Faisal, 19 years old, had never attended university. He used to help his father in his forging business. When his father discovered Faisal’s talent in soccer he started playing with the Daraa’s local team and soon became a famous goalkeeper.

On March 2011 Faisal woke up to the noise coming from their neighbor. It was still 2 am. He heard the terrifying knock of the police at the door. “Do you think we have the whole night for you? We will break this scrap now!’ they shouted. He heard Abu Hamza pleading with the policeman. “Please don’t break I’m coming. Faisal immediately got dressed and opened the door to see what is happening. The police were still waiting at the door. “What’s wrong?” he said looking at the policemen at the door. They did not even reply acting as if he did not exist. Abu Hamza finally opened the door and stepped aside for the police to enter. “Hamza Al-Mohammad! Where is he?” the officer shouted. Hamza was very scared, he looked at his mother. She was crying. Hamza’s body stiffened. Before anyone could respond the officer’s hand was on the scruff of his neck: “You are coming with us!”. Faisal looked at Abu Hamza’s face, he was sweating and his skin was white from the extreme fear. They were all afraid, the secret police were notorious for their violence. Faisal shouted with anger, “What do you want from him? He is still 13 years old. What could he possibly have done?”. Silence fell. They watched in horror as Hamza hobbled helplessly out into the street with the police.

Hamza was not the only one who got arrested. The local secret police had arrested 15 boys between the ages 10 and 15 for painting antigovernment graffiti on the walls of a school. “The people, want, to topple the regime!” they wrote. It was the slogan of the revolutions in Cairo and Tunis which Hamza and his friends had seen played out on their TVs.

The children were beaten, bloodied and burned in a cold interrogation room. After two weeks Hamza’s dead body was delivered to his family which was badly bruised, along with burn marks and three gunshot wounds.   Hamza’s family distributed photos and video of his body to journalists and activists. Shocked by what was depicted, thousands of people showed their support for Hamza online and in street. That was the spark that lit the flame in Syria, the birth of the Syrian conflict and a turning point in Faisal’s life.

In his first protest, Faisal saw the snipers who were deployed by the regime. He was filled with anger. “Lift me up!” he told his friends. He took off his shirt and chanted for the first time: “Listen up sniper, here’s my neck, here’s my head!”. Faisal was never afraid to let on about his name, he did not hide his face and here he was against the regime. He soon became the leader of the protests in Homs and icon of the Syrian uprising. On TV, Syrians gathered to listen to Faisal whenever he’s on, live from Daraa. And now he was on the regime’s wanted listed, due to his braveness and popularity amongst the Syrians.

One day the government send him a letter asking him to go to Damascus and meet with the president and then speak on a semi-official TV. “You’d be a star player again” they said. He could’ve simply said yes and return to his regular life, back to his training. But he refused and that made them furious. The next day, the army raided his neighborhood looking for him. They secretly followed him for couple of days. One day he left the house and got into his car. They were still watching. They targeted his car. Faisal immediately jumped out of the car, just before it flew into the air. He was able to escape with his parents. But the army killed his older brother Saleh, with his cousins and a number of his friends. The family home was destroyed.

Security forces started to kill number of people in protests. That triggered days of violent unrest that steadily spread nationwide over the following months. Day by day, movement inside the city became harder, checkpoints were set up between the neighbors, and the snipers were located everywhere.

Faisal and his friends started to meet secretly in the nights and discuss. Their number increased every passing day. “Guys, we are dealing with people who do not fear God. We’d never win if we stayed peaceful. Peaceful resistance is futile” said Faisal in one of the meetings. They all thought the same thing, but no one was brave enough to bring up the topic. Osama immediately took the computer on the table and made an internet call to Abu Omar, the guy who was responsible from providing money. “I’ll secure some money as soon as I can, God willing! We have sent some money for Eid, quite a handsome amount, but if you are asking for more I can talk with them. They were worried about the security of the money but I told them that Faisal and Osama; both are trustworthy” said ABU Omar. “Thank you Abu Omar” stopped him Osama, “You know we have groups. Keep in mind that the money they need is not just for food! It will be used for arms too. We want to be clear about that”.  “Oh okay, don’t worry! Now tell me what’s new in terms of songs? Anything new?” asked Abu Omar. Faisal lifted his arms in excitement,” Yes there is one! An exclusive for you” said with a smile on his face. “Only for your radio channel!” said one of the guys teasing him.

“Our homeland bleeds, father, and the land is sad.

With our blood, father, we shall please God.

The child calls for help, father, but who will listen? Who will listen? Who will listen…” he continued singing.

The meeting was over. Now it was time to leave. And that was the hardest part. They got into the car hearing the gunshots. They closed the headlights so that they cannot be recognized. “Don’t drive yet. The road is slippery and it’s full of rocks.” said one of them. “No, no, it won’t be hard. I’ve done this before” said the other. “But the sniper is spraying bullets. Even if he isn’t targeting you specifically, he may still get you! Don’t you hear the voices?!” said another one. “ I think crossing now is better than later.” said Faisal. “Are we or aren’t we the grandchildren of Khaled (ibn al- Walid)? Are we fearless or not? Let’s do it!” said the guy who was driving, with a fearless smile on his face, even though his heart raced inside. They finally made it to the other side of the road.

