The Gharb

The Gharb

The fertile plain of north west Syria is called the Gharb. Skelbieh was built on the plains of the Orontes river which was often in flood and due to an extensive government project was finally flood free and turned into usable land. The Ghab project began in 1953 and in 1968 the plains were completely drained and an extensive network of canals and dams were built which provided irrigation to the surrounding areas.
Fawaz's family owned their six acre farm in the Gharb. Approximately fifty years had passed since the then Communist government took possession of the agricultural land in the Gharb and surrounding areas from rich landowners, who also had control over their village and its occupants. The landlords were given the largest portion of land and the rest was divided amongst the people.

Each season they would rotate their crops between wheat, corn and sunflowers. During the summer months, Fawaz's mother Bahija and her husband Aziz would tend to their fields in the early hours of the morning from 4am to 9am and from 4pm onwards until sunset. They sold their wheat harvest and sunflower seeds to the highest bidder and kept enough wheat to take to the mills in a neighbouring town called Madik, where it was not only ground into white flour, but also fine grains of bourgul for tabouli and coarser grains to be cooked with meat.
During the colder winter months Bahija would use the produce from her land to feed her thirteen children, friends and family. She spent the summer months busily sifting, peeling, scooping and preparing the winter food.
She would spend days on end sifting the wheat grains to rid them of husks. There were at least three different implements that she used with each one having graded holes in their steel mesh. After she completed her ritual wheat sifting, she would make her traditional tomato paste using at least thirty kilos of ripened tomatoes. Her daughters and daughter-in-laws who were living with her would help and she literally had an assembly line of workers preparing the food which included chencleesh(dried salted yoghurt rolled in thyme), pickled cucumbers, onions, capsicums, cauliflowers and grape leaves. Macdooce was made from scooped out eggplant filled with walnuts, chillies and peanuts and left with huge stones flattening them in the sun, then packed into large jars that were at last filled with oil and left to be consumed during the cold winter months.
Scooped out zuchinni and eggplants were also dried in the sun to be later cooked with meat and rice. Sundried grapes, apricots and apples were always a favourite and If any vegetable or fruit could be dried, frozen or pickled then it found its way onto the winter menu.

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Love and Religion

Love and Religion

Love and Religion
Whilst living in Syria, I heard many sad stories from women about their broken hearts and unrequited love. There was one theme that frequently appeared to be entwined with the sadness of their memories and that was their families' disapproval of their love interest.
Fawaz was Muslim and I was baptised in the Roman Catholic church. My in-laws didn't seem to have any problems with my religious background and they visited me during both Christmas and Easter celebrations.
The church and Skelbieh folk did not allow anyone from their Greek Orthodox faith to be married outside of their religion and if one did stray and commit such an offence, they were shunned and banished from the town. I found it difficult to accept such prejudice and was glad to know that Fawaz's family had welcomed me into their clan.
They were Alawis, originally from the villages in the mountains called An-Nusayriyah Mountains, also known as al-Alawiyeen Mountains that were situated west of Skelbieh and running north-south, parallel to the coastal plain.
Doctrines from other religions, in particular Christianity are incorporated into the Alawi faith. They split from the Shi'a Ismailite sect but like Ismaili Shia's, Alawis believe in a system of divine incarnation. Unlike them, Alawis regard Ali as the incarnation of the deity in the divine triad. As such, Ali is the "Meaning;" Muhammad, whom Ali created of his own light, is the "Name;" and Salman the Persian is the "Gate." There are many secrets in the Alawi religion and only a few chosen faithful are elected to learn the religion in stages, after a lengthy process of initiation. Their prayer book, the source of religious instruction, is the Kitab al Majmu, and the Quran. They recognize the five pillars of Islam, which they interpret in a wholly metaphorical sense to fit community belief.
There is no specific building for prayer and only the men take part in worship.
Alawis were one of Syrias' most repressed minorities for centuries, but after Alawi President Assad came to power in 1970, the well being of the Alawis improved considerably.
Fawaz's family originated from B'Syndyanna and migrated to Skelbieh. They were very open-minded and accepting. Their best friends were Christians and during my time in Skelbieh I never heard a negative comment nor witnessed any prejudice, only gratitude and love between them.
Fawaz was the only member of his immediate family that married outside of his families' faith. He was in love with a Skelbieh girl when he was younger but her family refused to allow her to marry him. One of his relatives used to pine over what may have been if her father had accepted her to marry her first love.
There were a few young women who fell in love outside of their Greek Orthodox faith and had to live outside of their town. One in particular, was the sister of a friend of Fawaz's and her mother would sneakingly visit her daughter without the knowledge of her husband.
When Azzam was about seven years old he came home from school one day and asked me why he wasn't allowed to marry a girl from Skelbieh. He didn't understand why his friend had held that opinion and I managed to allay his concerns by telling him that when he was old enough he could marry anyone he chose.

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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

It was always exciting to meet someone in Syria who spoke English fluently. Fawaz's educated friends could speak some words in English but most of their English vocabulary was acquired from textbooks.
Overseas tourists travelling north usually passed through Skelbieh on their way to Apamea. They arrived in tour buses or made their way to the ancient ruins in a taxi. Occasionally a backpacker or two would stopover at Skelbieh to look for overnight accommodation. There were no hotels or rooms to rent in the town and sometimes the locals would direct them to our home and we would offer them to stay with us for a night.
One evening we provided a humble mattress to a tired and friendly English speaking tourist from Holland. She shared our one room at Um Sieeds. On the following day we took her for a tour of Apamea and she cheerfully and trustingly rode on the back of Fawaz's cousin's motorbike. She had previously visited Australia and one of her very good friends was also a friend of my mother who was living in the Blue Mountains in NSW.
There was one occasion when a very charming, handsome, young Moroccan was brought to our home. We had just moved into our new unfinished dwelling and he was in need of a warm bed for the night. He spoke many languages and told us that his father was murdered during a tumultuous political upheaval in Morocco. He portrayed his father as a very important man in Moroccan politics and he was very upset that he had been assassinated. After he stayed with us for a few days we were beginning to feel very uncomfortable with his visit.
Whenever a resident in Skelbieh had a visitor for a night or two it was imperative that they reported to the local police station.
One afternoon our mysterious visitor took Yasmin for a walk through the town whilst I was having a siesta. When I woke to find her missing I panicked and immediately sent Fawaz's brothers out on their motorbikes to search for them. My heart was racing as I condemned myself for being so trusting and angry that he had taken my daughter for a walk without my permission. They were found at the other end of town, relaxed and happily consuming their ice creams and wondering what all the fuss was about.

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Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Gulf War

The Persian Gulf War (August 2, 1990 – February 28, 1991) took place whilst we were living in Um Sieed's room and building our new home. The invasion of Kuwait by Iraqi troops began on the 2nd of August 1990 and was internationally condemned. Economic sanctions were placed against Iraq by members of the UN Security Council. American forces were deployed to Saudi Arabia and helped by other countries which formed a Coalition. Syrian troops and the United States found common ground in liberating Kuwait. I was very nervous for the safety of my family because during the Gulf war Iraq launched Scud missiles against coalition military targets in Saudi Arabia and against Israel.
I knew Israel had a nuclear plant and was terrified that there was a possibility of a direct hit on the nuclear facility from an Iraqi missile and the after effects it would of caused in the region. I was worried that the war would escalate, so I had an escape route planned in my mind. It included a border crossing with Turkey, then Greece and finally Australia.
My main concern was not only for the welfare of my children, but also for the safety of Syria's citizens and the innocent people from all countries involved.
I had no pre-conceived ideas about the politics in the Middle-East before I met Fawaz. My knowledge of Middle Eastern affairs was limited.
Fawaz had a scar on his chest that was the result of a bullet wound during the Six Day War with Israel. The war was fought between June 5 and June 10, 1967, by Israel and the neighbouring states of Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. At the war's end, Israel took control of the West Bank and East Jerusalem from Jordan, the Golan Heights from Syria the Gaza Strip and the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt.
I knew the political situation between Syria and Israel was volatile and I prayed for the return of the Golan Heights to Syria. The innocent victims, women and children were suffering and I prayed for peace.

