put a spell on you
My heart is torn between East and West. I live somewhere between the present and the past. I don't know who I am.
Just another human being biding their time on this earth. Passionate about current affairs, history, politics (particularly MENA region), religion, cute animals and food. Posts are mainly in English but I may post in Arabic/French/Turkish.
Disclaimer: All photographs on this blog do not belong to me but to their rightful owners unless otherwise stated. All efforts have been made to link the material back to its original source. Please drop me a message if you see any of your material and would like to have it removed!
الثورة ليست حوضاً من الزهور
“A revolution is not a bed of roses.”
- Fidel Castro
الثورة ليست حوضاً من الزهور
فيدل كاسترو
ثورةٌ بالوان قوس قزح
This song was featured in the second episode of a five-part BBC series entitled ‘Syrian School’ which documented a year in the life of four schools in Damascus before the revolution. It’s a traditional, Syrian song sung by kids from one of the schools featured in the programme. The composer, Colin Winston-Fletcher, decided to give this song a modern twist to represent the vibrancy and liveliness of the kids he worked with. He was kind enough to send me a full copy of the song as long as he was credited so I would really appreciate it if none of the credits were removed.
I used to be part of a group of young Syrian activists who translated videos that came out of Syria for human rights organisations and the media to use. We would get raw footage of massacres, shelling, people being tortured and killed and we’d translate them as soon as the people on the ground in Syria could send them to us. I saw things which would have me up all night, unable to get any sleep and questioning everything I had been taught about humanity. Some images still haunt me till this day: a decapitated head, a grieving mother, a child screaming for help. Despite all that, I forced myself to watch those videos, to translate them as quickly as I could so we could share them out to a world which, I soon learnt, couldn’t care less about what was happening in Syria. I couldn’t stop though. I felt guilty every time I thought about quitting, I felt accountable. My feelings were nothing compared to the people who had no choice but to live this grim reality, every single day. The least I could do was to share their losses and grievances so they wouldn’t have to suffer in silence.
Day after day, video after horrific video, I would translate it all. It became an inseparable part of my daily routine and that’s precisely the moment when I realised that I had become completely de-sensitised to the images I was seeing. The dead bodies that used to haunt my nightmares, the sounds of shelling that used to trigger so much anxiety within me were now nothing more than pieces of cold flesh and loud bangs.
I hated myself so much at that moment.
How could I allow myself to become so detached? How on earth did I convince my mind that such images could ever be considered normal? And when was this ever about me? That day, I locked myself up in my room and I cried such angry tears. I cried because I had allowed myself to reduce the suffering of another human being, to de-humanise them so that I didn’t have to feel anything towards them, so that I could selfishly protect myself from all the suffering and torment that they were going through. I knew I had to leave the group for a while. They were really supportive but I still felt so guilty because I had let them down.
I don’t think that I am ready to return to the group just yet but I am looking for other ways in which I can help. I don’t regret ever joining the group, or doing the work I did. On the contrary, this experience has taught me a very important lesson: every single one of us is capable of belittling the suffering of a fellow human being. If we can’t empathise then it becomes too easy for us to ignore the atrocities and pain that many around us are forced to experience. Once you lose your compassion, you lose everything. I learnt that the hard way but it’s a lesson that I’ll never forget.
A reminder, lest we forget the struggles of those who have been forgotten.
Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers.
(via s4br)
Moaz Al Khatib, head of the Syrian Opposition and the representative of the people of Syria at the Arab Summit gives the most honest speech every given by an Arab leader.
English subtitles are available for this speech by clicking the caption button.
Thanks @ANA_Feed
Now this is how a speech should be given. Moaz Al-Khatib has since resigned from his position but I still have so much respect for this man. Such meaningful words, full of sincerity and truth.
واللي يحبك من قلبُه يجي عالقدم ماشي
واللي يحب من لسانه يقلك ما قدرناشِ
واللي حبو من قلبه بتذكرنا وبيجينا
واللي حبو من لسانه يحلف والله ما درينا
Kulna Sawa is a 10-member, Syrian alternative band formed in 1995. The band was formed by young musicians who started re-arranging several folkloric songs, and produced them again in a contemporary way.
