Damascus Mortar Diary

DAMASCUS – The sharp clang of metal plates colliding, swiftly followed by a hail of shrapnel, shattered glass, and crumbling masonry assaulting our walls and windows – that’s the grim symphony of a mortar landing.

A car bursts into flames, or perhaps it punches a hole through someone’s wall. It could take the life of a friend, a parent, or an innocent 8-year-old girl. Sometimes, these indiscriminate shells claim entire families. They may occasionally target a guard or an army checkpoint, but more often than not, it’s civilians who bear the brunt. They strike at markets, schools, universities, and even within the sanctuary of our homes. Sunnis, Christians, Alawites, Druze, Shiites — it matters not, for these attacks show no bias.

When a shell strikes nearby, seeking refuge becomes instinctual – whether in the kitchen, bathroom, or any corner shielded from the outside world. It’s a paradox – a blend of fear and laugh, curses escaping lips unaccustomed to such language, in the presence of our conservative families, or anyone else for that matter.

Walking down a street is a macabre dance of survival, as you encounter the first mortar, prompting a swift change in direction. Yet, before you can breathe a sigh of relief, another explosion rocks your new route, as if the chaos deliberately seeks you out.

When alone, perhaps you muster the courage to capture the smoke-laden scene on camera, knowing full well the grave consequences if caught by the military. They can instill more fear than the bombings themselves. Yet, the true terror sets in when you’re with someone you hold dear, fearing for their safety under your watchful eye.

Over time, the bombardment becomes a grim routine. You grow accustomed, recognizing that each blast signifies another moment of survival. They startle you from slumber, yet fail to deter your return to dreams. No longer do you cower beneath the bed, aware that shrapnel can pierce through furniture with ease.

Emerging later to assess the damage wrought by the relentless mortars, I recall the last time — just two weeks ago — when a shell erupted near my home in the city center. As I approached the site, I encountered a man selling prickly pears on the sidewalk. He recounted how the shell landed in the Polish Embassy yard, a mere 30 meters from where he positioned his red cart. Such resilience is woven into the fabric of Damascus life, where even amidst turmoil, solace in the ordinary sights of everyday life persists.

Despite recent attacks, people still flock to places like Abu Abdo and Abu Shakir, the famed cocktail cabinets of Damascus. Though one has endured a vicious assault, patrons continue to gather, savoring their drinks and fruit salads in the open air.

Coffeehouses, targeted even at noon, swiftly repair the damage to welcome customers in the evening. Amidst the laughter, however, lies a tapestry of sorrow — tales of lost loved ones, shattered dreams, and destroyed homes. Yet, amidst the darkness, these places offer a semblance of peace, a refuge for those who remain.

The relentless attacks have become a somber backdrop to daily life, as Damascus may no longer boast the safety it once did. Though, the city’s spirit remains resilient and vibrant. Students attend classes despite the looming threat, relieved to return home unscathed. Parents persist in their work, driven by the need to provide for their families. Couples refuse to abandon their plans, refusing to let fear dictate their lives. It’s a daily game of Russian roulette, where living is the prize worth risking life for.

Recently, a new form of terror has emerged — Katyusha rocket attacks. These locally manufactured rockets, launched by groups like the Islamic Union of Ajnad al-Sham, pose a new threat. Unlike mortars, they emit a distinct whistling sound, offering a brief window for escape or shelter. Though less prone to shrapnel, they represent a sinister evolution in the ongoing conflict.

Jetfighters breaking the sound barrier follow shortly after mortar and rocket attacks. When you’re scared shitless, you can’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline at the roar of the MiG fighter piercing through the air, silently wishing for that aircraft to eliminate the attackers. But no matter the airstrikes carried out, safety remains elusive. Like Israel’s struggle with Palestinian rockets in Gaza, the Syrian army’s efforts often backfire, leaving civilians caught in the crossfire.

You come back to your senses and realize that only nonviolence and good politics can bring about an end to this dark chapter in history.