The Coin Seller
By Louay Al Roumani As we drove from Hama, westwards into the countryside, I looked out and embraced the surroundings. I have always loved the Syrian countryside. It has a distinct soul,...
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The Haunting
By Coline Houssais The light swathing Damascus is a soft, duck egg blue. It might be dawn. I walk on disjointed pavement or smooth concrete, my steps echoing between the buildings around me....
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Frans’ Hike
By Dyana “Five kilometres left!” said Rabeeh, one of the organizers of Frans’ Hike. The regulars, who had been to hikes with Father Frans and Rabeeh before, knew that there was still far...
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Frozen Lemonade
By Alaa Alboush “I’ll pay.” “No, I’ll pay.” “Last time you paid.” “So! I’ll pay this time too.” “Come on, Alaa, get ready to go to the shops.” “Why is it me every...
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The Land We Once Had
By Abdullah Allabwani Alzabadany means “the Good” – a land that doesn’t let a seed lie in vain, but nurtures it until it grows to become a tree and gives its produce to...
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An Artist’s Travels
By Elie Gerges I inherited my passion for art from my father. Even as a child I drew on the walls. I always dreamt of studying fine arts at Damascus University, but my...
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My Graduation
By Zakaria Alabdullah One semester left before graduation! I called my dad and asked him if it was safe to fly back to Syria to do my last exams, for my last year?...
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Hometown
By Anonymous I always miss the small town of Breeke, especially in the holidays. It’s not a fancy place. The locals plant aubergine in little fields – they love to fry aubergine. Or...
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Love in a Strange Land
By Dyana The UK was very different from Syria – 800 degrees different. When I was in Damascus, I didn’t really consider myself living any more. And my situation was still a lot...
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Aleppo Markets
By Yasser Fallah When I was a little boy, I used to hear my father talking about the “Mdayene”, a name used by Aleppens to describe the old market, which consisted in turn...
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The Arch
Sometimes I try to avoid saying I’m from Syria, just to avoid talking about it. I don’t think people understand. Maybe they have a good heart, but they approach it in the wrong...
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A Londoner
By Firas I moved to London in October 2010. Before the war, people would ask me: “Where are you from?” And when I said: “From Syria,” many people would ask: “Where is Syria?”...
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In The Souq
By Yasser Fallaha “I need some dates, spices and zaatar halabi, Ramadan might be tomorrow”, my mum said to my dad when we were sitting all together enjoying our morning coffee on the...
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My Football Team
By Mazen Bittar Most of Syria’s football teams used to play on Fridays. As we were big fans of football, we used to wait impatiently for that day. There were two first class...
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A Glass of Apricot
By Maya Deyri What do you mean by a glass of apricot? Apricots grow on trees. You find them on a fruit stall, or hanging from a tree. You are supposed to eat them,...
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The Citadel
By Mazen Bitar I used to wake up at 7.30 everyday, eat breakfast with my mum and dad, and then set off to work. It was nearby my home, so I went...
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My Smartphone
By Salam Al-Nukta and Eyad Al-Khayat. Interview by Julia Rampen Salam I cannot see my family in Syria much, because it is so hard to get to them. So we send each other pictures on...
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Easy Target
By Shahed My fondest memories are those of childhood – memories of playtime, of true friends that I miss in these foreign lands. My city, Qamishli, a small city with humble streets, small...
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The Door to Everything
By Zaina I have been asked to write about my memories of Homs, the city where my parents were born, the one which for many years meant Syria to me and which sadly has...
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The Syria Test
By Anmar Nassif. Interview by Julia Rampen My second interview with UK immigration, what they call a follow-up interview, was in July. They asked me a lot of questions. The first 20 were...
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Beyond Barbed Wire
By Ahmad. Interview: Juan delGado, Translation: Samer Khoury On a cold night in 2013, I left my beloved house in my city Qamishli, and headed towards the barbed wire that separated our country from Turkey....
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Secrets of Preservation
By Tètè (Grandmother) Amira, translated by Samer Khoury Syrians are specialists in preservation. Vegetables used to be soaked in salty water, then dried and stockpiled in glass jars. Take the Hamwian eggplant, a...