Art of Surviving - فن البقاء
This man from the Syrian city of Douma used rockets, cluster bombs, bullets and shells to create musical instruments, stoves, water tanks.
Speechless
The Syrian people never cease to amaze, brilliant, just watch it!
Perfectly said.
You’ve got hundreds of people getting murdered every single day in Syria and the only thing that all these so-called intellectuals and world leaders can talk about is their fear of “Islamists” (whatever that means) taking over. Truly sickening.
(via sumaiyahspeaks)
Anonymous Asks:
fattysaid Said:
Hello there!
I guess this message is a comment on the discussion with Abdullah. If so, then I am truly sorry if you think I am against the Syrian people getting justice. My stance on this issue is very clear, even if I lacked the eloquence or the right words to express it during the discussion: I in no way, shape or form support Assad’s barbaric regime. The injustices and crimes committed by the regime over decades now against the Syrian people are truly horrific. There’s absolutely no doubt about it, the regime must go and I am certain that this is what the majority of Syrian people think and want.
That said, you have absolutely no right to tell me (or anyone for that matter) that I am not allowed to express my views on a certain issue or topic just because I am not a member of the nationality/group/party etc. involved. That’s exactly like telling me that I can’t talk about animal rights because I am not an animal. Your problem has nothing to do with my nationality, it’s about your interpretation of what I said. If that’s what you truly disagree with me about, my views and opinions, then argue your point on that basis, not on whether I am Syrian or not.
I have absolutely no doubt insh’allah that the Syrian people will achieve justice against Assad’s regime. They are a brave, loyal and honest people and only with the aid of God alone will they be able to make their cause victorious. Every tyrant and his rule must one day fall and insh’allah this will happen sooner than later in Syria. Regarding what I said about the FSA and people not supporting either side: I’d just like to clarify that these words are not my own. They are the words of many Syrian refugees that I am in touch with and I was simply putting their view on the situation forward. Does every Syrian share that view? Of course not, but I felt it necessary to express a different opinion with regards to what Abdullah was saying in his original post about the FSA. Your point about the FSA keeping its standards high was pretty much the basis of the discussion. As Abdullah points out in the aforementioned post, the FSA “is not a united force with a United Vision, a united leadership, or even a united Structure” and that’s where my issue lies, the fact that it’s so difficult to differentiate between all the different factions which makes it impossible for the standards and manners you mention to be enforced let alone for them to stay intact.
That’s just my view on things but Allah knows best. Thank you for taking the time to send me this message, I really appreciate your view. I just pray and hope that the violence will end as soon as possible and may Allah strengthen the cause of those truly fighting for justice and endow them with patience and fortitude, ameen.
Graffiti in Saraqib, Syria marking two years since the Syrian uprising which began on March 15th, 2011. It reads:
“Two years, and we will keep going until victory”
عامان ونحن نردد ” الموت ولا المذلة:
لأن ” الشـعب الســوري ما بينــذل “
سنواصل حتى النصر
I made these cupcakes today for a bake sale they were holding at my school for Syria.
March 15th today marks two years since the start of the Syrian revolution, two years of uprisings and protests against one of the most barbaric regimes in history. I could go on about the number of people martyred since then, the plight of the refugees, the innocent civilians caught in the middle of it all etc. but I hate the feelings of helplessness and inadequacy that overcome you when you look at those statistics. I can’t even begin to put into words the amount of suffering that the Syrian people have gone through, the heartaches and the struggles. These struggles have all been documented, analysed, written about and commented on. What people often forget to document is the sheer perseverance and resilience of the Syrian people: the bravery of the protesters and their inspiring creativity, the dedication of citizen journalists and activists working tirelessly on the ground, the patience of the families who have to flee their homes and neighbourhoods, the refugees who left with nothing but the clothes on their backs and their faith in God. There’s nothing ‘romantic’ about this grim reality but too often we forget to look beyond it. The situation in Syria is not hopeless. How can we allow ourselves to give up on the Syrian cause when the Syrian people refuse to give in?