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Thursday, February 10, 2011

ALONE

Fawaz used to say to me that a kind heart was a wonderful quality but one also needed an intelligent mind. I was definitely reminded of his wisdom when one day my once friendly band of poker playing women turned into my worst enemies. Of course there was a ring leader, there always is with bullies. She wasn't from Skelbieh but had married one of Um Sieed's neighbour's sons. She had started gossiping about me and was scolded by Fawaz for being a trouble maker. I can't remember what it was all about but she persuaded the poker group to believe her story and they isolated me by standing at the end of my verandah each morning to gossip and making it uncomfortable for me to leave my room. Of course I could of ignored them, but I had no one else to befriend and felt extremely vulnerable and sad in my aloneness.
I had no contact with my family in Australia except via mail which took a couple of weeks for them to receive my letters. We were still not on friendly terms with Fawaz's family and I was afraid to talk to his friend's wives in case they may not keep my inner most thoughts secret. So there was just me, my inner dialogue and of course BBC on the radio. I had lost not most, but all of my friends in Australia after I married Fawaz. I probably withdrew from them because, trying to mix two totally different cultures combined with intolerance was too difficult a task for me to handle.
There was a long waiting list at the telephone exchange for a phone line. Fawaz's turn had come up when we lived in Australia and his family were given the line, so he had to put his name back on the list again and wait. We also had to wait our turn to buy a car, so we walked everywhere or hired a mini bus if we were to travel out of town. In those days, Syrian people didn't have to wear seat belts or motorbike helmets and I felt so vulnerable as a passenger in a car, because it had been ingrained in me in Australia about the importance of seat belts and how they save lives.
The drivers in Syria were reckless but skilful. When I was a passenger I sometimes felt like I was in a movie where the criminals were in a wild car chase. Speed, honking horns and overtaking were part of the normal course for the drivers. When we travelled outside of Skelbieh I used to ask Fawaz(more like plead),to tell the bus driver to slow down. He told me that if he were to ask that question the driver would only go faster. We settled on a compromise after many arguments about my fear of bus travel. We either hired a private taxi or mini bus to take us out of town or I would spend the rest of my life in Skelbieh.
Fawaz's cousins and friends would give the children rides on their motorbikes and I was very nervous because no-one wore a helmet. Because most of the women wore skirts they would sit side saddle on motorbikes. The younger girls wore jeans so they could just straddle the bike and sit in a more comfortable position.

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Wednesday, February 9, 2011

SCHOOL

Yasmin was six years old when she started school in year one on the 14th of September 1992. I can remember her being so excited on her first day of school. She wore a neat brown tunic which covered her clothes and a bright orange scarf that was tied around her neck and a boat shaped cotton cap was perched precariously on the right side of her head. It wasn't the first day of school that I had imagined for my daughter. We were still living in our one room at Um Sieed's. Yasmin walked to school with a group of neighbourhood children and she excitedly waved goodbye to us and independently took her first steps into a new world of learning and friends.
The school days were divided into two shifts. The first commenced at seven am and the second at twelve noon. Winter time was the most difficult time for the early morning shift because it would be so cold and the ground was either muddy or slippery from ice or snow.
Yasmin never complained, even when she returned home each day and had to begin her English lessons with me. However, Azzam wasn't going to be a pushover, as he had a feisty spirit and regarded our English lessons as time ill spent because he thought he was better off outside and playing.
Yasmin was happy and any pre-conceived ideas of a classroom filled with books, colourful posters, comfortable furniture, library and equipment soon faded and in its place grew a deep gratitude that Yasmin had the opportunity to learn to read and write in her father's language.
The classrooms were very basic and the children sat on a wooden bench with a desk and a chalkboard at the front of the room. They each had their own textbook for each lesson which included reading, maths and handwriting. She had homework to complete every afternoon and was a diligent student. We hired a tutor when Azzam and Yasmin reached year three and four to help with their homework, because Fawaz was often not home and I was unable to assist them. However I did manage to reach year three level in reading and writing because I used to study from their textbooks.
Schooling was compulsory until year six in upper primary school. Most of the children in Skelbieh continued onto secondary school and tertiary education.

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Sunday, February 6, 2011

Festivals

Azzam and Yasmin had so much fun during the religious festivals in Skelbieh. I would enjoy them once the initial stage of thoroughly cleaning our room, preparing sweets and treats and buying new clothes for the family was over. Cleaning consisted of taking everything out onto the verandah, hosing down the cement floor and walls and scrubbing our large intricately designed piece of carpet with soap and a brush. My dresses and summer jackets were made by a dressmaker and the childrens' clothes were bought from the clothing stores in town.
Whenever someone would return from Lebanon with second hand leather shoes made in Italy or Europe they would be eager to show off their new addition to their wardrobe. The young women of Skelbieh modelled their clothes and hairstyles on the latest French and Italian designs. They were extremely weight conscious and when they left their home to visit friends or to go on their evening stroll, they were impeccably dressed, arm in arm with a friend or two, giggling and making comments on the attire of their competition and pretending not to notice the admiration of the local young men.
The Greek Orthodox Easter and Christmas celebrations were the perfect time for the women to show off their stylish clothes, make-up and hairstyles. There seemed to be a hairdresser around every corner and they were always busy. I had long waist length blonde hair so they didn't make a living from my custom.
Syrian food was delicious and their Arabic sweets were scrumptious but I can't say as much for their chocolate. During the festivities people bought sweets to give to their visitors. They were wrapped in foil of varied colours and prepared in various shapes and sizes, but unfortunately for me, they were made from dark chocolate with lots of palm oil which didn't tempt my taste buds. Visitors were offered chocolates, home-made biscuits and a sip of sugarless strong Arabic coffee that had been boiled with about five or six cardamom pods in a Dallah(a special Arabic pot for making coffee). It was usually placed into a Thermos flask and served in a small cup without a handle.
Fawaz was Muslim so we used to visit his friends during the Christian celebrations. Each morning for three days we would wear our new clothes and set out on foot to visit our neighbours, then work our way towards the perimeter of the village visiting as many friends as possible, then return home for lunch and a nap and in the late afternoon we would begin again. Each visit would last only fifteen minutes or so and then we were off to the next house.
On Easter Sunday and Christmas Eve the townsfolk would gather at the church on top of the tel and slowly walk behind a huge wooden cross which was held by at least four men. The father of the church would lead the procession as they wound their way down the narrow dirt streets of the tel. The older women wore their best traditional Skelbieh folklore costume, which was made from either black or navy blue velvet or cotton, depending on the season. Their headdress was made from a dark blue and gold silk scarf wrapped around their head and above it a handmade designed white cotton scarf was wrapped over the forehead and base of the skull and left hanging on both sides. The older women would wear their gold coins that were threaded together and tied at the back of their heads under the scarves and were displayed just below their white scarf on their forehead. They would waddle down the road at the side of the tel and they affectionately reminded me of a group of graceful penguins. The procession would continue on through the main thoroughfare of Skelbieh, where it would pause and the people would dance and sing and pray.
St. George's Monastery (Deir Mar Jirjis) was a Greek Orthodox monastery located in northwestern Syria, south west of the city of Homs. St. George's Monastery was built in the late 5th or early 6th century. Every year for a few days in September, hundreds of people from Skelbieh would make a pilgrimage to the monastery to celebrate the feast of the elevation of the Holy Cross. They travelled by cars, micro buses and motorbikes. In fact, hundreds of motorbikes, because nearly every family in town owned a motorbike, but very few in those days owned a car, including us. On their return journey from the monastery the whole town would wait for the familiar roar of the bikes as they entered the town with two and sometimes three men riding one bike. They rode side by side making as much noise as possible whilst others were perched on the roof of their buses singing and playing musical instruments. The combination of speed and smoke from their exhausts and the ear numbing noise they were making, was very exciting albeit extremely dangerous.

