Karachi

Karachi

At the beginning of 1993 Yasmin, Azzam and I returned to Australia for a visit. We arrived in Australia in January after an eventful plane flight where Yasmin went missing in Karachi. The plane had a stopover at Karachi Airport in Pakistan and the passengers were bundled into buses and taken to a hotel for 20 hours because of a delay in the departure of our adjoining flight.
Once we were provided with the key to our ground level hotel room and we had made ourselves comfortable, I then gave the children a shower and left them to watch the television whilst I tried to take one, but was hampered in my efforts by my skirt. I was unable to undo the zipper because it had broken in Damascus and my sister in law Shehood had sewn me into it so all I could manage was to put my head and shoulders under the water. The weather was stifling and humid and the room had no air conditioner, only a fan. Whilst I was in the bathroom the children had opened the door to the room that led onto a paved area next to a well manicured lawn. Yasmin decided to wander off but Azzam stayed behind and when I found her missing I panicked and kept yelling out her name and asked everyone I met had they seen her, but there was a language barrier and they didn't understand what I was saying. I left Azzam in the room with the door locked and ran down a path that led to tourist shops in which I began looking for her whilst still calling out her name. Finally she appeared from a shop that sold crystals and she was quite unconcerned or unaware of the upset she had caused. I grabbed her, cuddled her and then told her to never ever go walkabout on her own again. She was five years old.
Azzam was not impressed to be left by himself but I had to make a choice and leaving him safely in the room for a few minutes whilst I searched for Yasmin was the best decision I could make at that time.
I was never so happy as when the children and I boarded the plane at Karachi airport, although there were still a few more dramas to overcome before that moment.
Dinner was served in the hotel restaurant and they offered a buffet style meal. I had asked the waitress about the meals I had chosen for the children and she had assured me they were not made with chilli or hot curry.
The thought of a peaceful enjoyable meal was a welcoming relief from the days emotionally draining emergency, until I heard an almighty scream coming from Azzam as he started to run around the restaurant yelling for water. I begged the waitress to bring a jug and chased Azzam until he finally stopped and guzzled as much water as his poor little 4 year old body could handle. That was the end of that meal and we returned to our room and I fed Yasmin unappetising leftover crushed biscuits.
Finally, the bus arrived to take us back to Karachi airport to catch another flight, which was again delayed. It was late at night so the children fell asleep on an airport lounge. After an hour or so we were told our plane was ready to depart and if we could proceed towards the departure gate with our tickets. I desperately tried to wake Azzam up but to no avail. Yasmin woke and could walk but I had our bags to carry and could not lift Azzam as well. There were no staff to help or trolleys and if it hadn't been for a Filipino angel we would not have made that flight. She offered to carry Azzam on her shoulder onto the bus that drove across the tarmac to the awaiting aeroplane and then up the stairs and into the planes cabin where she laid him down in his seat and he stayed asleep until Singapore. I thanked her with all my heart and asked her why she had no baggage. She told me she was working as a servant in a wealthy home in Beirut, Lebanon to support her family back home, but her visa ran out and she was picked up without any of her belongings by the immigration police and sent back to her country with a one way ticket.
We changed planes at Singapore and I knew I was in the company of fellow Australians. There was a difference in the behaviour of passengers on planes filled with predominately Arabic people or Australians. Arabic people were noisier, more friendlier and tended to play with my children. Azzam was offered a Toblerone chocolate on the plane from Damascus and he ended up covered in it. At Karachi airport he started banging the glass window in the passengers lounge and crying to go outside to play with the aeroplanes. I'm sure part of that not so unusual behaviour was a sugar high. Australians tended to keep to themselves and not interfere with the peace and quiet of others, unlike the Arabic women who would ask me anything and everything and nothing was out of bounds. Personally, I like a mixture of both cultures.

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Watercolour  2007

Pastel drawing 2006

1.Australian landscape painted at John Wilson's art class in 2011. They are actually one painting and belong together.

Part of my oil painting from art classes taken with John Wilson at Katoomba NSW Australia in 2011.