A beautiful reminder for those who feel hopeless:
This picture was taken in the Damascus Suburb of Douma, Syria by Bassam Al-Hakeem. The writing on the wall reads:
‘You have killed nothing but our fear,
Douma will never kneel to anyone but Allah.’
Childhood Under Fire - Syria’s children are paying the heaviest price.
Two million children trapped inside Syria are innocent victims of a bloody conflict that has already claimed 70,000 lives, UK-based charity Save the Children warned Wednesday saying that these children are under constant risk of malnutrition, disease, trauma and early marriage.
In a new report, “Childhood Under Fire,” launched to mark two years of violence in Syria, Save the Children details the impact of the conflict on children, showing that many are struggling to find enough to eat; are living in barns, parks and caves; are unable to go to school with teachers having fled and schools being attacked; and that damage to sanitation systems is forcing some children to defecate in the street.
Citing new research carried out amongst refugee children by Bahcesehir University in Turkey, the report also reveals the extent to which children have been directly targeted in the war, with one in three children reporting having been hit, kicked or shot at.
Combined with the breakdown of society in parts of the country and more than three million people displaced, the conflict has led to the collapse of childhood for millions of youngsters.
“Childhood under Fire” details how some young boys are being used by armed groups as porters, runners and human shields, bringing them close to the frontline, while some girls are being married off early to ‘protect’ them from a widely-perceived threat of sexual violence.
The report’s key findings are:
- Thousands of children are facing malnutrition as food production is wiped out and severe shortages take hold. “Why did we leave? Hunger. Food. There was none. No bread. If I stayed my children would have died from hunger,” — Rami, father of three.
- Millions of children have been forced from their homes and tens of thousands are living in parks, barns and caves. “There were 13 of us in total, crammed into one room. We did not leave that room for two weeks.”- Yasmine, 12.
- Girls are being married off early in an effort to protect them from perceived threat of sexual violence. “My daughter is 16 and she loved school. She is innocent and very pretty. I know that men are hurting women. We could not protect her, so we had to marry her. We needed her to have a protector.” — Um Ali, mother of two.
- Families have been left without heating in winter as fuel prices have risen by up to 500 percent. “In one area of Syria where Save the Children is responding, during the bitter winter, school benches were stolen for firewood; desperate, understandable measures to stay warm, but further erosion of children”s opportunities to learn and play.”- Childhood Under Fire.
“For millions of Syrian children, the innocence of childhood has been replaced by the cruel realities of trying to survive this vicious war,” said Carolyn Miles, president and CEO of Save the Children. “Many are now living out in the open, struggling to find enough to eat, without the right medicine if they become sick or injured. As society has broken down, in the worst cases, hunger, homelessness and terror have replaced school for some of these young people. We cannot allow this to continue unchecked; the lives of too many children are at stake. “
The research by the Bahcesehir University also reveals the extent to which children have been affected by war, with nearly one third of children surveyed saying that they had been separated from members of their families due to the conflict. Three quarters of those surveyed had experienced the death of a close friend or family member. Many are showing signs of emotional difficulties as they struggle to come to terms with their experiences.
Save the Children, which is providing humanitarian relief in Syria and neighboring countries, is calling for all parties to the conflict to allow unfettered, safe access to populations in need and to ensure that everything is done to bring the fighting to an end.
It welcomes pledges to fund the $1.5 billion humanitarian appeal for Syria, and calls on governments to urgently deliver the money, which is designed to target aid both inside the stricken country and to refugees living on Syria”s borders.
To shine a light of solidarity for the children of Syria, Save the Children is planning a series of vigils in 21 countries around the world on Thursday, March 14th to mark two years of conflict in Syria. The real-life vigils will be complemented by a virtual vigil amplified by a “thunderclap” — a single, coordinated message that will synchronize social media with a united voice of support for the #SyriaCrisis. Virtual supporters can simply sign up to synchronize their own messages on Facebook and Twitter.