Syria was a very religious country and the towns were built according to the faith of the people. Even the cities had their separate Muslim, Christian and Jewish quarters. Muslims were estimated as constituting eighty seven percent of the total population. Seventy four percent were members of the Sunni branch, while the remaining thirteen percent were Alawites, Ismailis and other Shia groups. The rest of the population were made up by Christians, while three percent were Druze and Jewish.
During the Muslim festivals the townsfolk used to visit Fawaz and his family. Again, we would offer the traditional coffee, sweets and biscuits, although my biscuits weren't home-made. Fawaz used to order at least five kilos of besbar(a large round shortbread biscuit), from the local bakery about a month before the celebrations began.
Eid-ul-Fitr (the "Festival of the Breaking of the Fast"), occurs as soon as the new moon is sighted at the end of the month of fasting, namely Ramadan.
Eid-ul-Adha (the "Feast of Sacrifice") is the great festival of Islam and its most important feature is the sacrifice of an animal (cow, goat, sheep, or other appropriate beast) in commemoration of the ram sacrificed by Abraham in place of his son.

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Tammarah

Tammarah always carried a bunch of flowers when she used to visit me. Her kindly gesture made sure that mother nature was represented in my humble one room abode. She wasn't known for her soft and gentle ways, but more so as a tough, wiry, wrinkled, cranky, childless widower that one would be in fear of locking horns with. Tammarah held a soft spot in her heart for me and would visit me regularly and stand in my doorway until I invited her in, but would never sit down or visit for long. She had a reputation for being unreasonable and gossipy and no one ever knew her age, but I believe her cantankerous nature kept her sprightly and young. Fawaz and I would give her money when she visited because she lived on the generosity of the townsfolk and her brother, who lived in another village further north of the country. She kept chickens and had a vegetable garden although her pride and joy was her flower garden. I was privileged to once enter her one room and saw it was sparsely decorated but had the basic comforts of any home. A bed, gas burner, table and chairs and a cupboard were all placed with precision and thought.
Tammarah lived next door to Um Sieed and like her neighbour, her land and home was situated below the surface of the steep road that adjoined her property, only separated by a footpath where some of the local children (and I am ashamed to admit, that sometimes included Azzam) would throw stones onto her roof and continually call out her name until she ran after them with a stick in hand, swearing and chasing the children down the road promising to tell their parents on them. She died many years later on a cold and snowy evening. She was found lying next to her soo-peear(heater), with the match stick she was going to light it with, still in her hand. Tammarah was over one hundred years old.

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Saturday, January 29, 2011

Poker
December 30th 2010 continued from previous posts

The days in our one room would pass slowly, especially being forced to stay indoors during the searing summer and snowy winters. I found a fun activity to pass the time and as well as enjoy the companionship of other women. Fawaz wasn’t too happy about my new hobby because he had heard rumours that I was the popular subject of idle gossipers. The educated Russian wives of his three very good friends were working as doctors and one as a pharmacist. I on the other hand was using my time to sharpen my poker skills. The ladies and I would meet each morning after our housework was complete and enjoy a friendly game or two of poker. Most of the children were of similar ages and they delighted in playing with each other whilst their mothers drank matte tea(a caffiene free Argentinian plant used as a tea and drunk through a decorated metal straw with a filter in the bottom end of it.) We all used to smoke the cheaper Syrian brand cigarettes which were harsh on the oesophagus and gave me quite a head spin. Marlboro cigarettes were contraband and more expensive. I was quite a card shark in those days because I poured all my mental energy into learning how to outwit my opponents.
The arabic words for king of hearts or nine of spades or its my turn to deal, just rolled off my tongue as if I was a native speaker of the language. Skelbieh had its own dialect which they called Socloobee and my new band of women were proud of my village accent.
Wednesday 29th December 2010
Summers in Skelbieh were long and extremely hot, while winters were short with severe cold winds and oftimes it would snow. There was one swimming pool in the town and its water was drawn from the local spring, where in times past the townsfolk used to gather and fill their ceramic urns and transport them home balanced securely on their heads. There were segregated swimming days for males and females. Men were allowed to swim from Monday to Wednesday and women on Thursdays.
Sunday was set aside as a family day. The water was shockingly cold and it left my outer limbs quite numb. Women were only permitted to wear full bathers and not cover themselves with t-shirts. Before the pool opened in the mid 1990’s it was commonplace for only the boys to learn to swim. They usually taught themselves by trial and error at the local waterholes. Yasmin and Azzam learnt to swim in the ocean. We used to visit Lattakia in the humid 40degree Celsius summer months and rent a holiday flat by the coastal waters of the Mediterranean. Most of the popular beaches were privately owned and we paid to use the beach and its facilities. In Australia the beaches were free and I was used to being tumbled about in the rough surf. The opposite was true of the clear, gentle, sapphire blue water that lapped onto the sandy shores of the Syrian coast. I’d love to watch the Arabic women, light-heartedly splashing ankle deep in the sea and gingerly making their way to deeper water whilst covered from head to toe in their saturated clothing that clung to their nubile figures. There were women wearing burkas and girls wearing bikinis and I was always at peace playing with the children and enjoying our lazy summer holidays.

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Apamea

In Apamea most of the uncovered ruins date back to the Roman and Byzantine ages. The main avenue is about 2km long and is enclosed by columns with spiralled fluting. Apamea was destroyed in the 12th century by two violent earthquakes. Although many columns are still standing the rest are being restored to their original beauty. When Yasmin and Azzam grew older they used to climb the columns, especially the archways. Their father would take them for long walks, retracing his childhood memories, where he used to play with his friends in the ancient pile of stones that was once the amphitheatre, or tell them stories about a tunnel built from Apamea and ending at the springs in the mountains to the west. Of course, I was anxious for them to get down off the archways but it appeared that they delighted in showing off their inherited fearless nature. Fawaz would take us on many adventurous journeys and often times I was an unwilling tourist when I saw the treacherous roads we were to travel along or windy mountain heights that apparently were waiting for us to climb.
Yasmin was approximately 8 years old when she fell from one of the huge ancient stones bordering the main thoroughfare of Apamea and as a result, broke her front tooth in half. They were lucky to escape with only scratches and bruises and until now they treasure their wonderful childhood memories from their magical Apamea days.
There is still so much to unearth and discover at Apamea. It is illegal to dig for treasure or sell any antiquities outside of the country. Syrians need to keep their wealth of priceless artifacts for themselves and future generations. On one of our many excursions to Apamea, we passed through a small village where Fawaz pointed out a brown tiled, richly adorned house that was built by the use of illicit income of one of Apameas tomb raiders. Needless to say, he wasn’t enjoying the proceeds of his illegal activities because he was a guest at one of the governments penal institutions.