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My Daughter’s Face
I recalled my daughter’s face. It was worth experiencing this torture, if she could just live like the rest of the world’s children. She had been born during the war, while we passed...
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My Bracelet
By Loulou When I was a young girl in Damascus, when everything seemed possible, I was told going to school and completing my education would be the most valuable thing I could do....
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Remember Me
By Deborah Felmeth In 2002, I was on the Queen of the rivers, the Euphrates, with my good friend Selina, a Dutch woman. You know how you’re on a river, and you see...
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Craving Broasted
By Daniela Nofal Not a single day goes by without something triggering a thought about Syria, my home or my childhood. Today, despite being a vegetarian for two years now, the trigger was...
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Journey To A New Life
By Fadi The first time I played guitar I was born in Saudi Arabia but my parents are from Deir ez-Zor. I used to visit every summer and stay with my family at...
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The Keys To My Home
By Rasha Faek I used to complain about my father’s repeated requests that I take my key with me every time I wanted to go out. “My handbag is very small,” was my...
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Passage to Europe
By Muhammed, told to Juan delGado Translated by Nick Salter I come from the city of Qamishli, where I spent the best days of my life. Despite the variety of accents and faiths, it was...
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My Last Sweet Memory
Nader I fell in love with music when I was 15. I played drums, trumpet and trombone in the school band, but when I discovered the saxophone there was no looking back. I’ve...
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Bicycle Love
Before I had my bike, “Wings”, I used to get around Damascus on foot. But then I decided to speed things up. The city’s jasmine fell on my shoulders – I decorated...
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Flashbacks From Damascus
By Masa Kateb I miss everything about Damascus, down to the smallest details. I miss walking around the old city through alleys I’d discovered for the first time I miss chit chat with...
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Hayat’s Creations
By Abdullah Alesmael I wake up early every morning and head to work by way of Al Mashtal. When I start hearing the different languages, the road signs and ads written in different languages...
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Fireworks
By Samer Khoury He is playing in his backyard – as he has done all his long, boring five years – when his mum calls him in. It’s been like this for the...
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The Vegetables Notebook
By Khaled Alesmael In our house everything has a notebook, beginning with the shopkeeper’s monthly notebook, the provisioning notebook, the family notebook, the salary notebook, the dictation notebook, the phone book. All these notebooks...
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A Soul to Remember
By ‘The Phoenix’ 28 November 2010. That was the day I packed my bags, said goodbye to my city and headed for Damascus. I contemplated the road through the car window and planned for...
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My Bicycle
By Iman Albuhturuy Translation: Samer Khoury My bicycle is my saviour. It offers pleasure, vitality. It has given me self assurance. Riding it is always a new experience. One day I am an ordinary girl...
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My City Bosra al-Sham
By Lubna Mekdad Translation by Simon-Paul Davis When the news breaks, my memories of you return, in letters soaked in cold blood. Oh my city.* My thoughts stop at what it was like before...
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Aleppo Days
By Lyana Darwish Translated by Nick Salter These are murky and bitter days in Aleppo, days of endless exhaustion. I can’t escape my situation. I grow increasingly tense and mad. As I think...
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My Village Hopes
By Samer Khoury A great moment of my life is when I stand on top of our village’s mountain at sunset. It’s like holding your beloved while closing your eyes imagining a future...
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Thursday, 9 o’clock
By Khaled Alesmael Old Damascus. It’s the heart of the city, and in the heart of everyone who has visited it. It is in my dreams. It is my love. I care about its...
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Street Musician
Growing up in Salamiyah, a city near Homs, my parents made our home a musical environment. When I grew older, I carried on studying music in Homs’ music college. I was there between...
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Smile
By Samer Khoury I walk daily through Damascus, from the south to the west, and through the north.The city is Syria now – it has people from everywhere. It has refugees, like the elderly man...
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Little Details
Interviewed by Juan delGado Yasser I left Syria on 22 July 2012. The main reason was the search for security. It is the same reason everyone leaves Syria nowadays. Before I left, there...
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My Basketball Kit
By Salah Hamwi Everything started when I was ten years old. By that time I was already 170cm (5’6 feet) tall. My mum kept asking me to play basketball for two reasons. She...
