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

“The last thing Jari told us was to never forget this city as it was—to be the light and hope of it, to keep the heart of Aleppo inside of us. And every time I see you, every time I watch you, I know that this city’s light lives inside of you.” Fatima’s smile grows. “So show me, Zaid, show me how you will change the world. I know you will because… because I believe in you, Zaid. I always have, and I always will.”

As I hear her words, I don’t feel my bloodied hands or aches. There is nothing else but her. It’s just like all those times growing up when we would be sitting under a tree, trying to play pranks on Nabeel, or studying for school. I only focus on Fatima. Glowing like never before, she looks more beautiful, more pure, than I’ve ever seen her.

She cuts the wrapping and clips it together. Finally, her gaze looks down at my hand. “How does that feel?”

All I can do is smile.

I don’t know how long it is before Fatima goes to sleep. She keeps Salman up for at least an hour or so. She says it’s to make sure he’s falling asleep from fatigue and not from blood loss. He fights to stay awake for that hour, but Salman has always been strong and pulls through.

Fatima falls asleep half an hour after her brother. I physically see the adrenaline abandon her, leaving her with a huge crash. She lays down right next to the table he’s on, turning the floor into her bed.

They both look so peaceful. I watch over the two of them for a bit. My body is worn out. My eyelids are drooping. My heart rate is calm. I finally feel the rush wearing off, allowing the pain and soreness to settle in. I want nothing more than to slip away from this reality.

But my mind won’t shut off.

I hear distant explosions, but I don’t focus on them today. Looking over Salman and Fatima, I remember the last time I was in this situation. It was in Jari’s shop when I took an oath to protect them, to watch over them with my life. Thanks to God, I upheld that oath today.

How long has it been since this nightmare began? I can’t even recall if it’s been three days or four? It feels like a lifetime. I don’t know what our closest call has been. Was it Jari’s shop? The men who chased us through the smog? All the explosions that have nearly fallen directly upon us? Or was it Faisal and Amaan’s betrayal? It seems like one wrong step in any of those situations would have been the end of it all. To think that the three of us made this far is a miracle. Just the thought of losing either of my friends terrifies me. I don’t know how I would be able to go on.

My mind drifts towards the two brothers. I can’t fathom how quickly they went from friends to vile enemies. One second they were on our side, journeying through the abyss and dangers with us. In the next moment, Amaan is trying to strangle me without an ounce of mercy in his eyes. He nearly succeeded. The bruises on my neck remind me of that. A shudder travels up my spine.

What would make them do that? They were boys born and raised in Aleppo, just like me and Salman. Did this ordeal drive them mad, or were they that way from the start? A part of me wonders whether we would’ve been friends if I had met them before all this happened. Would they have been skipping stones with us in the park and playing football in the field? I think only God will ever know the answer to that.

For all I know, I may have ended their lives. I smashed the brick against Amaan’s skull. I can still feel the rough brick in my bloodied hand. I attacked him without any hesitation, without holding anything back. My inhibitions vanished when I saw him standing over Fatima. And after I struck him down, I did not even give him a second glance.

Then, with Faisal, I gave Salman the weapon that ended him. The blow was so loud. There is no way that Faisal survived. I did those things. Me. The same boy who could never win a wrestling match, who was always picked last every time we played in the field. Was that… murder? I did not even realize what I was doing when it happened. It was all instinct.

I close my eyes for a moment as a wave of guilt flows through me. What have I done? Was it right? Or have I become the person that the Imam always warned us about. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

Slumber begins to finally overtake me. As I pass into sleep, the last things I see are my friends: safe.

The memory floods in. This one is only months old. The day after I failed a test, Abbi took me out from school early to bring me here.

“Why are we here, Abbi ?”

“I come here often, Zaid, to imagine something.”

I’ve only ever seen this place from afar. I never knew that beyond its walls—beyond the words “University of Aleppo”—was such a massive institute. But now we’re here. Sitting on a bench right outside the doors to the campus’s main building, I watch my Abbi as his eyes stay trained on it. There’s a look my father wears that I don’t recognize.

“ Abbi ?”

He takes a deep breath before looking down at me. “Do you know what I see when I look at this university’s doors?”

I shake my head.

“I see you, Zaid. I see you walking in and out of them, surrounded by your peers. I see you laughing. I see you studying. I see you belonging here.”

I stay silent as my gaze drifts away from him. Just off of the university’s main road, we can see the countless buildings that make up the campus. There’s a faculty for engineering. One for agriculture. And one for medicine. Some of the massive buildings climb six or seven stories high. The buildings are surrounded by beautiful greenery. The trees, hedges, and grass are perfectly trimmed and decorate the grounds.

The nation’s proud flag is high above everything else. The black, green, and white stripes look bold under the afternoon sun. The red triangle and white star draw the eye of any viewer. Up in the clear, azure skies, it moves with the slight breeze.

Countless men and women walk in and out of the main building’s doors. Going up and down the steps, they’re all smiling as they speak to one another. They seem so happy. It’s a constant sea of people. Their excited and joyful voices drown out everything else. Textbooks and notebooks in hand, they go right past us without a second glance. I see their faces clearly, and they’re no different than me.

“Do you know when the Faculty of Medicine was established here?”

I shake my head.

“1967. Since then, tens of thousands of men and women came here as students and left here as doctors. Surgeons, physicians, radiologists… everything, Zaid. Tens of thousands.” He pauses. “Now tell me, Zaid, are you going to claim that every single one of them came from a wealthy family?”

I don’t respond.

“Are you going to tell me that every single one of them was naturally gifted?”

Again, I stay silent.

“Are you going to tell me that every single one of them was smarter than you?”

“…no.”

“Then why do you not think you can make it here. Just because a person says you’re not cut out and you failed a test?” He glances at the doors again before his gaze returns to me. “There is one common thing I can tell you about every person who has done something meaningful with their lives, Zaid, whether it be a general, astronaut, author, or businessman. It’s that they were dreamers. Just like you, they were not afraid to dream.” My father pauses. “And a dream is something that’s more valuable than all the money and gold in the world.”

I’ve never heard him speak like this. A part of me can’t fathom the words coming out of his mouth.

He looks down for a moment. “When I was a little older than you, I made perhaps the biggest mistake of my life. It was a mistake that most people make: I sold my dream.” Again, he pauses. “I sold it… and I have to live with that forever.”