Syria Part 5 - Hammah
I Believe in Syria – Part 5
Hammah
December 2008
The night was just what I imagined it to be. It was a night of stale cigarette smoke, yelling between floors, intimate talks, glaring emergency lighting, tossing and turning on an uncomfortable bed, and crying babies. The good part was, being in this part of the world, the hotel pretty much cleared out after the 5am call to prayer. I slept in peace before starting the day. I used the mini shower in my room, packed, and was ready to explore a little more before catching a taxi to the bus park.
The three hour bus ride to Hammah was restful watching the palette of browns pass by the window. The sun was out and this would be the last time I would see the sun until my return to Jeddah a week later. Feras met me at the station in his slick, black BMW with sheepskin covered seats. He picked up a friend and then we drove around Hammah having a mini tour since Hammah is rather small. We walked to the huge water wheels known as norias originally built by the Byzantines for irrigation. The omnipresent plastic bags are also here clogging the wheels. The water was filthy and it smelled. The walk around the old city didn’t take long either but it did have a small number of local artists in working studios and nicely restored khans used as restaurants. After this we drove to the surrounding hills for views. Afternoon coffee was at a roach coach on the side of the road. Maybe calling it a roach coach is a little severe because it looked clean and welcoming. The small truck converted to a coffee/tea stand with the typical offerings of Turkish coffee, espresso, Nescafe, tea or sugar.
The rest of the afternoon until midnight, when I could no longer hold my head up, I sat. There was one minor reprieve when the mom probably told Feras to offer to wash clothes and to suggest I might need a bath after a long journey. They weren’t kidding either. I had thirteen days of sweat, dirt, smoke, and BO clinging to my clothes. I am sure I was disgusting to be by. The bathing was an event in itself. The door had a tiny door within the door about shoulder level where I was to toss my stinking clothes through. The bath was Turkish style with a tiny stool next to the facets and bucket. A heater doubling as a jet engine was roaring away providing ample warmth. The soap and scrubby made me a new person. There was a bell to call the mom to bring fresh clothes and she passed over a pair of sweats and a nice heavy robe.
After the bath I returned to the sitting room to find an uncle had stopped by to join the mom, Lulu the daughter, and Mohanned another son. The uncle was a delightful man with a good sense of humor. He was not shy at all trying his English he learned years back. The rest of the evening was knitting and watching a Hindi film. They said they liked Hindi films because they were funny and they liked the singing and dancing. The movies have Arab subtitles allowing them to follow the story line. The sitting and TV room was nice and cozy with the gas heater in one corner. Leaving this room to go to the guest bedroom was a shock. It was cold in the rest of the house. More blankets were piled on the bed and I slept solid for ten hours.
The next morning from 11am to 2pm I sat again going a bit stir crazy. The idea of me going out for a walk was quickly rebutted saying it was best for me to wait for Feras to return. A delicious lunch was served at 1pm with small dishes of olives, olive oil, zatter, the good kind made in Syria of course, sheep labnah, cheese, butter, marmalade, cold stuffed eggplant called makdosh, boiled eggs, green onions, mint, bologna, and flat bread.
Feras dropped me off by the old city and I walked and walked and explored. It felt good to be out doors. I spent some time with a man at his tiny shop by the mosque inside the walled city. His name is Maheer and his family has been in the textile business for generations. He has lovely towels, table cloths and shawls and an amazing robe made from the heavy towels. I loved this robe even if it was $189. It weighed a ton. It could double as a winter overcoat it was that heavy and warm. Definitely not a thing I needed in Jeddah. We talked for a while, had tea and then I started to untangle some yarn he had. I started to braid the scraps of yarn thinking it would make nice cording for the felt sachets I make when I man going into the mosque asked what I was doing in decent English. I thought he was probably the English teacher at a nearby school. Turns out he lived in Santa Barbara for over fifteen years and returned home to Syria to take care of his parents in Hammah. His American wife came with him and he asked if I wanted to join his wife and other Amercian women living in Hammah. They were having coffee and I would be more than welcomed to talk with them.
My first response was a decline thinking he is a stranger and I don’t know him from jack. Then something made me say yes I would be more than happy to meet some other people. On the drive over to the meeting place, he told me it was hard adjusting to life in Syria. The mentality is different, the pace of life is different, and everything takes longer to do. But with him being the oldest son, it was his duty to come back and care for them. His old beat up VW bug sputtered away as I was lead into the courtyard of an old house. An American woman was living there with her Syrian husband and their sons. There was also another American woman ready to give birth any day now. The four of these ladies found themselves by accident in Hammah and have a close relationship now based on their similar situations. It was wonderful to spend an hour with them learning about their new lives. They all agreed they prefer to raise their young children here rather than in the states.
Time was slipping away and I hated to leave them but I also didn’t want to keep Feras’ family waiting. Dinner was ready when I got there and it was another tasty meal. Tears of the Sun was on TV and this time I could understand what was going on. The next morning after breakfast it was time to say good-bye. I enjoyed the family stay very much and Hammah is a place I could live with it being small enough to walk around and knowing there are nice people living in the area.
The next destination was Aleppo where I met the singing Kurd.