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Waiting
By Rana Abdul Fattah “I pray every day for the souls of the dead and I read the Quran every morning, but something is wrong with my heart.” The woman speaking is a mother of...
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Children’s Laughter
By Saif Mekdad Translated by Nasir Alajmi At the curve of the path by the nearby wheat field a laugh is flying as if it was an ululation – no, as if the...
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Morning Meditation
By Nazdar Youssef Some of my most beautiful memories are of a short walk through the alleyways of Bab Sharqi (Old Damascus Eastern Gate) on the way to my hospital shift. It led...
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A Space to Paint
By Maher Abdo I came to Istanbul almost ten months ago. I live in the house of friend of mine, in an area called Mecidiyeköy. I used to paint when I first arrived...
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Exploring Syria Through Basketball
By Masa Kateb I scored my first basketball shot back when I was seven years old. I was too short and my arms were weak, so the average size seven ball wouldn’t reach...
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Haurani Cinnamon
By Maha Mekdad In Bosra Esham, when a new baby is born, we serve a cup of hot cinnamon and home-grown walnuts. It is a drink we prepare long before the birth. The...
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The Smallest Gifts
By Daniela Nofal As a child, the trip to the grocery store was the highlight of my day. Maybe it was because I was allowed to go out, run around and contemplate adventures. Or...
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Guest Post: In Calais
By Ammar Excerpt from the exhibition ‘Syria in Transit’ by Jon Davis and Kemal Vural Tarlan When I arrived in Calais I was very sorry I came. I realised I could not wait on the border like...
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Micro Ride
By Dima Mekdad When the driver of a London double decker bus stops to let one more running figure on, it always leaves a smile on my face. That such a well-calibrated system still...
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One word
By Yara Shammaa My voice is filling every hole in the air. Never in my life did I think I had such an ability to scream. It feels as if I have stored...
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My Father’s Dream
By Yara Alhasbani I began learning the principles of ballet at a modest sports club in my neighbourhood. My father had signed me up, despite the fact joining was expensive. My father had kept...
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The next World Cup
By Massa Bitar I think about the World Cup four years ago. All the cafes were full, with large screens. I think about how everyone wore their team’s colours, about the celebratory car rides after...
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Dreams and ambitions: Tell us yours
“I hope I will be safe to pursue my ambitions. I hope to show the world I am an Arab dancer, from the country of Syria, and make real the dreams of...
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Guest post: Weaving was the answer to my grief
British-Syrian artist Bayda Asbridge’s mother died in Damascus in 2012. She was unable to attend the funeral. Instead, along with her sisters, she turned to the Japanese technique of Saori weaving to honour...
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Childhood memories: Tell us yours
“When we were little, we played hide and seek with all the kids from different neighbourhoods without caring where they came from or who their families were. We’d argue over who cheated and...
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Trees Die Standing
By Hadaya Ghassan was the son of the old war veteran Mohammad Hassan Mehro and came from the small farming town of Jamaraya. He was the fifth and youngest of his siblings. His...
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A Long Deep Breath
By Ahmad Katlish While everyone talks about death rates in Syria, what I picture is a friend back there playing her trumpet. I remember her refusal to leave Syria, despite the critical security...
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A Beautiful Day in Ma’loula
By Esam Hamzeh It was a very beautiful day when I went to visit the oldest Christian city in the world, in the countryside outside Damascus. That city is Ma’loula. To reach it, I...
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Seeking the Jasmine Breeze
By Massa Bitar I have lived my whole life, 17 years in Damascus, but for a long time I never realised or sensed the beauty of this place. I never realised the greatness...
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Not a Sign of Light
By Ahmed Katish The First Attempt to Leave Syria: As I arrived at my village, heading out to Jordan, the clashes were at their peak. I was unable to leave for days. That...
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The Most Truthful Lie
By Maram Islambooli I saw the photo captured by my friend Suleiman years ago. A photo of a waste basket in a corner of one of Damascus parks, a photo which he was...
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Moment of Departure
By S. Selka In 2010, Sami said goodbye to his father. He was going to Britain, his second home, with the hope of coming back to the Jasmine City in the summer of...
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Snapshots of Syria
Esam Hamzeh is a Syrian artist based in London Traditional Damascus house Ma’loula
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