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Monday, December 27, 2010

HISTORY OF SKELBIEH

Fawaz would leave early in the morning to supervise the builders and the children and I were left to our own devices. Um Sieed's house was built beneath the level of the road, which meant that her tenants living on the second floor had only to walk a few metres along the verandah to reach the footpath, which in turn, gave easy access for Yasmin and Azzam's daily escape, allowing them to play freely with the neighbourhood children. I was always worried about the childrens' safety, especially the thought, that if they ventured onto the road, they could be injured from a passing car or motorbike. The local men, women and children would walk in the middle of the road and seemed to be oblivious to the passing traffic. They would walk arm in arm taking up most of the thoroughfare and appeared seemingly indifferent to the beeps and curses from frustrated drivers. Before I could discover my venturesome childrens' whereabouts, they were often long gone, hand in hand with a few of the neighbours' children, visiting their father at the building site or playing on the adjoining tel(hill).
Skelbieh is a province of Hama and located about an hours drive north west of its mother city. Its history dates back to the Arameans, a semi-nomadic and agricultural society who lived in upper Mesopotamia (Biblical Aram) during the Late Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Skelbieh also flourished in the days of Apamea. It was situated in an important military position to guard Apamea from attacks from the south. Apamea is located about 5kms north of Skelbieh. It was built by Saluqos Nikator, one of Alexander the Great's generals and the first king of the Seleucids in Syria in 300 BC. He named it after his Persian wife, Afamia. Pompey made the city part of the Roman Empire in 64 BC. After the earthquake at Apamea in 1157, Skelbieh was mainly used as a fortress, protecting its inhabitants from the threats of neighbouring tribes.
Skelbieh is an Aramaic(the language of Jesus Christ) word that means defiant, opposing and stubborn. The first homes on the tel were built from mud, wood and the remains of plants that grew on the banks of the Orontes. Relics such as pottery and olive presses from the Roman period were unearthed during the cultivation of the surrounding land.
We loved to pack a lunch in the warmer months of spring or the cool autumn and ride out to Apamea on Fawaz's Lambretta scooter. I would sit side-saddle behind Fawaz with Yasmin perched on the spare back tyre holding tightly onto me and Azzam would stand at the front of the scooter gripping the handlebars, with his head just above the bottom of the front windscreen. We rode through fields where tender young stalks of wheat were waiting patiently for the summer heat, stopping only at local springs to quench our thirst, or to enable the children to search for mudcrabs.

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Saturday, December 25, 2010

UM SIEED'S ROOM

It was difficult to find rental accommodation in the town because if one rented one's home to someone then it was virtually impossible to evict them. The law at that time was totally in favour of the tenant and the landlord had little or no rights. We stayed with Esser for a week and then moved into Fawaz's uncle's home. His father's brother had died and his aunty, Um Sieed (Sigh-eed) shared a two storied, four roomed cement house with three families. She lived in one room with her young daughter Tamarsill. Her son Fararj and his wife Eptisam lived with their daughter Filly in the adjoining room. Um Sieed rented one of the upstairs rooms to a soldier and his wife from the neighbouring mountains. Fawaz rented the fourth room for our family. The toilet was at the end of a narrow verandah. It faced the street, was an arabic style hole in the floor, had no roof, its walls were made of broken bricks and the door was a piece of hessian cloth hung loosely with nails.
Our room had two windows, one made with a rusted steel frame and the second was boarded up with plywood. The door was made of decorated steel and the unpainted cement walls were very depressing. We rented the room for two years because Fawaz had bought a house about one hundred metres up the road and our room allowed him to be close to us as well as supervise the building of our new premises. We sold our rented house in Australia and used the money that was left after the mortgage was paid, to finance the building of our new home.
Fawaz was hoping for us to move into our newly purchased property but the tenant that came with the sale, refused to move without a payout that equalled the price of the house. It was an old building and Fawaz had plans to build our home on the roof.
He applied through the courts to have the tenant evicted, to no avail and there were many tense and stressful times between Fawaz and the tenant before he finally accepted a payment to move.
The two years that we spent living in the room were very difficult for me.
There was no kitchen or bathroom. A sink was built in one corner and a brick wall separated the metre and a half by metre and a half square room from the rest of the living quarters. Two double mattresses were piled in one corner, which were used for both the lounge and bedding and a fridge adorned the far right corner next to a cupboard, on top of which sat a gas stove. There was no space left for anything else except our soopeear (Kerosene heater).
Bath time was a family affair, because I thought if I was going to set up the room for one person to have a bath, then we would all take our turn at cleansing ourselves. A large aluminium container with a small stool positioned in the middle of it, replaced the customary bath. I would boil a pot of water on the gas stove and combine it with cooler water in a bucket, to be used with a cup and poured over oneself, followed by a good soaping up and a final rinse. The floor was made of cement, so any water spillage was of no consequence. Yasmin usually bathed first because Azzam had no interest in sitting still for any length of time, especially if it meant allowing me to clean him. I imagined it would of been a sight to watch, with me bare skinned and sitting on a stool made for a 2 year old, in a container less than a metre in diameter and tentatively directing the water that poured from my well worn frayed plastic cup. Luckily, a faded lemon curtain separated my humble bathroom from the daily toilet traffic that passed by my window.
The townsfolk often asked Fawaz, in front of me, how a foreigner could live in such a drab environment, as they could not themselves even contemplate living under the same conditions. I would ask Fawaz to translate to them, that we were lucky to be building our beautiful home made of sandstone and marble and that our accommodation was only temporary.

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Sunday, December 19, 2010

Uboo Feherd arrived on his post second world war motorbike wearing his oil stained dungarees. Fawaz looked so prissy sitting behind him with his straight back, suit, tie and black shiny leather shoes.
There was no hugging or kissing as he was not one to show physical signs of affection in public. He listened to my story and I could see he was very upset, yet he knew he couldn't do anything about our predicament at that present moment, because of the position his cousin held in his profession and as the problem hadn't escalated due to my timely actions, there was no recourse except retreat and getting on with our lives.
Fawaz reassured me that we were safe and promised that nothing like that would ever happen to us again and it never did. He made plans for our next course of action, as I refused to leave Skelbieh and the safety it afforded the children and I.
We slept at Esser's home in their visitors' living room, on a double bed that was used as a lounge by day and a bed by night. We were protected from the summer mosquitoes by a flimsy net. As we lay sound asleep, an enemy that couldn't be seen, heard, but felt, gave the four of us a rude awakening. Azzam started to cry and I couldn't stop itching. There we were, trapped under our net and being attacked by a swarm of minuscule flying insects that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. We changed into long sleeved pyjamas, covered ourselves from head to toe with a blanket and still they managed to infiltrate our defenses. It was the most painful and mentally exhausting so-called sleep that I had ever experienced.

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Saturday, December 18, 2010

SAFETY

Once the bus reached the plains beneath the mountains, I knew we were close to our destination. We couldn't go to my childrens' grandparents as Fawaz was not in contact with them and I didn't have any idea as to his whereabouts. He had a good friend called Esser and he lived about a kilometre out of town. I asked our most kind and generous new friend to inform the driver when to stop the bus so we could alight and make our way to Uboo Feherd's home. Uboo meant father of, so Fawaz was called Uboo Azzam. Uboo Feherd lived with his wife and children in a faded blue two roomed cement house surrounded by cotton fields. There was no particular path that led to his house so we climbed over rocks and long grass until we found it. To Azzam's delight we were greeted by chickens, a friendly goat, some geese and a dog. Esser's wife came to the door to greet us. She beckoned for us to come in. We kissed each other as is the custom, right cheek ,left cheek and right again and she instinctively knew, what had to be done to relax the children and I. Firstly, she tended to their needs of toileting and feeding them with sandwiches made from flat arabic bread buttered with zarta and oil. She sent them out to play with her children and I was content to know that they were safe and sound in their father's beloved hometown.
Word was sent via their telephone line to locate Fawaz. Um Feherd could see how upset I was and knew that the only comfort that she could afford me was Fawaz.