Hammah
December 2008
The night was just what I imagined it to be. It was a night of stale cigarette smoke, yelling between floors, intimate talks, glaring emergency lighting, tossing and turning on an uncomfortable bed, and crying babies. The good part was, being in this part of the world, the hotel pretty much cleared out after the 5am call to prayer. I slept in peace before starting the day. I used the mini shower in my room, packed, and was ready to explore a little more before catching a taxi to the bus park.
The three hour bus ride to Hammah was restful watching the palette of browns pass by the window. The sun was out and this would be the last time I would see the sun until my return to Jeddah a week later. Feras met me at the station in his slick, black BMW with sheepskin covered seats. He picked up a friend and then we drove around Hammah having a mini tour since Hammah is rather small. We walked to the huge water wheels known as norias originally built by the Byzantines for irrigation. The omnipresent plastic bags are also here clogging the wheels. The water was filthy and it smelled. The walk around the old city didn’t take long either but it did have a small number of local artists in working studios and nicely restored khans used as restaurants. After this we drove to the surrounding hills for views. Afternoon coffee was at a roach coach on the side of the road. Maybe calling it a roach coach is a little severe because it looked clean and welcoming. The small truck converted to a coffee/tea stand with the typical offerings of Turkish coffee, espresso, Nescafe, tea or sugar.
The rest of the afternoon until midnight, when I could no longer hold my head up, I sat. There was one minor reprieve when the mom probably told Feras to offer to wash clothes and to suggest I might need a bath after a long journey. They weren’t kidding either. I had thirteen days of sweat, dirt, smoke, and BO clinging to my clothes. I am sure I was disgusting to be by. The bathing was an event in itself. The door had a tiny door within the door about shoulder level where I was to toss my stinking clothes through. The bath was Turkish style with a tiny stool next to the facets and bucket. A heater doubling as a jet engine was roaring away providing ample warmth. The soap and scrubby made me a new person. There was a bell to call the mom to bring fresh clothes and she passed over a pair of sweats and a nice heavy robe.
After the bath I returned to the sitting room to find an uncle had stopped by to join the mom, Lulu the daughter, and Mohanned another son. The uncle was a delightful man with a good sense of humor. He was not shy at all trying his English he learned years back. The rest of the evening was knitting and watching a Hindi film. They said they liked Hindi films because they were funny and they liked the singing and dancing. The movies have Arab subtitles allowing them to follow the story line. The sitting and TV room was nice and cozy with the gas heater in one corner. Leaving this room to go to the guest bedroom was a shock. It was cold in the rest of the house. More blankets were piled on the bed and I slept solid for ten hours.
The next morning from 11am to 2pm I sat again going a bit stir crazy. The idea of me going out for a walk was quickly rebutted saying it was best for me to wait for Feras to return. A delicious lunch was served at 1pm with small dishes of olives, olive oil, zatter, the good kind made in Syria of course, sheep labnah, cheese, butter, marmalade, cold stuffed eggplant called makdosh, boiled eggs, green onions, mint, bologna, and flat bread.
Feras dropped me off by the old city and I walked and walked and explored. It felt good to be out doors. I spent some time with a man at his tiny shop by the mosque inside the walled city. His name is Maheer and his family has been in the textile business for generations. He has lovely towels, table cloths and shawls and an amazing robe made from the heavy towels. I loved this robe even if it was $189. It weighed a ton. It could double as a winter overcoat it was that heavy and warm. Definitely not a thing I needed in Jeddah. We talked for a while, had tea and then I started to untangle some yarn he had. I started to braid the scraps of yarn thinking it would make nice cording for the felt sachets I make when I man going into the mosque asked what I was doing in decent English. I thought he was probably the English teacher at a nearby school. Turns out he lived in Santa Barbara for over fifteen years and returned home to Syria to take care of his parents in Hammah. His American wife came with him and he asked if I wanted to join his wife and other Amercian women living in Hammah. They were having coffee and I would be more than welcomed to talk with them.
My first response was a decline thinking he is a stranger and I don’t know him from jack. Then something made me say yes I would be more than happy to meet some other people. On the drive over to the meeting place, he told me it was hard adjusting to life in Syria. The mentality is different, the pace of life is different, and everything takes longer to do. But with him being the oldest son, it was his duty to come back and care for them. His old beat up VW bug sputtered away as I was lead into the courtyard of an old house. An American woman was living there with her Syrian husband and their sons. There was also another American woman ready to give birth any day now. The four of these ladies found themselves by accident in Hammah and have a close relationship now based on their similar situations. It was wonderful to spend an hour with them learning about their new lives. They all agreed they prefer to raise their young children here rather than in the states.
Time was slipping away and I hated to leave them but I also didn’t want to keep Feras’ family waiting. Dinner was ready when I got there and it was another tasty meal. Tears of the Sun was on TV and this time I could understand what was going on. The next morning after breakfast it was time to say good-bye. I enjoyed the family stay very much and Hammah is a place I could live with it being small enough to walk around and knowing there are nice people living in the area.
The next destination was Aleppo where I met the singing Kurd.
posted by Becky of Arabia at 9:33 PM
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