Follow Save the Children on Twitter and Facebook.
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About the girl in the photo: Sana* is three years old and fled Syria with her mother and three sisters. An increasingly brutal civil war is tearing Syria apart. One million people have now fled Syria and are sheltering in neighbouring countries. Read her story.
Picture 1: Abdul and his family fled from their apartment in Syria after his wife was shot in the street during cross-fire between armed groups. The most important thing he was able to bring from Syria are the keys to his home that he holds in this photograph. Though he doesn’t know whether the family’s apartment is still standing, he dreams every day of returning home.
Picture 2: Tamara’s home in Syria was partially destroyed in September, and the family decided their best chance of safety was to reach the Syrian-Turkish border. “When we left our house, we felt the sky was raining bullets,” Tamara recalled. “We were moving from one shelter to another in order to protect ourselves.” The most important thing that she was able to bring with her is her diploma. With it she will be able to continue her education in Turkey.
Picture 3: Ahmed, 82, and his wife Fatima, 67, fled from their home in August 2012 after their neighbour was killed for asking soldiers why they had executed his son. The most important thing Ahmed was able to bring with him from Syria is his wife. “She’s the best woman that I’ve met in my life,” he says. “Even if I were to go back 55 years, I would choose you again.”
Picture 4: Iman, 25, decided to flee with her son and daughter when she heard accounts of sexual harassment against women in her home city in Syria. The most important thing Iman was able to bring with her is the Koran that she holds here. She says religion is the most important aspect of her life, and that the Koran gives her a sense of protection. “As long as I have it with me, I’m connected to God,” she says.
Picture 5: Marwa, 8, and her family arrived in a refugee camp in Iraq by foot. She says she wept as she made the journey through the cold, over a rough trail, as her mother carried her and her baby brother. She is now attending school and says that she finally feels safe. The most important thing she was able to bring with her when she left are the bracelets she displays in this photograph.
Picture 6: Salma, 24, and her family were forced to flee their home last summer. Confined to a wheelchair and blind in both eyes, she says she was terrified by what was happening around her. Salma says the only important thing that she brought with her “is my soul, nothing more - nothing material”. When asked about her wheelchair, she seemed surprised, saying that she considers it an extension of her body, not an object.
Picture 7: Abdulaziz, 37, fled his home in Syria the night his neighbors were killed. The next day he used the majority of his savings to hire a truck to flee with his wife and his two sons. The most important thing that he was able to bring with him is the instrument he holds here. It is called a buzuq and he says that “playing it fills me with a sense of nostalgia and reminds me of my homeland”.
Picture 8: Hisham, 37, and his family fled Syria early in 2012, paying a smuggler $1,100 to take them across the border. The most important thing Hisham was able to bring with him is the photograph of his wife that he holds here. “This is important,” he says, “because she gave me this photo back home before we were married, during the time when we were dating. It always brings me great memories and reminds me of my happiest time back home in Syria.”
Picture 9: Neda, approximately 100 years old (age between 90 and 107 according to family members), fled from her home last December when the apartments surrounding hers were destroyed. Crossing the border into Iraq was a very difficult process for her, and the journey on foot lasted the better part of a day. The most important thing she was able to bring with her is the ring that she displays here. When she was ten years old, her mother gave it to her from her death bed, saying, “Keep this ring and remember me.”
Picture 10: Mohammed, 70, and his family fled Syria when their family home in Damascus was destroyed by a bomb. They escaped in the back of a truck after covering themselves with plastic sheeting. The most important thing Mohammed was able to bring with him is the cane that he holds in this photograph. He says that without it, he wouldn’t have been able to make the two-hour crossing on foot to the Iraqi border.
Once upon a time, night had been his friend.
Underneath her cloak he would sit and watch the city. If the city slept, night was his comrade and his companion. She was his armchair for reflection, his schoolbook, inspiring him with lines of poetry and undiscovered treasures of imagination.
