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

As he says each word, I see him replaying it all in his mind. Hiding by a dumpster? I can’t imagine that. At least we had a building to hide in.

“By then we knew the truth. We went into that alley as sons. We left as orphans.”

His words cause a terror to run up my spine, but I do my best to not show it. For all we know, they may not be the only orphans in this room.

Wordlessly, I bite into one of the dates in front of me. The dry fruit is sweet. Even the blandest ones always get my taste buds excited. I chew on it for a little bit before swallowing. Tasting something this delicious after so long is like a breath of fresh air. For a moment, it feels like I’m sitting at my home’s dining table while eating the same dates.

I make sure to take my time eating. There’s not much food here. The slower I eat, the fuller it’ll make me. My senses gradually awaken with each passing second. After a few more bites, I look over at Amaan. His eyes are still on me.

“How did you get hurt?”

“I was shot by security forces,” he replies.

My eyes slightly widen. “…security forces?”

Amaan nods. “When we realized that our parents were… well—we decided to move. Our grandparents don’t live far. I was carrying a gun for protection. I found it… on a corpse. The soldiers thought we were rebels. I don’t know why. Even when I threw my weapon down, they didn’t believe us. They were aiming their guns at us and telling us to get on the ground. So we ran. But they shot at us.”

“The army is supposed to protect us. Why would they shoot at you?”

“I don’t know.”

I try to play it all in my mind, but it just doesn’t make any sense. It must have been night time or something. Soldiers wouldn’t shoot at civilians, right? Nabeel never would. I know that. I look back up at him. “I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Thanks to Allah , we found you three.” He looks over at Fatima. “You truly were a miracle worker.”

She politely smiles but doesn’t reply.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask.

“Just outside of the New Aleppo District’s eastern border.”

So we’re going in the right direction. We covered more ground than I previously estimated. However, just as Salman told me, we’re still far from even being in the vicinity of our home.

“Are your feet hurting, Zaid?” Fatima’s sweet voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

I look over at her.

“If you take your shoes off, it helps with your feet.”

Nodding, I take her advice and notice that hers are already off. Fatima’s fair-skinned feet look just as stiff as mine. Kicking my shoes off, I let them fall onto the floor. I peel my heavy socks back, wincing as I do. Just doing that hurts. I lay them on top of my shoes. My feet look almost swollen and some blisters have formed on their bottoms. My toes are so numb and stiff that it’s a battle to just stretch them. I slowly suck in some air as I do.

After a long moment, I look back up at the two brothers.

“It must’ve been a long walk for you three,” Faisal says.

I simply nod. Even after all that sleep, I still feel exhausted. The moment I think I’m awake, drowsiness sweeps back over me. It’s as if I will keel over and pass out at any moment. I force myself to plop another date in my mouth and chew it. God-willing, it’ll help keep me awake. Thank God it’s seedless because I don’t think I possess the willpower to spit out a seed.

“At least we found each other,” Faisal continues. “They say that true strength lies in numbers.”

I mean to echo Jari’s words about how true strength comes from the heart and not numbers, but I don’t find the strength.

Salman quickly enters the room. He’s carrying a small radio. Holding it with both hands, he grips it delicately, as if it is a glass vase. His eyes show a flash of excitement. So this is what he was looking for.

“This one works,” he says as he sets it on the middle of the table, right by the fruit bowl. “Let’s see if we can catch a reception.”

It certainly looks old. Wooden with rusting dials, its antenna is a bit bent as well. The top of it is covered in a layer of dust. It reminds me of the one the old Imam has at his house. But that one hardly ever worked. I pray this proves to be more useful.

Salman flips the switch to turn it on. A low static hums out of it. Fatima reaches over and wipes the thick dust off of the speakers. Grabbing ahold of one of the two dials, Salman looks over at the rest of us. “What frequency would the news be on?”

Faisal is quick to respond. “ Al Aan . It’s—uh, 96.9.”

He slowly turns the dial. We all watch the needle slowly inch along. There’s constant, unending static. The needle passes a few stations I recognize, but nothing changes. 95.0… 95.7… 96.4…

Slowly rising to my feet, I lean closer to the radio, pushing my open palms against the table for support.

The static ends. There’s a voice. It’s faint at first, but it grows clearer as Salman fine tunes the frequency before turning up the volume with one quick rotation of the second dial. It’s a man’s voice. Even with the static in the background, we can make out most of what he’s saying:

“—rebel forces have continued pushing into—districts of— Haydariya and Sakhour. There has—heavy fighting between the army and rebels. Many residents are being driven to safer areas outside of Aleppo or closer to the city’s center. If—not able to evacuate, we—to stay indoors until the situation—calms down.”

Those two districts are on the opposite side of Aleppo from Salaheddine. They’re on the city’s north side, right by our home! I thought the fighting was just in this area. However, if the rebels are attacking there, then it must be happening citywide. They’re so close to my neighborhood. But…

My eyes widen. This means there’s a greater chance that—that—we’ve got to get back home!

Fatima and I exchange a glance. Her eyes show the same thoughts as mine.

“The military is continuing to shell rebel-held districts as well as engage them on the ground. Citizens claim that—they are firing indiscriminately even in heavily po—”

The entire building suddenly tremors.

A deafening explosion erupts, drowning out the radio. My heart-rate spikes. As the ground beneath me trembles, I nearly lose my footing but hang on to the table. Faisal and Amaan dive underneath the table without hesitating. So does Fatima. Salman grabs my shoulder and forces me down under the table with him.

On all fours, I cover my head and tuck it in. The room quivers chaotically. It’s like an earthquake. The table shakes, knocking off one of the plates. It breaks. The framed paintings clatter against the wall. For a moment, it’s as if the world is ending. But the echo of the blast soon disperses. After a few more moments, the trembling stops as well.

I stay down there. So does everyone else. Nobody dares make a sound or a move. Another explosion detonates, breaking the stillness. It’s thunderous, louder and stronger than the last blast. The walls and ground quake. Are they about to give in? The chandelier’s lights piercingly clang against one another. A few of them fall and shatter. The lights flicker as the rumbling continues.

My ears are pounding, and my heart beats even faster. I hear a building loudly collapse. Its bricks violently crash against the road. As the chunks of rubble beat against the concrete, I shut my eyes, trying to escape this reality. It feels like the blast is right on top of us—as if I could see it if I looked right outside the doorway.

The blast disperses like the last one. Then the rubble settles. As my ears stop ringing, I hear something else. It’s faint but grows louder with every passing moment. What could it—no, it couldn’t be that… yes, it is! It’s a helicopter! More than one! They sound just like the ones I saw when I visited Nabeel at the military base once. They’re military helicopters!