Khaled was the doctor of the group. After the revolution started he started living in a one room house which had two operating tables and one old sofa. He used to rest on the sofa and wait for the patients to come.  The room looked messy and old. The walls were cracked and surrounded by cables. The lamps were concentrated near the operating tables, and there was a huge oxygen tube next to each table. When Osama entered the house in the morning, Khaled was still sleeping: “Wake up! You’re still sleeping? Yallah wake up.” Said smiling at him. “ I swear I had the most terrible sleep. Patients started to come at 7’o clock” said Khaled. “What was the problem?” Asked Osama. “One needs coronary catheterization and another needs urinary catheterization… from 7 am!”  Before Khaled could even finish his sentence, they heard a car coming with a high speed, announcing their arrival by a ceaseless sounding of the car horn. This was the way they bring the emergency patients.

Hearing the voice, the neighbors went out to help the patient: “Carry him carefully!”. The blood wasn’t just trickling. No. The blood was flowing, he was bleeding from everywhere. They immediately put him on the surgery table.

Khaled could not save him though he tried his best… “O Lord may you accept him” cried out the father of the guy. He was crying and could barely open his eyes from dizziness. The men there hold him and helped him getting into the funeral car.

“ Daraa don’t worry. I will sacrifice my soul and blood for you, Tomorrow the regime will fall and its supporters will flee… Daraa, our eyes are open day and night until this back stabbing regime falls…..” was singing Faisal with a child on the stage as thousands of people were singing and dancing with them.

On February 4, 2012, the Syrian forces killed more than 1000 people in the city of Daraa. The neighborhood which was the revolution’s heart, was exposed to mortar grenades which killed many of the residents. The majority of casualties were children and elderly. Families woman and children were slain with knives. Plenty of shelling. The regime was slaughtering everybody. The people were forced to flee their home in the midnights. Thousands of people were displaced, leaving the city with rebels and the poorest families who could not find a place to refuge.

The dream of a revolution through songs and protests ended. The young boys’ dream of impending freedom ended. The beat of the drum… the dancing ended. The weapons that were used at first to protect protesters were now used to save neighborhoods from surrender.

Even in the darkest nightmares, no one would have imagined the city in this condition today. The city was ruined and the houses were deserted. There were no doors or windows left in the houses. The safest way to move in the city was through the holes opened on the walls of the deserted homes. The people who filled the streets with life not too long ago, whose chants used to drown out the sounds of the bullets were not here anymore. Only chirping of birds and the roar of bombs could break this silence.

Most of the city fell into the hands of the army. Faisal and his friends took the front of the city and controlled the area starting from here. They aimed to inhibit the army’s progress. They were covered by two walls which they counted on for protection. They made holes in the walls to shoot through, as they saw the tanks coming.

Like the homes and streets, they too got their fair share of mortar shells. Before losing consciousness, Osama spat blood coming from his chest and told his friends ”I love you!”. shrapnel pierced every part of his body.  Khaled was cutting his sweater and crying “ I like this sweater’ he told him. He moved his right hand with difficulty and continued talking until he felt unconscious, and close his eyes for the last time. Faisal kissed Osama’s bloody head “Sleep easy we will continue the struggle…” he whispered as his tears were running down his face.

Brave rebels liberated many of the city’s government buildings. The revolution’s armed power started to grow with individual donations from abroad. The Free Syrian army prepared to break the siege in the countryside of Homs. It was their last chance. They would either win or perish. “Abu Abdullah’s group goes first. Then Ali’s group. So this is how we are getting in: I will go first…” Faisal announced his plans to the rebels.

They started executing their plans after couple of days.

“Hey watch out Faisal they are shooting from this direction. Come on! Come on get in!” shouted Abu Abdullah. Too late. Faisal was heavily injured from his leg as he was running. His tendons were all torn. “Guys! Don’t let the blood of martyrs be in vain. Don’t waste their blood! For Gods sake!” Faisal repeated three times as he was crying like a little child. “We don’t need money or anything. Kill me but just open up an exit for people!” he shouted in pain.

The city was liberated after 2 months of struggle and many sleepless nights….

Faisal went out to the roof of his old house, the house where he spent his childhood. He walked to the edge of the roof with his walking sticks. He looked at the city with a euphoria mixed with little bit of sadness. He tried to turn his gaze away from the sight of the houses and looked at the mountains. He could not bear to see the devastation. Suddenly it started snowing although there were no heavy clouds. For these few moments the city looked pure and childlike. Faisal suddenly felt delightful. He mumbled the famous Arabic poem;

“If, one day, a people desires to live, then fate will answer their call.

And their night will then begin to fade, and their chains break and fall.

For he who is not embraced by a passion for life will dissipate into thin air,

At least that is what all creation has told me, and what its hidden spirits declare…”

Written

by

Lujain Maasfeh