There are lots more photos posted on Evas Gallery which is my second blog and I shall post my drawings on this blog and continue writing about Skelbieh on Evas Gallery.
http://evasgallery.blogspot.com/

Azzam at 4 years old making pancakes in our one room at Um Sieeds.

Yasmin and Azzam climbing the ancient archways at Apamea.

1. The children's uncle Sieed and our new home being built.
2. The children taking a leisurely stroll with Skelbieh tel in the background.
3. Snow, Yasmin and Azzam and their scallywag friends.

The castle of Madik overlooks Apamea.

1. Apamea and Azzam
2. Yasmin and Azzam returning home from the fields of chick peas.

1. Red poppies grow wild on the tel in summertime.
2. The magnificent An-Nusrayriyah Mountains viewed from the east of Skelbieh.

The roof of our new home is nearly finished.

1. My princess Bedouin friend tending to her flock beneath the Skelbieh tel.
2. Yasmin and Azzam ready for school.

1. Fawaz's mother Bahija and his father Aziz and myself in a Bedouin sheepskin cape.
2. Our trusty Lambretta.
3. Wood laden donkeys with Yasmin and Azzam in the mountains at Sloanfee.

Bahija sifting wheat with Yasmin and her uncle Harris

                           1. View north towards Apamea.
                           2. Entrance to Apamea museum in Madik.

                                       1. Our Greek island romance.
                                       2. Um Sieed's home and our veranda and room.
                                       3. Easter pageant.

The Stars

The Stars

At first it was so unusual for me to wake up in the morning and wave at my pyjama clad neighbours as they emerged from their beds. During the summer months I slept very soundly under our cotton tent. The thick cement walls of our house would hold the days heat and it was almost impossible to have a good nights sleep inside, so we took our bedding onto the roof and slept there.
Arabic style houses were built with steel and cement and the roof was flat and ready for another floor to be added in the future. There were many uses for the roof. Foods were dried, carpets hung and cleaned and the washing was put out to dry on the roof.
As dusk was approaching, I would take up our mattresses and sheets and cotton tents and set up our nights sleeping arrangements. Two long dowling rods covered in a light see-through white cotton material, would be tied to steel columns for support. Underneath the makeshift tent would be placed the bedding and a lamp or torch.
But before everything was taken up the stairs to the roof, I would hose it down, not only to cool it, but also to remove the dust that would constantly blow in from the surrounding fields.
In those years the Syrian government allowed its citizens restricted access to electricity. There was a shortage of water flowing into Syria because of dams that were built on the Euphrates river in Turkey. Electricity could only be used for a couple of hours a day. I would wait for it to be turned on and then I would rush and use the washing machine, vacuum cleaner and air conditioner. The hot water system could then heat up and we were able to finally have a shower or bath. Some households bought a fuel generator and most stoves used gas.
The children would go to sleep as soon as the sun set because the lack of electricity meant the house was in darkness except for a few candle lights. They were confined to their mattresses under the cotton tent because I didn't allow them to play in the dark near the edge of the roof.
I would complain to Fawaz when he would leave the children and I alone in the evening and visit his friends to talk business and socialise. He said that it was essential for him to keep in touch with what was happening in the community.
The stars with their magnificent beauty were ever present as my companions of the night. I used to see the most strange and unusual sights. Once there was a bright object flitting around the stars and moving in all directions. I was fascinated with the light and followed its antics for hours.
I learnt to be at peace with myself on those long hot summer nights.

