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

The sun soon appears behind Aleppo’s desolated skyline. It’s brighter than any I’ve seen as it continues to slowly ascend into the sky. With every passing minute, the streets start warming up as they emerge out of the night’s darkness.

To be out here while the sun is rising instead of setting feels foreign. There’s nobody on the roads—not a single soul visible other than myself. There isn’t even much smog to conceal any people. Are they all just hiding indoors like before?

I don’t recognize the street, not that I’d expect myself to. It looks just like any other one I’ve seen so far. The buildings once stood three or four stories high. Now, most of them are wrecked or utterly demolished. The stubs of some of the structure’s bases still remain standing, surrounded by bricks and mortar. Many buildings have been knocked right over like fallen trees, crashing onto one another or the road. Others have had a wall blown apart, their remains spilling onto the pavement. The handful that still stand have been shot up beyond repair.

The road itself is in no better shape. Burned and wrecked vehicles—cars, trucks, and vans—dot the street. Several of them are still smoldering under the morning skies. There are even several police vehicles, although the majority of them are unrecognizable now. Most were riddled by gunfire before and after going up in smoke. Shards of glass are everywhere, much of it melted into the pavement. A lot of the glass is long and sharp enough to cut right through my shoes and into my feet if I’m not careful. Much of the road itself has been blasted away, leaving holes everywhere, while chunks of concrete lay spread out amongst the vehicles. Some of the pits are nothing more than potholes, but others take up the entire width of the street.

Just like every single street in Aleppo, this place was once a bustling neighborhood. It was vibrant. It was alive. If I close my eyes, I can still sense it all: the animated voices of merchants, the aroma of the street food mixed with the smell of diesel, and the feeling of walking down the crowded street. It was chaos… but it was my city, my home.

That scene seems like another world. Now they’ve turned it into a ghost town, one that even the people who lived here would never recognize.

However, I don’t let that get me down today. Because no matter what I face, I won’t lose that hope I felt when reading Jari’s note. I pat my pocket, feeling the letter safely tucked away. God-willing, I will find my friends.

I know it.

The fighting seems distant. I hear blasts in the far north and witness smoke get kicked up into the air. If I squint my eyes, I can see shells raining down from the heavens, but I’m too far to feel any of their blasts.

There are helicopters to the distant east, close to the city’s center. They’re out of earshot, but they hover above Aleppo’s downtown skyline—at least what’s left of it. I think they’re military. The fighting would be heaviest there as rebels and soldiers fight for control of the city’s core. We always read that whenever an invader came into a city, they tried to take over the media. I wonder if that’s what the rebels are trying to do.

I remember the last thing Salman said before the bomb hit. They were going to keep along the highway to follow it back home. After the chaos began yesterday evening, Salman and Fatima would have taken shelter until it all died down. They likely spent an hour or so looking for me. Not finding me or my body anywhere, they would have been forced to move on. There wouldn’t be any other choice but to follow through with the plan. When dawn came, they may have very well taken some sort of shelter. However, I have a feeling that they would only rest up a couple of hours before continuing to trudge forward.

All that boils down to one thing: I can’t be too far behind them.

There’s something different about today. It’s not the absence of pain or soreness. It’s not the lack of destruction or wreckage—there’s plenty around me as always, although I try not to pay it any attention. At first, I can’t put my finger on what is different. But then I realize what it is. The sound of silence—the one that I’ve heard every night as I journeyed through this city—is nowhere to be heard.

It’s… an odd feeling, as is the sensation of walking out here by myself.

I pass by some bodies, no corpses, as I trek on. Most are older, while a few are younger than me. Some are scorched beyond recognition, but I do my best to not look at any of them, even going out of my way to not really go near them. I can’t afford any second thoughts.

However, I can’t avoid them all. Many of the corpses were shot, the bullet wounds still visible. Others must’ve died in explosions. Some of them are… missing limbs. I don’t know why seeing it doesn’t stop me. Maybe I’ve grown immune to it all. Even the sight and stench of decaying corpses doesn’t slow me down one step as I simply continue walking by them.

My slow footsteps are the only sound in this desolate place. A part of me wants to move quickly as I search for my friends, but I remind myself that this is a marathon and not a sprint. I don’t know how long it may be until I see them, and I need to keep my strength because I don’t know for sure what may be out here.

As I move along, I remember something Ummi once told me. She said that when she was growing up, Aleppo was the safest city in the world. The biggest threat they ever faced was a purse-snatcher. But even then, there would be ten people chasing after the thief moments after he tried anything.

I would never dare call my mother a liar, but I’m starting to wonder if she was really talking about the same Aleppo I’m now in. How can a place as peaceful as that become a war zone?

The thoughts dissipate as I suddenly find myself at the edge of a crater. Stepping onto a loose block of rubble, I look down into the hole. It’s about eight feet deep. Maybe more. The slope goes straight down, exposing some busted water pipes and jagged concrete, before coming to a halt at the pit. The other side of the crater is just as steep before returning to the road. The pit seems to still be smoking a bit.

I instinctively look away and cough a couple of quick times. There’s no other way around the crater unless I’m willing to backtrack, but I can’t afford to lose any time. Finding my courage, I step forward and onto the descent.

The slope is covered in loose rocks and rubble. I stay low, trying to keep myself steady. The ground is more unstable than it looks, many pieces of it threatening to tear off as I step on them. It’s hot, too hot for me to dare touch the ground. The heat permeates through my shoe’s now thin soles.

My steps are slow, each one a few inches further than the last. I hesitate after each stride, trying to ensure that the ground is steady before I keep moving. Arms outstretched, I try to keep my balance. My gaze stays glued to my feet as I watch each step unfold. I can’t feel anything as I make my descent, can’t hear anything except the loose rocks plummeting down below with each step I take. I’m halfway there now. Just keep—

The slab of concrete under my left foot suddenly breaks off and slides away, sending me tumbling onto the ground. It happens fast—too fast for me to do anything. Losing my balance as I lurch forward, I try to reach out and grab something. But it’s all in vain. I roughly crash on my side before rolling down the slope. I cover my face on impulse. Each bounce sends pain coursing through my veins. But there’s nothing I can do except helplessly fall down the pit.

Stopping at the bottom of the crater with a loud thud, I lay there for a long moment. Is it over? Letting out a groan, I mentally relive the tumble several times. My body is aching. The elbow I fell on is banged up as pain stings it, and my forearms are throbbing. However, everything else is fine… I think.