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Wednesday, December 15, 2010

THE VISITOR

Living in a city in Syria gave us the opportunity to buy delicacies, that otherwise we could not find in a small town such as Skelbieh. Food has always been an important part of my life, not only for survival, but for its actual enjoyment, taste and sensuality. It has also been an emotional crutch and a great source of comfort during difficult times.
I cannot remember buying many tinned food products other than jam, tuna and mortadella. The main foods that were stored in my freezer were ice-cream and frozen fresh vegetables, cut, shelled or peeled in the summer months for use in the winter.
Ninety nine percent of the food we ate was either picked fresh on the farms that morning or the previous day, or killed in the case of meat, chicken or fish, on the same day we bought it. Syrian people liked their meat and vegetables fresh. Meat was a lot more expensive to buy than vegetables, hence, a small amount of meat was used in cooking, with lots of onions, garlic and vegetables in season.
Azzam and Yasmin especially enjoyed the fruit of a cactus called prickly pear or (teen sebbear). Its tubercles had small prickly spines on the skin. The flesh was yellow to dark red in colour, sweet and juicy with crunchy seeds throughout. They were always a treat when we, in later years, returned to the seaside for holidays.
Arabic pastries were rich in honey and sugar and sweet on the tooth. Anything made with dates was my favourite, particularly a biscuit called (mamoul) made from semolina, dates, orange flower water and rose water. It was such a treat to eat out in a restaurant. Fawaz didn't like to eat out and occasionally he would buy a roasted chicken or kebabs.
I missed Australia so much and having no family or friends and no-one to converse with in English was at times difficult to bear.
Fawaz wasn't an easy man to live with. He set high standards for himself and others to live by and his twelve brothers and sisters were afraid to do the wrong thing by him. He was always the head of his Syrian family, because his dad Aziz was oftentimes away hawking his goods to folk in the mountains. I always liked to keep the peace, especially for the sake of the children, so I left many an argument unanswered.
Our time in Lattakia was coming to an end because Fawaz was in the process of negotiating a deal to buy a house in Skelbieh, his hometown. He had many friends and relatives in Skelbieh and his dream was to grow old surrounded by them. That was definitely not my dream. I planned to return to Australia in the future.
One of Fawaz's second or third cousin who lived in the mountains visited us in Lattakia. He appeared to be friendly and trustworthy although I had no idea what he or anyone else was talking about. I tended to drift off into my dreamworld and live in my own head. Fawaz asked him to check on the children and I whilst he was away on one of his Skelbieh excursions. This particular cousin, due to his occupation, always carried a gun and one morning he came to visit us. His presence afforded me no comfort as he had brought a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag and proceeded to ask for two glasses. I could not speak Arabic so I gestured to him that I did not drink and he immediately started to smile flirtatiously and I was anxious and afraid. I knew I had to leave before he got too drunk and I feared for the childrens' and my safety. They were playing in another room so I apologetically made my exit to check on them and quickly packed a small suitcase with some clothes and ran out the front door into the courtyard, opened our huge steel gate and ran down the footpath, with the children in hand, trying to hail a taxi. As we climbed into our taxi I could see him at the gate watching us depart. The only word I could say to give directions to the driver was "bus." He took me to the bus terminal and I gave him a handful of money as I wasn't sure what the taxi fare cost.
There we were, standing, the children upset and myself a wreck and nowhere to go except Skelbieh. I didn't know how to get to Subarb's house or even the name of her suburb. Fawaz took care of all the day to day travel arrangements and I had never left the house without him because not only would he not allow me but I had no reason to leave.
There were brightly dressed bedouin women sitting on their luggage with children playing near them. Some men were dressed in their galapeas and holding onto goats. There were girls and young men in jeans carrying books, maybe taking a break from their university studies. Everyone had somewhere to go and most knew how to get there except me. A man wearing a suit was standing near the entrance to the makeshift bus shelter and I said the word "Skelbieh" to him with an inflection in my voice which was both a question and a plead. He pointed in the direction of an old fashioned white and red two toned bus. I thanked him and we made our way across the dusty bus depot to buy our ticket. I stood on the stairs of the bus and again I said the magic word "Skelbieh" and gave the driver a five hundred Syrian pound note($15) and he gave me change and I knew then that we were safe at last.
The bus gradually filled with passengers and we were asked by the driver to move from our seats and directed to one seat at the front of the bus. Yasmin, Azzam and I and my small suitcase had to squash into a tiny space. The children were upset and I started to cry. The tears would not stop and a young man called to me from behind. He called me Um Azzam, which means mother of Azzam and kindly offered his seat to Yasmin and I thanked him. He stood in the crowded aisle for the rest of the two and a half hour trip. We exchanged some polite conversation as he could speak some English. Apparently, he knew Fawaz and was sorry that I was so upset. It was Friday, and a public holiday so he was able to have a day off from his studies at the Faculty of Medicine in Lattakia university and return home for some rest and relaxation.

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Lattakia

Azzam took his first steps at the resort even though his extra weight and cotton nappy hindered his initial progress, he finally managed to wobble his way down the slippery marble tiled hallway.
Fawaz rented a two bedroom furnished apartment in the city of Lattakia which was to be our home for the next six months. We lived on the ground floor of an eight storey apartment complex and had our own garden. I was thrilled to have an old fashioned tub washing machine, as I had been washing by hand, which included Azzam's nappies.
We enjoyed being tourists and visited as many ancient sites as we could and walked along the covered cobble stoned streets of endless markets called, souks.

Lattakia is the main port city of Syria and has a long history of occupation from the Phoenicians, Romans, Crusaders and the Ottoman Rule as well as the French.
We visited Ugarit, an ancient city of Syria situated 10 kms north of Lattakia on the Meditteranean coast. I remember climbing the hills surrounding the ancient ruins and having the most magnificent view of both Ugarit and its coastline. Azzam and Yasmin played hide and seek between the ancient brick structures that jutted out all over the field where a once mighty city was built.
Ugarit flourished from about 1450 to 1200 BC, and then it was completely deserted. In 1928 a farmer accidentally opened an old tomb while plowing a field. He had stumbled upon Ugarit. The subsequent excavations revealed an important city and the Ugaritic alphabet comprising of thirty letters corresponding to sounds was found inscribed on clay tablets. It is said, that it is the oldest alphabet in the world.
I was fascinated with the history connected to the Temple of Baal at Ugarit. Worship of Baal, was practised by Syria’s Semitic peoples and the Canaanites, of whom its worship is mentioned in the Bible. Baal represented strength, fertility and control of the weather. We would often take an evening walk through the city to the port and buy corn on the cob and roasted chestnuts from street vendors and sit consuming our delights, at the feet of the huge statue of Baal which adorned the entrance of the antiquities museum.
The Syrian people have had many sad years under foreign occupation and in an agreement known as the Sykes-Picot agreement, Syria was put under French rule in 1920. The United Nations Security Council came up with a resolution demanding France's withdrawal from Syria in 1946.

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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

MILITARY SEASIDE RESORT

Yasmin and Azzam lay asleep on the backseat of the taxi, with the rhythmic sound of the engine lulling them into an even deeper, relaxed slumber.
Several hours later we arrived in Lattakia. The taxi pulled up at the gate of Fawaz's sister, Suharb. His kind and gentle sister warmly welcomed us into her home. She lived in a three roomed apartment built over her father-in-law's house, in an outer suburb of the city.
We had lived out of our suitcases since our arrival in Syria, six weeks earlier and I was adept at finding our articles of clothing at a moments notice. Moving houses wasn't a foreign activity for me. My life had been one of many abodes and I was never insecure at the thought of finding a new residence. We stayed with Suharb for a week or so and moved into the Syrian army beachside resort apartments, which were vacant because it was the winter season. The Meditteranean military coastal resort had soldiers standing guard at every entrance. The Syrian army had to a be alert because there was always a threat of assassination of top military personnel by one of Syrias' enemies. Syria was prepared for any threat of invasion or war. The knowledge of which was a sobering thought at the time and quite nerve-racking nevertheless, for an Australian born pacifist.
The apartment was sparsely furnished and the floor was made of marble which was cool in the summer months but very cold in winter. Our daily routine consisted of preparing meals, bathing and our daily stroll to the beach. Watching the glistening sunset over the Meditteranean ocean always managed to gently raise my spirit. Azzam and Yasmin were living for the moment as children do and I followed in their astute wisdom. As far as I was concerned our adventure had just begun and I kept that innocent outlook on life for most of the nine and a half years that we lived in Syria.
I wasn't used to seeing soldiers carrying guns in Australia and the sight of the armed men standing at the gates always made me nervous. On many occasions Fawaz had to travel outside of Lattakia and I was left to look after the children.
I can remember feeling nervous and alone in a strange country whose language I could not understand and the arabic letters of their alphabet had no meaning to me. Whilst the children were oblivious to anything except their present needs and desires, I was creating in my mind, dark scenarios involving abandonment and helplessness. I imagined Fawaz not returning and the subsequent events that would follow. There was no Australian Embassy in Syria. It was situated in Lebanon. There was no-one to talk to except my beautiful children and at the early ages of 18 months and 3years old, our conversation was limited.
We had a black and white television in our bedroom and after the children would go to sleep at night I would desperately try to find the local TV channels, but was thwarted in my efforts as there was no antennae attached to the television. I drew on my experiences during my childhood (which included using the outside toilet and a plank of wood to make a see-saw) where I was always building and pulling things apart to mend and until now can usually find a result for most simple household repairs. I never left the holiday resort without Fawaz, so I had to rely on the few items that I had in the kitchen. Anything made of a metal substance would of been ideal and I found the simple pot scourer helped to solve my problem. After I untangled the metal spagetti-like thread, I attached one end to the empty antennae section at the back of the television and trailed the remaining thread along the floor and out the window, along the verandah railing and wrapped it around a metal pole. The moment had come to see if my invention was going to fill my empty night hours with companionship, even if if wasn't to be a two way relationship, I was willing to settle for unrequited love.
After tuning the television for a few seconds, to my surprise, I managed to find a TV channel. It didn't matter that I couldn't understand what was being spoken. I had my company for the night and I slept soundly with the knowledge that I was not alone.

