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| Mohammad, July 2010 |
I met Mohammad outside the Nahr Eshe regional bus terminal on one crisp and clear July morning. Actually, I am not sure if Nahr Eshe is the right place, I only remember the bus terminal being close to a major highway with lots of wide intersections and is located in the south of Damascus.
I was there to buy a bus ticket to Homs, from there I've hoped to catch a mini bus or taxi to the nearby village of Tartus, where the ruins known as the Crac des Chevaliers or in Arabic, Qala'at Al-Hosn (the Qala'at), lies. The Qala'at is a Crusader castle built more than 3,000 years ago in the 11th Century, it is said to be the best preserved Crusader castle in the world, for a history buff like me, I cannot miss this for the world.
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| Qala'at Al-Hosn - Limestone Wall |
I couldn't get a ticket because the Syrian Police demanded to see my passport, without it they won't authorise the bus operators to sell me ticket, even though Homs is less than 2 hours' drive from Damascus. For such was the reality in Syria, foreigners are expected to present their passports on demand and the police were the tsar.
One bus operator was sympathetic, he tried to sneak my travel companion and me on a bus but was spotted by the transport police, in the end he shook his head and threw his hands in the air apologetically, we walked out the bus terminal feeling rather dejected.
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| Al Baraka Bank, Damascus, July 2010 |
As we were contemplation on our next move, a chubby young man with an neat attire standing behind the bonnet of a yellow Damascus taxi caught my eyes, he was checking the engine of his taxi and gave us a casual glance as we walked pass. The young man has kind eyes and possessed a quiet mannerism, he projected an air of tranquilness contrasting to the chaos we had just experienced.
Something told me this man will help us so I asked my travel companion to approach him; we could use a taxi to to get us out of there, perhaps to retrieve our passports from our accommodation and try again.
For a taxi driver, the young man commanded reasonably good English and after a short fare negotiation, he agreed to take us all the way to Tartus. But first, he must change car at his cousin's, which is nearby, because his taxi was not in a good condition for a long drive. He introduced himself as Mohammad.
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| The Neighbourhood, July 2010 |
The neighbourhood where Mohammad's cousin live was full of shadow, dusty, discarded shopping bags and plastic bottle all over the ground, there was not a spot of greenery in sight yet the place gave me a feeling that people care about where they live, it had a cozy feel to it.
Mohammad instructed us to wait inside the taxi while he checks with his cousin about the car.
I got out of the taxi to look for a pharmacy, hoping to buy some band-aid for my blisters. Perhaps it was still early, not many shops were opened, near where we waited was a butcher where fresh meat hanging off a hook, there were flies everywhere, as well as a tiny kitten under the butcher's table scavenging whatever that fell on the ground.
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| Salhiyeh, Damascus, July 2010 |
Across the road was a shop I don't really know what it was selling, I approached an old man inside the shop pointing to my blisters, he pointed me to a store a couple of doors down and shouted something in Arabic to the people inside, most likely telling them what I needed as one of them came out of the store to greet me with a pack of band-aid.
A few minutes later Mohammad returned cheerily to inform us that his cousin has agreed to lent him his car, however, the younger brother of the cousin must accompany us. I've got a feeling the cousin didn't trust Mohammad to drive his newish late model red sport car all the way so he sent his little brother, Ahmad, along, the cousin also wanted a take in the fare which we agreed to pay an extra SYR1000 for the arrangement.
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| Defence Walls |
The idea of an escort did not seem to bother Mohammad a bit, his eyes lit up like an excited child as he climbed into the driver's seat of his cousin's car, exploring all the gadgets and compartments with a child-like innocence. I think that was partly the reason why his cousins insisted on the escort, perhaps they were afraid that we would take advantage of Mohammad's naiveness.
The initial plan was for Mohammad to drive us back to our accommodation, which is about 40 minutes from Damascus to pick up our passports and then onto Tartus, but Mohammad had to run an errand on behalf of his cousin to bring his aunts their passports so they can travel to the neighbouring Lebanon for business. The passports were to be dropped off at the Syrian Expo Center near Damascus Airport, which is located at the other side of the city. With much time passed, we all agreed not bother with the passports, let's step head straight to the Qala'at, hurray!
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| Secret Passage |
Thanks to the restoration effort by the French, the Qala'at was every bit the fantasy Crusader castle I have imagined - deep watery moat, thick defence wall, vaulted corridors, stone steps descend into dark underground chambers or cisterns, mysterious escape tunnel - awesome cannot even described my feeling. The best thing was that one could explore the Qala'at without restrictions, unlike historic ruins in Europe, it was enter at my own risk should I wish to check out where the dark underground steps lead to.
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| Courtyard |
Before entering the Qala'at, an earnest looking Mohammad came up to us to say we must have his mobile phone number in case we couldn't find him later, it was very thoughtful of him and it was something either me or my travel companion have thought about. I couldn't explain it but I felt Mohammad's intentions were good and pure, his gesture made me realised that he regarded us as his guests and he took care of us as if we were his responsibility. I didn't doubt for a second that was what Mohammad is, a sweet and gentle human being with not a single wicked bone in his body.
Even till now I don't believe I have met anyone that is as genuine, sincere and most kind like Mohammad.
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| Outer Yard |
The Syrian civil war broke out less than a year after I departed, each time I hear about the awful civilian casualty on the news, I thought about Mohammad and the people I met in Syria. I wanted to contact Mohammad but am afraid that it would do him more harm than good, as I suspect all communications would be monitored by the secret police, the only thing I could do is to pray for his safety, as well as the safety of his loved ones, and not let the carnage take away this man's goodness. I hope my prayers are heard.
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