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The Move

The Move

The day had finally arrived for my family to move into our new home. There were still many jobs to be completed on the house but it was liveable and most importantly, we had our own toilet and kitchen. The cement walls, doors and window frames needed painting and the kitchen and main lounge room were open to the elements of rain, wind and snow because the carpenter from the city of Hama was late delivering our specially designed doors.
Whenever a trades person worked on our home we were contracted to provide them with one main meal a day. I couldn't manage to cook for five to ten men on my one gas stove, so we provided them with takeaway food which included chicken, kebabs, hummus and salads.
We employed tilers from a nearby mountain village and they stayed with us whilst they completed the bathrooms. The painters were using oil based paint and we had to keep moving from room to room with our bedding etc. until they completed the ceilings and walls.
Unfortunately the carpenters from Hama had difficulty finishing the main doors so I used to cook in the kitchen during the winter wearing a beanie and scarf and dodging the snow that used to blow in with the westerly winds.
I moved from living in one room to ten, plus two bathrooms. We furnished one lounge room, a dining room and two bedrooms. Two sections of the lounge room were decorated with traditional Arabic floor seating. A multicoloured velvet couch with two matching chairs filled the remaining space. We used our lounge room for greeting visitors and it was also our bedroom and dining room. It was the warmest room in winter and the coolest in summer. The rest of the house was gradually furnished but Yasmin and Azzam were more than happy to use the other rooms as their personal play area.
During the summer we would block the entrances to the front two rooms and fill them with about fifteen centimetres of water. The children used to joyfully slide on their bellies from one room to another.
It was a huge chore but good exercise when I cleaned the floors by using a hose to water them and then a messarhah (a rubber implement similar to a window cleaner) to push the water into the drains. The floors were made from marble tiles with each one a masterpiece of natural beauty.
I used to cook for hours each day. Traditional Arabic food needed much time and patience to make.
A chicken was slaughtered on the day it was bought and I would gut it and take out the liver and giblets. The giblets were then cut in half and the feed that the chicken had been eating that day was removed. The undigested grains would still be warm. The fish were bought from fish farms and Fawaz brought them home already scaled and cleaned but they would still manage to wiggle and scare me, especially when they would jump from their container and onto the floor. I intensely disliked cutting off their heads. Fresh meat was hung from hooks in small shops and cut according to ones order. Minced meat was ground in front of the customer.
Life revolved around food and the one important meal of the day. The main meal was served between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, after which it was time for a nap. In summer the shops closed their doors at one and reopened at five. During winter they closed earlier but didn't reopen because of the cold and snow.
The summer temperature would be a constant 40C or more in the day and cool down at night. We used to take our afternoon nap on the bare tiled floor in front of the door to collect any small breeze. In Australia one could have all four seasons in one day. The blustery southerly winds would blow in from the Antarctic and change the searing heat into cool rain and sometimes hail and as quick as the storm would arrive it would depart. In Skelbieh the hot weather was constant and long. The sky was invariably blue and I could always expect the overwhelming heat of the afternoons.

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Death

Death

The local Greek Orthodox cemetery was situated below the tel on the northern edge of town. Anyone from the Muslim faith were buried outside of Skelbieh. I once visited the grave of my children's great grandfather. The acre of land allotted to his faith by the local council was overgrown with weeds and resembled anything but a cemetery. There was no huge pomp and ceremony when someone died from the Alawyn faith. The person was washed in scented oils and wrapped in white cloth and buried with a prayer service within, if possible, twenty four hours of their death. The men accompanied the body to the gravesite. The deceased was laid in the grave without a coffin on his or her right side, facing Mecca. At the gravesite, it was discouraged for people to erect tombstones, elaborate markers, or put flowers or other momentos. Rather, they were encouraged to humbly remember Allah and His mercy, and pray for the deceased.
Loved ones and relatives observed a 3-day mourning period.
In Islam when one died, everything in this earthly life was left behind, and there were no more opportunities to perform acts of righteousness and faith. The Prophet Muhammad once said that there were three things, however, which may continue to benefit a person after death: charity given during life which continues to help others, knowledge from which people continue to benefit, and a righteous child who prays for him or her.
The funerals of the Skelbieh Greek Orthodox faith were remarkably different.
When someone died in the town everyone knew about it. It didn't matter what time of day or night that the person died the townsfolk would gather at the deceased family home and then proceed to walk through the town mourning and shooting their rifles into the air. The women wore black and would wail and scream and some would tear at their clothing. Sometimes there would be hundreds in the procession and I would stand on my veranda and watch them as they passed by our home. An eerie and foreboding feeling would come over me as I was faced with my own mortality.
Only the men were allowed to bury the body after the church service and they would make their way down the tel carrying the coffin into the graveyard. There were quite a few families who owned their own tomb and the coffin was then respectfully laid inside the crypt or lowered into an open grave. A period of mourning would begin and for seven days their friends and neighbours would visit and pay their condolences to the closest family members of the deceased person. They then would be offered a sip of strong sugarless Arabic coffee and directed to take a seat on one of the chairs that were placed around the room or in a tent on the street. Men were always separated from the female visitors.