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Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Fawaz's family were very proud of him living in Australia and married to an Australian. They imagined the land of koalas and kangaroos to be populated with wealthy people and that their son was one of them. Little did they know that we were just average wage earners with a mortgage and children to care for. We took out a second mortgage on our mountain brick veneer home to finance our trip and rented both upstairs and downstairs. The money left over after our mortgage was paid each month was more than enough to live comfortably and help the family build onto their two roomed home.
Fawaz's father Aziz was an honest, kind man and very learned. When he was in his teens the local Greek Orthodox priest had taught him to read and write in Arabic. He was always reading and had many stories from the past to tell his children. His wise advice was welcomed by the townsfolk. They used to go to him to mediate between family disputes or to help with their many and varied problems. It wasn't unusual to see him sitting outside his home in winter with a blanket over his legs and wearing his favouite galabeya covered with his black sheepskin bedouin cape.
His friends would come and join him and arabic coffee was in endless supply.
There was an understanding between Aziz and Fawaz that whenever Fawaz returned to settle in Syria, then the house that he had built and paid for would be signed over to him. Aziz agreed to do that so Fawaz started building a further four rooms downstairs for his family and a second storey which was to be our part of the house.
The steel columns and cement brick walls had started to take shape and everyone was excited to see the gradual emergence of a new family home.
Unbenownst to Fawaz, his father was taking advise from family members and friends urging him to keep the house in his name. When the documents were ready and waiting to be signed by Aziz, he broke the news to Fawaz that he wasn't going to sign them. Fawaz was devastated, he felt betrayed and used and a huge argument ensured and we moved out of the unfinished building which we no longer called home.
The huge yellow 1960's taxi arrived at ten o'clock that night and we piled into it with our only worldly possessions and then it dawned on me that the life I had envisioned for my family in this once hospitable house was gone and our future uncertain. It brought back memories from the past and my stomach ached as I clung to my two sleepy children. We drove easterly into the pitch black of the mountain range and towards the Meditteranean seaside city of Lattakia.

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Tuesday, May 25, 2010

THE FAMILY

After we arrived from Australia we spent six weeks living with my in-laws and six of their thirteen children. That meant that there were twelve people living in two rooms. The toilet was a hole in the concrete floor with a small hose attached to a tap next to the hole. It was quite an art form to crouch down and follow the set procedure of cleansing oneself with a hose. I would end up spraying the wall, myself and soaking my shoes with cold water. The kitchen was very small and had a concrete bench and a large sink with one cold water tap with a hose attached to it. There was a refrigerator, gas stove and two or three small wooden stools about thirty centimetres tall. Fawaz's mother and sisters used to sit on the stools and prepare their food. It always amazed me how they would cut up and dice the vegetables in their hands without using a chopping board. I used to watch them holding a cotton white peeled potato and dice it with a sharp knife and the blade just skimming over their toughened weatherworn skin.
The peelings and any unwanted vegetables would land on the floor and after the food was prepared and before the cooking process took place, the floor would be sprayed with water and a T shaped wooden implement,(called a messarhah) with a rubber bar attached to it would be drawn across the surface and the water and peelings would be removed.
Pots and pans were enormous and they catered with at least twenty people in mind as there would usually be a visiting brother, sister, cousin, friend or relative.
We sometimes visited relatives who lived in small villages high up in the mountains or on the fringe of the desert and their dishes were washed using their only household tap which was usually situated outside of the house. Of course there were many wealthy families living in Syria but Fawaz came from a financially poor family but rich in love and spirit.
There was lots of chatter and merriment when the women were cooking and the men waited eagerly for their meal. The women were very fussy and nervous about preparing their dishes, especially if they had visitors. They took great pride in cooking and never seemed to whinge or appear burdened by their day to day housework (unlike myself). They paid attention to every detail and were very houseproud. Fawaz's family didn't have many material possessions but they were happy with their lot. The women served the men and Fawaz expected the same from me.
We shared the cooking and housework in Australia. He was a housedad looking after Yasmin and Azzam when I was at work. The evening meal was cooked and the house always looked clean when I returned home in the afternoons.
That wasn't to be in Syria. He was the head of his family and that meant our family. His dad was bed bound and an invalid. Everyone came to Fawaz to have their problems solved both financially and legally. The whole town respected him because he was the first person to ever travel overseas working on ships from Skelbieh. They looked up to him because he had lived and worked overseas and they just assumed he was wealthy.
His family lived from season to season, harvest to harvest. If the weather wasn't favourable then their income was small and they borrowed from the bank. Fawaz would pay off their debts and support his family as he was the eldest child.

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Monday, May 17, 2010

Yasmin and Azzam were excited to have so many cousins to play with. Azzam was 17 months old and Yasmin was nearly three. Azzam had pale coloured skin with white blonde hair and blue/green eyes. Yasmin had olive coloured skin with light brown hair and hazel/green eyes. They were both playful and happy children and loved being outdoors. Fawaz's family home was situated on the outskirts of the village next to fields that grew wheat, sunflowers and chick peas. When the children were a few years older they would play in the fields behind their grandfather's home in a special rawdha(garden) where they caught frogs and collected tadpoles and crabs from the ponds. Azzam would chase the geese until they got fed up with him and turned on him. He would run down the hill with his arms flapping and slipping on the mud in his red and yellow rainboots. He loved animals and often made friends with the local Bedouin shepherds. He would sit for hours next to his newly made friend and watch the sheep grazing. He was always under the watchful eye of myself or one of his uncles or cousins.
When he was three years old he went missing for a couple of hours until Fawaz found him at the local rubbish tip with a couple of seven year old ragamuffin neighbours. He was scavaging on his knees with his little bottom in the air alongside a mother pig and her piglets. Azzam had many like adventures during his childhood growing up in Skelbieh and I created a story based on his childhood adventures and named the young boy in the story Rudy Rascal.
At night, when the children would be settling down to sleep I would make up another Rudy Rascal adventure to tell them. I didn't have any story books to read to them so I would tell them all my favourite Grimm's fairytales,Hans Christian Anderson and make believe stories.
When the children were four and five years old we were living in a self contained room. The eastern wall faced the neighbours' verandah only a metre or so apart. A window was bordered in with a thin sheet of plywood. I would sing to the children each day. Unbenownst to me, I was also singing to the young woman who lived next door. She told Fawaz that she used to listen and cry to the sound of the sweet sadness in my voice.