And if the city was alive, if she danced to the tunes of a wedding, burst with the beeps and bustle of traffic, winked at him with her lights; she opened for him the doors of discovery, curiosity, and adventure. His heart raced with the music, his feet itched with delight and longing. The shop lights would beckon at him as he pictured chicken on rotating skewers, the knife coming down on them gently. The quick wrap of bread by nimble fingers. Saha- good health- move on. What’s your order?
Often he would sit on the roadside with his friends, wraps shared between them. Meat and yoghurt sauce lingering between their teeth. Pass me your unwanted pickles, fat Hassan would laugh. But most of us liked our pickles anyway. The stones are gathered. Who can flick the farthest? Giggles and banter replaced by concentration. Sharp, successive flicks- the sounds of “chinks” recoiling against the wall. Hassan as usual not getting very far. We gather to survey the results, negotiate stones, and take our positions once again. Pause, as a family decide to walk past.
This was the night. It was life and bustle, peace and discovery, friendship and comfort. And that night was no more.
She had disappeared into history books, stacked away in an unknown classroom. She was a dream no longer sought. Her memories were numb. His eyes did not search for her. His arms did not seek her embrace.
He stood outside in the darkness. A sharp wind tugged against the tents. Stones scuffled beneath his soles, welcoming him with a familiar pierce. The hot air dried the sweat of a nightmare off his face. Around him, behind him, he heard soft sobs, muffled cries, heavy breathing, and an overwhelming silence. The silence of uncertainty, of fear.
The vast sky could have meant endless horizons… but it didn’t. Its twinkling stars may one day have spoken to him, but tonight they did not seem to know him. Its sea of blue could have been the ink of his imagination- his poetry. But all he saw was blackness and rejection.
Not peace, but turbulence. In his heart. Its rapid beatings brought back the flashbacks of his nightmare, of things his young eyes should not have seen. “Hassan, is that you?” Hand sticking out of rubble, as if waving… but ever so still. Like when they performed a play at school and that Mahmoud, ever so brilliant at acting, kept the audience on their toes and brought tears to the mother’s eyes as he lay dead in pretence. But this time… this was real death? Not an actor on the floor in a school hall who would get up and laugh at the end of it… but someone who would remain still… forever. Hassan was forever still.
Another jolt, another memory. A terrible sound- like a thousand trays had crashed to the floor. And flashes of light that made them run to their mother. Feelings he did not know, could not describe, were pulling and grabbing at his throat. Why was he shaking, shivering, his flesh jumping, crying ecstatically? O mama, what are these sounds? O Mama, save me!
This now was the night. Not friendly beckoning lights, but images of fire raging angrily in his face. No sound of music or life, but memories of explosions- of screams from hell. Night was his sister’s hollow eyes. Night had destroyed his home, stolen his brother. Night was Hassan’s white face, sometimes asking for pickles, bursting into a smile, and then forever remaining still.
Night fought with his head: tumbling images, tightly wrapped emotions, till exhausted, he sunk to his knees. I don’t know.
I don’t know.
What would Mr. Ahmed say? I can’t even write poetry anymore. Hassan… why is your face so white? Why did you wave at me if you weren’t going to come back? Why didn’t you hide yourself underneath all that rubble? Night… why did you betray me?
And like he did in every night… he released. To horror’s indescribable. To miseries far reaching. A sticky wetness spread into his trousers as he pulled himself together and sobbed his shame into the night.
And night, powerless, wishing she could reach out and bring back their days of happiness… cried out in anguish and sorrow at what humanity had made of her.
But humanity, dumb and blind, never heard her.
—
By: Amal Saffour studied English Language and Literature at Kings College London and thereafter did her PGCE at the Institute of Education. A qualified teacher, she recently left teaching to work in a Syrian Human Rights organisation, as well as the charitable sector. As someone who loves and values the power of words, she blogs her poetry and reflections at www.homeboundblogger.wordpress.com, with plans to develop it further. Amal was also Vice President of FOSIS between 2010-12 and has been active in community and youth work in the UK.