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The Mountains

The Mountains

One of the mountain villages that we used to visit was called Murdash. It was situated on the eastern slope of the An-Nusayriyah mountains. Fawaz's friend Chehardy lived there with his very attractive wife and three beautiful daughters in a modest two roomed cement home. He was a teacher of economics at Skelbieh high school and had been Fawaz's friend for many years. Fawaz used to boast that his friend always ate a knob of garlic every day with his main meal and had never had a sick day in his life.
His home was the last building on the dirt road and across the steep rocky outcrops that bordered his property lived wild boars, mountain goats and hidden deep into the mountains away from the hunters were the elusive hyenas.
One day when Azzam was about eight years old he came running home all excited because he had seen a hyena in a cage at the bus depot and the men who had caught the frightened animal were displaying it to all who were interested. I don't know the authenticity of the following story but it made me aware of the dangers of walking alone in the mountains in Syria.
Apparently a doctor and his wife and children were driving across the An-Nusayriyah mountains to the seaside city of Lattakia and it was getting on dusk when he pulled over to the side of the road and ventured into the forest to find a hidden section to relieve himself of his bodily wastes when a hyena attacked and killed him. Maybe that story was an urban myth but I wasn't going to take any chances.
Hyenas were rare but could still be found in the mountains and there were reports that they had even been seen in the Gharb. I heard a story from a relative who lived in the village of Sloanfee located on one of the highest peaks of the mountain range that a tiger had been spotted there on more than one occassion.
Fawaz's family did not eat pork but a few of the Christian Skelbieh folk enjoyed hunting in the mountain for wild boar during the spring and summer months.
There were dangerous and venomous snakes in Syria which included the Egyptian cobra which was yellowish, dark brown, or black with brown crossbands. There was also the Levant viper which was
grey to pale brown with large dark brown spots on the top of the back and the Palestinian viper that was olive to rusty brown with a dark V-shaped mark on the head and a brown, zigzag band along the back.

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Red Poppies

I loved the feel of the fresh breeze and the smell of newly harvested cornfields and the sight of the buffalo herds grazing alongside the narrow roads that led westerly to the quaint villages nestled on the slopes of the mountains. My senses were never as awakened as when I was a pillion passenger on a motorbike. For some strange reason I felt that I belonged, in a country that I had no previous history with, or thoughts of visiting before I married Fawaz and yet, it was home to me. We used to stop along the roadside and pose for photographs next to the translucent water that was trickling from newly formed ponds and beside fields of wild red poppies where the children and I would lie and cuddle and I would feel so full of love and joy. If Fawaz happened to notice any dandelions or (laboon) growing in the wild he would pullover to the side of the road and take out his knife and proceed to cut and slice the nettle type plant and eat it. He used to tell me it was medicinal and the children enjoyed their share, although I tentatively consumed a tiny quantity when I took my first bite but on future excursions I stood in line to receive my treat. Syria did not have a national flower but Syrians considered Jasmine as their national flower. Some of the native flowers grown in Syria were Hyacinths, Lebanon Cedar, Hibiscus syriacus, Cedrus libani, tulips, Damask Roses, Carnations, Cabbage Flowers and various varieties of Orchids.
The mountain range was very steep and the trees were unlike the Australian gum trees. Yew, lime and fur trees grew in the mountains. The trees were stumpier, shorter, and more evergreen than the native trees of Australia. Hawthorn bushes grew in abundance. Small villages were built high along the cliffs and the roads were treacherous to navigate. Sometimes when a car or truck passed us I could hear the rocks that were dislodged plummeting down the escarpment and I would sit frozen with fear and pray as hard as I could for a safe journey to our destination.

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