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

I can’t hear whatever else is said on the report. My mind is trapped in one sentence—on one thing that it said. Mansoura… that’s west of the city. I visualize an overhead view of Aleppo. If we started in Salaheddine, the southwest part of Aleppo, and are working our way towards Ballermoun in the north, then Mansoura would not be too far west from wherever we are. Am I picturing this right? I run through it again. Then a third time. That’s correct! It can’t be too far away!

My eyes perk up at the thought of safety. Now my heart is more excited than before we switched the radio on. I look at Fatima and then Salman. Neither of them seems to be having the same thoughts as me as they both continue listening to the radio.

“Salman?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Salman.”

“Quiet, Zaid.” He holds up his finger, keeping his attention focused on the radio.

“Salman!”

His eyes finally focus on me. After a moment, he reaches over and switches off the radio.

“We need to figure out how far we are from Mansoura,” I excitedly state.

Why does his gaze seem puzzled? Did he not just hear what the report said?

“Are you listening, Salman?”

His reply is as confused as his expression. “Why do we need to do that?”

“To figure out how to get there.”

“We’re going back home, Zaid. Not to Mansoura.”

Is he serious? I glance over at Fatima. She seems to share his conviction. Am I going insane?

“Are you seriously wanting to go to Mansoura, Zaid?” Salman sounds like he can’t believe I even entertained the thought. “Because of what the report just said?”

“Salman, we have a chance to get out of the city.” I start blurting things out without even thinking. “We’ve been asking God for help. I think this is our solution. He’s put in right in front of us. It won’t take long to—”

“Stop it, Zaid. We’re staying the course.”

I don’t know why, but those words make my blood start boiling. He’s doing it again, just like with any other initiative I’ve had since this chaos began. How can he discard my idea like this?

His eyes seem unwavering. I don’t want to say what I’m really thinking, but I won’t relent easily. Not this time. “We don’t know how long it’ll take to get back to Ballermoun,” I reply. “You said that yourself. We don’t know what’s down that path or waiting for us at the end. But we know what’s to the west: safety!”

“And we know what’s to the north too: our families.”

My voice suddenly spikes as I shoot up to my feet and say what I’ve been holding back for far too long. “Our families!? Our homes!? Do you hear yourself? It’s been days—closer to a week than not. By now, they’re long gone and our houses have been reduced to rubble just like the rest of this city! You’re going to lead us all there to find nothing but a pile of ashes. And God knows that the only way we’ll find our families is if we find them—them d…”

I stop myself from saying the last word. I’m trembling. My yelling shakes the very walls. Salman rises to his feet. He looks calm. I can’t tell if my words had any effect on him. “We’re not turning away from our homes, Zaid. We did not come this far just to turn our backs at the first sight of any kind of sanctuary. Do you really think any camp is safe from being shelled into oblivion? There are no more rules in Aleppo anymore, Zaid. There is no safety.”

“How do you know any of that? How can you lead us on when you don’t know what’s waiting for us even one block away?”

He doesn’t respond. At least not right away. Salman glances towards Fatima and then back to me. The more riled I get, the calmer he becomes. He takes in a deep breath before replying, “Because… I have faith.”

Those words douse out my flames. I lose any response I might have had, so I wordlessly watch as he looks away before walking right by me and into the corridor.

“We will be leaving in half an hour. We should all get ready.”

There’s a gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach as we meet at the bottom of the stairs. Maybe it’s because I know what we’re leaving behind. With every step we take, we’re abandoning a God-sent salvation and willingly walking into the abyss that is Aleppo. Is there truly no way to change Salman’s mind?

I’m the last one to arrive. With a refilled sack of food slung over my shoulder, I find Fatima and Salman already set to go. They both watch me descend the last few steps. My baggage is more of a nuisance than a burden today. Outside of the strap cutting into my bruised shoulder, I don’t pay it much heed. All I really feel is the pit in my stomach.

The light outside is nearly non-existent. I think the sun’s already behind the skyline—at least whatever is left of it. It’ll be dark soon, and we’ll be walking through the smog left behind by the endless bombings. Throughout the day, I hardly heard any explosions and even less gunfire. I don’t think it’s because there weren’t any. I’m just too used to the chaos. It’s a part of me—a part of all of us. I think I’d only notice if the destruction wasn’t there.

“Are we all set?” Salman looks directly at me.

I nod without saying anything, hardly even giving him a glance.

“Then let’s go.”

Head hanging low, I follow Salman through the foyer and outside. It’s so… silent right now. It’s almost scary. As I step onto the dirt, I lift my gaze. I did not pay attention to the road when we arrived, but I can’t ignore it now. Completely engulfed by the thin smog, I see the hazed scene all around me. A bomb must have hit this road before we ever came here. A crater is smoldering just down the street. It’s wide and looks deep. Chunks of concrete rubble surround it like shattered glass. A few of the buildings on this street are utterly demolished. Some are still smoking. Any one of those could have easily been us. With everything that’s happening, I’m starting to wonder if there’ll be any landmarks left for us to recognize if we ever do get home.

Salman and Fatima are looking at the crater. Maybe they’re having the same thought. Turning towards them, I break the eerie silence. “Which way are we going?”

“North.” Salman tears his gaze off of the scene and motions in the direction. “We’ll be trying to stay along Highway 214. It’ll just about take us right where we need to go.”

I almost say that I hope ‘where we need to go’ is still standing when we get there, but I stop myself. Tugging on my sack’s strap in a vain effort to realign it, I send Salman a slight nod. He knows what I mean and makes the first move, walking in the direction we’re headed.

Keeping Fatima between us, I fall in line behind her. I feel all the soreness settling in within the first few steps. This is how it always begins. Within a couple of hours, my feet will be begging for rest, but I won’t be able to give it to—

I stop. So do the others.

There’s a whistling sound. I instinctively look towards the heavens. Is it coming from up above? It’s faint, barely audible. It sounds so far away, but… it’s growing louder. The noise seems to be headed for—my eyes widen.

“Take cover!” I roar.

It’s too late. The bomb falls right on top of us.

Smog surrounds me. I can’t breathe. The smoke is too thick. Dust is everywhere. Stumbling down the road, I violently cough. My gaze is wild. Where is Salman? Where is Fatima? I can’t sense their presence.

I don’t remember anything—the last thing I heard was the whistling. Then there was an impact. After that—it all happened so fast. Everything became a daze. Next thing I know, I was sent sprawling onto the ground. I scarcely even remember the explosion. The piercing ringing is echoing in my head, and I can’t think straight. My breaths are quick. So is my heartbeat. My mind is so stunned that I almost can’t even keep my legs under me.