the woman weeps and shivers. Even out on the main road, I think I can faintly hear her whimpers above the low flame.

I stop, turning to fully face her. I hear Salman and Fatima do the same before looking back at me. Staying there for a few moments, I keep my eyes on the woman and child.

“Zaid, what are you—”

Salman quiets when he sees me reaching into my sack. I feel his gaze go back and forth between me and my sack a couple of quick times. I hastily rummage through it until I pull out a loaf of bread and a small bottle of water. Without a word, I leave Salman and Fatima behind as I start making my way to the woman.

“We need that, Zaid.”

Salman’s voice is as authoritative as ever, but I don’t care. With every step, the heat of the fire grows a bit warmer and my footsteps seem to echo loudly. The closer I get to her, the more I feel my heart tremble. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because she could very well be someone I know.

When I’m a few steps away, she suddenly looks up, as if just hearing my footsteps. The crackling of the small fire becomes inaudible. So do my footsteps. Her cheeks are damp, and I can see her face clearly as the flames softly reflect off of her. Her long black hair is uncovered and a mess while her headscarf is wrapped around her neck. She freezes upon noticing me, not sure my intentions.

But then she sees what I’m carrying. I take the last steps to her. Her gaze stays locked with mine. She doesn’t say anything and neither do I. I hand her the items one at a time. First the bread. Then the water. She takes them into her slim, quivering hands. Behind her tear-filled eyes is an ocean of gratitude. I see a sliver of light slowly break through the blackness. It’s as if life has returned to her.

The woman takes the last item. I pause for a second, thinking of what I can do for her. Reaching back into the bag, I carefully pull out a long carving knife I found in Jari’s kitchen. I put it on the ground next to her before turning and leaving.

As I walk away from her, my bag seems lighter. However, at the same time, it weighs heavier than before. I can feel my feet, at least a little bit. For perhaps the first time since this nightmare began, my soul senses something besides fear and despair. A short-lived gust hits me and takes away the odor for a brief moment. I sense the woman’s gaze on my back. It was filled with dread a few moments ago. Now, there is a hint of something else: hope.

I will never forget those eyes.

Fatima and Zaid watch me the whole way back. His arms are crossed. “What are you thinking? We needed that.”

“Not as much as she did. I have more food, but she didn’t have anything and has a child with her.”

“It’s not your decision to make, Zaid.”

Turning away from them, I look straight ahead as I switch the sack onto the opposite shoulder. “It’s what Nabeel would have done.”

Salman doesn’t argue with that.

“Let’s go.”

“We’ll stay here.”

I hardly even noticed that we stopped. But sure enough, we’re standing outside of a double-story building. There’s a burning car a little ways down the road. It’s far enough that we barely feel its heat, but its light reflects off of the structure. The building’s windows lay shattered on the ground, and the door is barely hanging on its hinges. However, it seems mainly undamaged. Less than the others at least.

Fatima’s voice cuts into the air. “I think we should keep—”

“No,” Salman snaps. “We’re stopping here.”

“How long has it been?” I ask.

“Since we left the shop? Nearly five hours.”

I can’t feel my feet. The stench is soaked into my soul. And this sack is heavier than the rest of the world combined. Even my eyes have to fight to stay open. The more I try to keep them awake, the harder they struggle to sleep. It’s as if I’ve been sleepwalking for the past couple of hours. Salman takes a step towards the shop’s door. “Wait here a moment.”

My dull gaze follows him in as he enters the shop’s blackness without another word. As I see him vanish inside, I don’t feel anything. I think I’m too exhausted to be worried.

Grabbing ahold of the guardrail that leads into the building, I lean against it to hold myself up as I readjust my sack’s thick strap. Within a few moments, I hear his voice cut outside. “Come in.”

I let Fatima go first and trail in behind her. Moving up the brick steps, my shoes crunch down on some broken glass, but I don’t even give it a glance. I hear Salman trying to turn on a lamp. He flicks the switch a few times. It’s to no avail. Entering the building, my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness inside.

It’s a restaurant. Several tables are flipped over or turned onto their sides. A lot of glass cups lay cracked, chipped, or shattered on the ground. Some chairs are knocked over along with scattered silverware, plates, and dark tablecloths. People must have been in here when all the shooting began. Seeing the mess, I can only imagine the chaos that likely ensued when the attack occurred. God-willing, they all got out safe.