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

I don’t know how long the shower lasts when I shut off the water.

Using the towel, I quickly dry myself off. The towel is a bit crusty and rough, but that doesn’t faze me. I take my time, not knowing the next time I may get this chance.

Wrapping the towel around my waistline, I step out of the tub and onto the cracked floor. The shower wasn’t hot enough to create any steam. Nonetheless, I’m immediately hit with a wave of cool air. I see my reflection in the mirror. My frame looks skinnier than before this whole ordeal began. The bruises on my stomach, chest, and neck are clearly visible. So are the ones on my hands and arms. My hair is disheveled. I try and fix it with my fingers, but it doesn’t do much to help. I almost don’t even recognize my eyes. They look so much… older.

Looking down, my eyes come onto a toothbrush sitting on the sink. It’s a used one, some of its brushes a bit discolored. A thought suddenly enters my mind, saying that I haven’t brushed my teeth since this ordeal began. Ummi never let me miss a day. For a moment, I feel the urge to use this toothbrush. Thankfully, I resist.

My gaze goes back to my reflection. Catching something in the mirror, I turn my head around and see some clothes hanging on the doorknob. There’s a thin, blue collared shirt, a pair of jeans, and socks. They look to be in my size.

Who could have…

Realizing who put them there, I slightly smile.

I change into the clothes, and they fit perfectly. I take a deep breath. I’ve been stuck in those dirty clothes for so long that I’d forgotten how filthy they were.

Before leaving, I pat down my old shorts and feel something in the pocket. I reach in and pull out the folded note. It’s Jari’s letter—the one he left for me and instructed me to open when I need it most. I completely forgot about it.

Staring at it for a long moment, I wonder if now is the time to read it. But I decide not to. I feel fresh after this shower, and reading it would only make me nostalgic. Instead, I stuff it into my pocket before leaving to join the others.

Not long after I freshen up and return downstairs, Salman goes up to the shower. He’s able to move on his own, even climbing the stairs without help. Even so, I walk behind him to make sure he doesn’t fall. Fatima says that the bullet didn’t hit any bone or cut into any muscles. Hearing those words brings a deluge of relief to me.

By the time I hear him descending back down the stairs, Fatima and I have set up a meal in the kitchen. Finding some plates in the cabinet, we set three of them up on the small, circular table. It’s far enough from the window to keep us safe from being spotted. Staying away from windows is so ingrained in us now that we do it without even thinking.

The meal is just like the rest we’ve eaten: a bit of bread and dates. We find some mangoes but decide to save them for later. Mangoes are one of Syria’s gems, sold in nearly every other shop. Now they have become a luxury. However, for the first time since this ordeal began, we all drink cold water after finding it in the fridge.

Salman staggers into the kitchen. He’s not putting much weight on his hurt leg and moves a bit slower, but he seems to be walking just fine. Just like me, Salman wears a new set of clean clothes.

He takes his seat at the empty spot between me and Fatima. Without thinking, I whisper a quick prayer, thanking Allah for providing us with the provision. But I do it all on instinct, not even thinking about the words.

Ripping off a large piece of the bread, I stuff it in my mouth. I hardly bother chewing it before gulping it down. Salman attacks his food the same way as me, while Fatima eats with a bit more decency.

Swallowing the bread, I pick up a date. It’s a big one. Probably has a seed inside. I bite off half of it, feeling my teeth rub against the seed. As I chew, I pluck the seed out of the remaining half before casting it aside. Hearing Fatima’s voice, my gaze meets hers.

“Do we have any idea where we are?” She nicely bites into a piece of bread as she finishes her question.

I quickly reply before eating the second half of the date. “Before I came down, I looked out the window. I think I saw Sabeel Park in the distance. It was very far though, so I couldn’t be sure.”

“What makes you say it was Sabeel Park?” Salman asks, taking a sip of water.

“The Statue of Sayf al-Dawla. I think I saw it.”

“Which way was the park?”

“Opposite of where the sun is setting.”

“The complete opposite way?”

I think for a moment. “Maybe about 90 degrees to the right.”

“That’ll make it towards the east then—the northeast.” Salman pauses. “More or less at least. This time of year, I think the sun sets towards the northwest.”

“Are you sure?” Fatima asks.

Salman nods. “We’ve been traveling north. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve been trying to do. It’s hard to tell which way we’re going at night with all the destruction on the roads. But if you could see the park, then that means we’ve been traveling in the right direction.”

He says those words as if they’re a relief. Was he not sure if we were going in the right direction this whole time?

I take a sip of my water. I haven’t tasted cold water in so long that it’s foreign to me. It leaves me stunned for a moment before I’m able to speak. “How far do you think it’ll be now?”

Salman looks my way as he swallows a bite. “You mean until we reach Ballermoun?”

I nod.

“It’s tough to say. I don’t know exactly how much distance we’ve covered, and I don’t know how the roads up ahead will be. Some of them could be too wrecked or too dangerous to travel on.” He thinks for a moment. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say no more than four days.”

Four days? Those words drive a stake through my heart. He must be mistaken. All along, I’ve been thinking that we’d be arriving home soon. But now Salman is guessing that we’re not even halfway there. The longer we take, the higher the chances are that our home will be deserted by the time we get there and it’ll all be for nothing. Worse yet, we’ll find our homes as nothing more than piles of rubble.

“Is it worth going further?” I ask without thinking. As soon as those words leave my mouth, I regret saying them.

“What do you mean, Zaid?”

“After all this time, we finally find a place that’s safe. We have electricity and running water. Is it worth pushing forward? What if we just stayed here until it all ends?”

“Sure, it’s safe now,” Salman begins. “But only God knows if it’ll still be safe tomorrow. At any moment, looters, rebels, or soldiers can come barging in through that door.” He takes a deep breath as he looks at Fatima and then me. “I don’t want to say this. Only God knows best. But I don’t think it’ll be ending anytime soon, Zaid. There are more bombs dropping on the city each day, and even if it all did suddenly end, I don’t know what situation the city would be in.”

Fatima speaks up, looking at her brother. “Won’t help be arriving soon?”

“We’ve seen what the army—”

“Not the army,” she interjects. “But other countries. The United Nations. Our country’s allies. Won’t they see what’s happening? Won’t they send help?”

Salman is silent at first, glancing down at his lap. I know what he’s thinking. By now, I’ve come to realize the truth as well. It’s the unspoken fact that has lingered on my mind for a while. Finally, he looks back at his sister. His words are soft, barely above a whisper. “Nobody is coming, Fatima.”

Her eyes widen.

“Syria… it’s nothing more to the world than a political strategy. Russia backs Assad. America backs the rebels. It’s a power struggle for them. Just a minor endnote in their larger goals. None of them truly cared when Assad’s father took over forty years ago. Nobody lifted a finger then, and nobody is going to care now. Sure, they may talk about it. They may watch videos. They may give speeches. But nobody is going to do anything, Fatima. It’s just us now.”