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

Hearing me enter, the customer and my father turn to see me before I greet my father in the traditional greeting.

“ Assalam-O-Alaikum, Abbi.”

“ Walaikum Assalam, Zaid,” my father replies.

The customer smiles and nods. I don’t know his name, but I recognize his face. Looking to my left, I see Bilal cleaning off a few of the prayer rugs that have been on the shelves for a while. He’s worked for my family longer than I’ve been alive. Sitting on the floor, Bilal is going through each shelf as he checks every rug. He greets me in the same way as my father.

Glancing back at my father and the customer, I notice that they’re actually not talking about the tapestry. The smile that greeted me is no longer on Abbi’s face. Instead, he’s wearing an expression that I’ve never seen him show before. He looks almost… worried.

That can’t be right. I see the expression of the customer. It’s the same. Turning back to Bilal, I notice him wearing the same look as he continues with his work without paying me any heed. First the bus and now this. What’s going on with everyone?

Arriving at the back of the shop, I reach the wooden staircase. I hustle up the steps one after the other. The floorboards creak as I climb each one. I pass by the photos hanging from the crimson wall. The first picture, an older one, shows Abbi and Ummi on their wedding day. The next one is a family photo that was taken when I was hardly a week old. The third displays Nabeel in his military uniform. I think that photo was taken at the ceremony when he was promoted to the rank of captain. The final frame holds a photo of Nabeel and Aisha from their wedding ceremony.

With the book bag hanging off my shoulder, I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top of the stairs. As soon as I make it to the second floor, a lighthearted voice cuts into the corridor. “I think I hear a handsome boy coming.”

Hearing Aisha’s voice, I see her emerge out of the kitchen and into the corridor. Wearing a mostly plain, black abaya with a bit of gold embroidery, her long black locks hang freely.

She smiles as her eyes focus on me. “I knew I recognized those footsteps.”

Running up to her, I greet her like I always do. “ Assalam-O-Alaikum , Aisha!”

She responds with a warm hug. I only met Aisha two years ago, which was shortly before she married Nabeel. However, it seems like she’s been a part of the family all my life. She’s barely a decade older than me but has become my second mother.

“How was school today, Dr. Zaid?” Her voice is as cheerful as ever. She sounds like Nabeel every time she calls me that.

“It was boring. Why is everyone looking so worried?”

Her expression turns inquisitive. “Who’s looking worried?”

“ Abbi , Bilal, and everyone on the bus.”

“It’s just politics, Zaid. Nothing for a young man like you to worry about.” She glances back towards the kitchen. “I went shopping earlier and got some things for Ramadan since it’s starting on Saturday. We’ll be having a feast just for you.”

I feel my smile grow.

“Nabeel called about an hour ago. He wanted to talk to you.”

My eyes light up, much to her amusement. “Really!”

She playfully flicks me on the forehead, just like Nabeel always does. “If you hurry up and call him, you can catch him before he leaves the base.”

Before Aisha even finishes her words, I am running up to my room.

I take a seat on my bed as I hear my brother’s voice spill out of the phone.

“Father says you didn’t do very well on your last test.”

I knew he’d say that. “Maybe I should have studied harder.”

“Or pay more attention in class.” Nabeel’s slight smile is displayed in his voice. He’s always smiling around me. Him and Aisha both.

“I’ll try.” I pause for a moment. “Everyone’s seemed worried today, but nobody is saying why.”

“It’s probably just boring politics, Zaid. Nothing for a strapping young guy like you to worry your mind about.”

“That’s exactly what Aisha said.”

Nabeel lightly laughs. “I guess we both think alike. Ramadan is starting this Saturday. Are you excited about trying to fast every day this time?”

“I guess. Salman says the first three days are the toughest. After those, you get used to waking up early to eat. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

“Well, you got two days left to get ready.” He pauses. “I wish I could be there.”

Looking out the window, I see the clear skies, reminding me about going over to Salman and Fatima’s house later. “So when are you coming back? You still need to take me to the park and show me that wrestling move you were telling me about.”

It takes him a moment to respond. “I don’t know, Zaid. With everything that’s going on, the army has been sending me everywhere. But it’ll be soon. I promise.”

“You’re not in any danger with all the fighting that’s happening, are you?”

There’s a slight pause on his end, but his light tone doesn’t diminish. “…of course not. You never need to worry about me. Just worry about your studies. I need a good doctor to take care of me when I get old, God-willing, so I’m counting on you!”

I laugh.

“But I promise, when I get back, we’ll spend a whole day at the park.”

“You always say that.”

“This time, I’m telling the truth. We’ll be at the park so long that you’ll be begging me to take you back home. Just wait and see, Dr. Zaid… just wait and see.”

I find the kitchen empty when I come down. Even Aisha isn’t here finishing up cooking dinner like she normally is. Neither is Ummi . In fact, I haven’t seen my mother since arriving back home.

Hearing a sound, I make my way down the hall and into the sitting room. Here’s everyone. Abbi and Ummi are sitting on the couch while Aisha and Bilal stand behind them. They’re all watching the news. It’s a breaking report about something, but I don’t pay it any attention. The words on the screen seem a bit jumbled in my head when I try to read it, just like the words in books usually are.

I step into the room. The floorboard creaks under my feet, but none of them seem to notice. Why isn’t Abbi downstairs? The shop is normally still open at this time. The news anchor is going on about what President Assad said this morning, reassuring Syrian citizens about something.

With Abbi distracted, maybe this is as good a time as any to ask him about going over next door. He usually answers ‘yes’ whenever he’s preoccupied. I walk around the couch until I’m visible in his peripheral vision. I wait there for a few moments. Then a few more. He doesn’t look over at me.

“… Abbi ?”

He still doesn’t glance away from the television.

“ Abbi ?” I speak up a little louder.

He suddenly turns and looks at me as if he didn’t notice I was there before.

“ Abbi , after Asr Salat , can I go and play with Salman?”

Abbi and Ummi exchange a long glance before he looks back at me. “Not today, Zaid.”

There’s something in the way he looks at my mother, something in both of their expressions, that seems off. It mirrors everything else that’s been happening today. However, I don’t argue or show my disappointment. “Okay.”

“Go ahead and make your ablution, Zaid. We’ll eat after salat .”

“Are we going to go pray at the masjid?”