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Sunday, May 16, 2010

A KINDLY GENTLEMAN

One morning there was a knock on the door and an old man dressed in his weathered cotton grey galabeya greeted me and asked to see the head of the household. He was then greeted by Bahija, my childrens' grandmother and invited to sit and have coffee with her family. He told us that he was on a walking journey to visit his son who lived in the mountains. The shoes he wore were worn out and in great need of repair.
Apparently, he had been walking for five days. His home was in the far north east of Syria. He asked humbly and politely for some food to help him continue his journey. Fawaz's sisters were sent to the kitchen to prepare a meal and returned with their sineea (the large tray) filled with delicious food.
Their unexpected visitor ate only what his body needed to give him energy for the next part of his travels. Bahija offered him two of her husband's Aziz's galabeyas, the traditional arabic tunic worn by men. She also offered two pairs of shoes. The kindly gentleman accepted one galabeya and one pair of shoes. He ate only what his body needed and accepted only what he had use for in the present moment. The future would take care of itself. I learnt a humbling lesson from that man. He trusted the kindness of his Arabic people and knew he was safe and would be looked after on his journey to visit his son.
Fawaz told me that in his Arabic culture, if someone asks for help then one is committed to give assistance because to refuse would bring shame on them and their family. In the olden days if I had commented on a beautiful piece of jewellery that someone was wearing then the item would be offered to me in full sincerity. I was a little playful and used to joke with Fawaz's sisters or female friends and comment on their jewellery and when they offered it to me I would jokingly take it and they would be surprised as it was basically just good manners to offer and they didn't usually expect someone to accept. It was the same with water. Before someone would drink a glass of water in front of others it was polite to offer the glass of water to the other people first. I always accepted the offer until one day Fawaz told me that I wasn't supposed to say yes.

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Saturday, May 15, 2010

story continued from post May 8

We travelled north to Fawaz's hometown of Skelbieh. It was a very uncomfortable trip. There were nine people squashed into an old yellow mercedes taxi that was built for five passengers. Fawaz's relatives who arrived in the taxi were so keen to greet us at the airport that they didn't consider the maths, that we were a family of four plus their five bodies crammed into one taxi made nine. It was a nightmare of a trip. Jetlag combined with the odour of cigarettes and the noise of laughter and jovial conversation was enough to break the most patient of individuals.
It was late into the evening, winter and very cold. I had two extremely tired and hungry young children sitting on my lap. Its amazing how the romance and excitement of the journey faded as we headed north. All I wanted was a warm bed, any bed would of been appreciated.
Beds, was another topic that needed much discussion between Fawaz and myself. Fawaz's mother and father owned two rooms. Technically, Fawaz owned them as he paid for the building of the two cement rooms on a block of land that he purchased on the fringe of the town. Anyway, that's another chapter further in this story.
His family slept in one room and the other room was used for greeting visitors. We slept on mattresses in the visitors room.
Two double hand made cotton mattresses were placed together and Fawaz, myself, Yasmin and Azzam slept side by side. Our doonas were also made of cotton, harvested from their farm. They were very comfortable to sleep under.
It is the custom of Arabic people to cordially welcome their visitors. It shows a sign of respect to have a room set aside for their arrival. Delicious food, warm drinks and especially arabic coffee were offered to the visitors and truly given with a gracious heart. I loved and still love visiting Arabic friends because I always feel so welcome in their homes.
I remember an occassion when an elderly man knocked on the door of my childrens' grandparents. We had just finished breakfast and had cleared the tray. Breakfast, lunch and dinner was always eaten together seated on the floor around a large shiny stainless steel tray. On the tray was placed the foods that we were to consume and a glass of water. A typical breakfast would include a bowl of olives, both green and black, eggs fried and placed on a large plate and a bowl of fresh yogurt that had been purchased, as well as the flat Arabic bread, each morning. Zartar was a favourite food which was made from a combination of dried sesame seeds, thyme and mountain herbs. It was brown in appearance and eaten with bread dipped in olive oil. Moorish and temptingly delicious was an adequate description, especially with a side dish of diced tomatoes and sliced cucumbers. My favourite was my mother-in-law's homemade chencleesh. To some foreigners it may have smelled and tasted of dirty socks but I fell in love with the taste and it was always a staple in our diets. It was made from curdled yoghurt and salt, then rolled into a cricket sized ball, dipped in thyme and various herbs and left to dry in the sun for fifteen days, then placed in a jar until it aged and became soft.

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Thursday, May 13, 2010

I knew in my heart that our trip to Syria was for the emotional and spiritual growth of our children. My abusive father was a refugee from Hungary. He was a displaced person and came to Australia by ship from Italy in the late nineteen forties. At the age of fifteen he was forced to join an army and experienced unimaginable atrocities during World War 2. He didn't talk very much about his past but I remember him telling me one gruesome story about his time in an army prison. He told me that the guards made the prisoners a goulash stew using the body of the prisoner in an adjacent cell. I was horrified to hear such a story especially as I was only about ten years old when he told me. He left when I was nearly twelve and the only adult relative that I could depend on was my mother.
There was no extended family on my father's side and my mother left Melbourne and her family to travel the world when she was seventeen years old. She made it to Sydney where she met her first husband and wasn't to leave and see the world until our trip in 1984.
She wasn't close to her only elder sister nor her mother but she adored her father who died when he was fifty eight years old. On many occassions I used to lay awake at night and pray that my mother didn't die or I would have to go into an orphanage. That is why I knew it was the right move to live in Syria, for the sake of my children. There were so many relatives for them to get to know and a sturdy family foundation would be an enormous support for the life that lay ahead of them.
As the aeroplane approached Damascus International Airport, a new chapter and adventure was beginning in my life.

GREETINGS
Fawaz spoke in an educated Arabic accent and in Syria he always wore a suit for any activity that required him to be out of our home. In Australia it was quite the opposite, suits were mainly worn for weddings and funerals. He always liked to look his best and when he had dealings with anyone in authority he always gained their respect because he looked so dapper. I on the other hand, loved the casual look.
I had long blonde hair that was below my waist and had gained unwanted kilos after the birth of my two children. We were physically opposite in every way. He was small in stature, olive skinned, huge brown deer like eyes and black hair. Whereas I was chubby, pale skinned, grey blue eyes and had blonde hair. Blue eyes and blonde hair was always an attraction for both male and females in Syria.
Yasmin was three years old and Azzam was twenty months old when we returned to Syria on our second visit. Their relatives were so excited to see us again that they hired a taxi and travelled the four hours south from Skelbieh to Damascus. On our first visit they hired a large bus and filled it with family and friends from Fawaz's town. When I entered that bus I was intriqued as to the nature of the husks that covered the buses floorspace. Apparently, they were sunflower seed husks that had been discarded after the seeds had been removed. During our future excursions it was always a treat to have a bag of seeds for snacks, whether they were sunflower, pumpkin or watermmelon. People danced in the aisle of the bus, sang and played musical instruments. It was a homecoming that I had never experienced before.

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Wednesday, May 12, 2010

AUSTRALIA

During the first three years of our stay in Australia I gave birth to two beautiful children, Yasmin and Azzam. Yasmin was born thirteen months before Azzam. I took leave from my teaching position and looked after my family.
When I first got to know Fawaz in Greece I felt he was an old soul and that we had already shared time together, maybe in another life. I once asked him before I decided to marry him about his finances and why he hadn't saved any money after living and working overseas for twelve years. The answer he gave me touched a deep part of my soul and I knew he would be a caring and loyal partner. His earnings were accumulated and used to support his family of twelve siblings and his beloved invalid father whom he adored. He had lived a spartan life in Greece, no smoking or alcohol and he was the eldest of thirteen children and he felt a big responsibility towards them. Fawaz managed to set one brother up in a carpentary shop and pay his father's private hospital fees for a year after a horrific motor accident had taken the use of his legs. He paid for land and built two rooms for his family which meant they could leave their one room mud brick rented accommodation. Writing poetry was his first love and he had previously published his poems in Russian and Lithuanian. He was world travelled, having worked on ships and visiting most of the worlds continents.
Sometimes I felt we were brought together in this life to complete unfinished business because trouble seemed to follow us wherever we moved. Suffice to say, we decided to try our luck and a chance at real happiness in his home country of Syria. On our first trip to Syria we stayed for nine months then returned to Australia.
Six months later in the year 1989 we left for the last time intending to live and raise our children in his homeland.
The trip to the airport and the flight overseas was the most gut wrenching experience I had ever experienced. You see, my family and Fawaz were never to see eye to eye. There was a lot of ill will between them. I felt so overwhelmed with sadness during those years that I actually fell into a deep depression.
I was torn between my love and duty to Fawaz, isolation from my family and the yearning to be a part of their life.
Fawaz had an extremely persuasive and deep emotional control over me. I was vulnerable and believed him when he said we had to leave Australia without my family knowing. He was by that time my whole world, the father of my children, my only friend and confidant. I saw my family in the wrong for isolating me because of their intense dislike of my husband. I was told I was always welcome to visit them but it was given with an emphasis on the "I."
On the morning of our departure I wrote a letter to my mother and posted it at the airport. Part of my heart was sealed with that letter.
I told her how much I loved her and the family and was so sorry to leave without goodbye. The previous Sunday I had arranged an afternoon at my sister's home and my sisters, mother and I spent the last day together, unbeknownst to them, for many years. I cuddled each of them and didn't want to let them go.
Whilst sitting in the plane and listening to the song Memories from the musical Cats I managed to finally cry and the tears streamed their way down my cheeks landing on my heart, which in turn caught them and held them, giving me strength for the years that followed.

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Tuesday, May 11, 2010

WEDDING DAY

Marriage
My wedding day was scheduled for early January. I decided to get married earlier than we planned so Fawaz could return to Australia with me. I had to apply for a number of documents from Australia and Fawaz from Syria and book at the local registery office in Kallithea, a suburb of Athens. We tried three times to get married and managed to have all the documents ready by the second try but we hadn't advertised our wedding in the Greek newspapers so the registry office refused our second attempt. I had bought a special maroon crushed velvet dress for our nuptuals but was so frustrated by the red tape of Greek authorities and not expecting to get married on that day, I wore a simple skirt and white woollen jacket for our third attempt.
To my surprise we were married on our third try on the 25th January in a civil service. There were two white plaster doves on the wall in front of us, one hanging sideways and one hanging upside down and two Jehova Witness friends of Fawaz's acting as our witnesses.
The service was in Greek and I was overwhelmed. We invited our witnesses back to the flat for coffee and cake and that was that, I was married. Fawaz had sold most of his possessions in preparation for our trip to Australia. His camera was included in the sales so we didn't have a photo of our wedding.
We parted company at Athens airport.I flew home alone to Australia and he flew to Syria to arrange his affairs.
We spent four years living in Australia. They were tumultuous and often sad times. I was cut off from my family and old friends, both from their intolerance and my inability to cross over between being loyal to my husband and letting go of my old life.

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Monday, May 10, 2010

RETURN TO GREECE

Four years previously, I had taken a course called Transformations. It was a self help course based on meditation techniques. I remember attending one lecture that focused on taking risks in life. Walter Bellin, a charismatic American psychologist was the lecturer. He kept emphasising that life without risks was a life without change.
During my visit to Rome I visited the Trevi fountain and paid my silver coin to the waters of love. Little did I know at that time that the man waiting for me in Athens would be the biggest risk I had ever taken. Walter would say that if we didn't take risks then life would stay the same and I was ready for a change.
I was truly blessed and taken well care of during the three day journey to Athens. A family travelling in the same train compartment shared their food with me and I shared my bananas and bread. When they alighted a Greek Orthodox priest bought me coffee and shared his food. He spoke English and we enjoyed hours of wonderful conversation. The three day journey was nearly over and I was anxious to know if Fawaz was waiting at the station. Negative thoughts passed through my mind and I could see myself stranded in Athens, no money, no accomodation, a plane ticket from London and that was about it.
When the train pulled into the station in Athens all I could feel was sheer panic.
I couldn't see Fawaz and tears were forming in my eyes. He was nowhere to be seen. I thought maybe he had waited for me the day before and when I didn't show, he had left disheartened. I sat down on the nearest bench and waited. There was an emptiness, a numbness that came over me. I couldn't think about my next step so I just sat.
A quick stepped, handsomely dressed man rushed over to me and profusely apologised for being late and explained that he had waited for every train that had pulled into the station for the past twenty four hours. All I wanted to do was cry but I hid my tears and just breathed into the feeling of security that his presence afforded me.

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Sunday, May 9, 2010

continuing story from post May 8

Mum and I spent a month in Athens and on the island of Patmos. We farewelled Fawaz and continued on with our planned adventure. I was in half a mind as to whether I would return to Athens after we completed our European stint or to travel on to England then Ireland.
After my grandmother died, my mother decided to use part of her inheritance to travel overseas. She was an inexperienced traveller and nervous to travel on her own. That's where I came into the picture. My two sisters were married with children and she had no other choice but invite me. She was a single mum from the time I was twelve years old and I was always known as the child who carried a hammer and not a doll. Apparently, in her eyes I could fix anything, (how that included tour guide I don't know, but I didn't mind.) Hence, after waiting six months for me to save money, she decided she'd better pay for me or she would wait forever. We rented in Bondi at the time, and I was an aspiring actress with one small movie role (blink and you'd miss me) and an ad behind me.
In Australia she had her money changed into American Express cheques in both her name and mine.
We backpacked, walked and caught buses during our trip and never once caught a taxi.
When I decided to return to Greece after travelling for another month, my mother changed my American Express cheques into her name and gave me a $200 cheque, a bag of bananas and bread rolls for my two day train trip back to Athens. I left Paris by train in an easterly direction and she left going west to London. She was scared to travel on her own, but was going to stay with a friend of mine in London.
I was both excited and nervous, at the prospect of travelling through Europe on my own and wondering if Fawaz would be at the station in Athens waiting for me.
I had rung him from Paris and told him to be waiting for me in two days at a certain time and place. I didn't know then that the trip took three days. Also, a bag of bananas and bread didn't last long and the two hundred dollar cheque and a return air ticket from London to Sydney was of no use to me on the train.

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Saturday, May 8, 2010

It's been a while since I have written in my blog and I'm so happy to finally be able to log in. I forgot my password to my original blog called EvasArt and my friend was able to transfer the saved information into this one.
I'd like to write about my Syrian memories. The ten years I spent living in a country and culture that I eventually embraced.
GREECE
1984- November
A handsome dark haired man approached my mother and I on Pandrossou Street in Athens. We were looking in the window of a jewellery store and a voice behind me asked something in a foreign language. I turned around and was so surprised to see a well dressed, smooth talking, handsome man. He was actually talking to me in Russian. When I answered him in English, he replied in English, with an invitation to visit his store. He offered me gold and furs at a discount price. I felt altogether, shy, flattered and distrustful, if that is emotionally possible. I told him I didn't wear gold and I wouldn't wear the fur of an animal.
I wasn't interested in his store and I was tired. My mother and I had been backpacking around Europe and visiting as many theatre companies as we could afford to see.
He was selling furs and jewels to wealthy tourists and I couldn't understand why he was interested in a slightly chubby, jeans clad foreigner carrying a packpack. I refused his offer to go for a coffee, but little did I know that a Judas was in my midst, called Mother and she accepted.
She never let me forget that I wouldn't go to the top of the Eiffel Tower when we visited Paris,(I suffered from a fear of heights) and that I also refused to go to the Folies Bergere. I actually had no other choice as I was suffering with a terrible flu and my only interest for 5 days in Paris was my bed. She wouldn't venture anywhere on her own except to walk around the block that our hotel was situated on.
A warm shower was very welcomed before our coffee date, as we had just travelled by ship from Brindisi in Italy to Patras in Greece and then by train to Athens. My story begins on the night I had coffee with my Arabic Elvis ( he looked like a smaller, darker version of Elvis Presley.)

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