Monday, April 25, 2011, started out like any other bright spring day. Doaa was on her way up to the roof to hang the family laundry, the one household task she didn’t mind since she could do it while chatting with her best friend, Amal, whose balcony overlooked Doaa’s roof. It was also a chance for her to see the comings and goings in the neighborhood from a prime viewing spot.
That morning she pushed open the door to the roof with one hip while balancing a plastic basket full of freshly washed dresses, scarves, and shirts on the other. The sun was warm on her face and a cool breeze ruffled her veil. As she shifted the heavy basket for a better grip, she heard a low, rumbling sound. Startled, she set down her load and rushed to peer over the edge of the wall. From four stories up, she had a clear view of the streets of El-Kashef—the bakery across the street, the sidewalks where the neighborhood children played. But now, instead of a familiar quiet, she saw people running in all directions, panicked and afraid. In the distance, she could make out large black shapes advancing toward the city. To get a better view, she leaned farther over the roof wall. As the shapes came into focus, she recognized that military tanks were slowly rolling down the street toward her house. The weight of the massive vehicles seemed to crush the surface of the street, and she could feel the roof trembling beneath her feet. Alongside the tanks she saw hundreds of armed soldiers marching, while military helicopters circled above, their loud propellers drowning out the usual sounds of the city.
Doaa gripped the roof wall tightly, feeling the rough concrete bite into her hands. A sense of dread sickened her as she remembered the stories she had heard about the city of Hama and what had happened there three decades earlier. President Hafez al-Assad had crushed the uprising then by ordering his troops to besiege the city. It’s estimated that ten thousand to forty thousand people were killed during the takeover. The Hama massacre served as a cautionary tale in Syria, and emergency law was reinforced to quell dissent.
Watching with dread as tanks entered her city, Doaa couldn’t help but wonder if President Bashar al-Assad would follow in the footsteps of his father and slaughter anyone who dared to challenge his authority.
While Doaa was pressed against the rooftop wall watching the tanks rumble into the city, her father was at work in the barbershop and her mother was out visiting family. Hamudi and the girls were outside playing on the street in front of the house, as Doaa’s oldest sister, Ayat, who was visiting with her two children, looked on. They were all directly in the path of the approaching tanks and armed men.
Doaa sprinted across the rooftop and down the stairs two at a time. She burst out the front door to warn her siblings. “Get inside, for God’s sake,” she screamed. “You’ll all be killed!” She grabbed Hamudi by the arm and pulled him into the house as her sisters followed her inside. Angry and confused, Ayat snatched up her two little boys and charged inside after them.
“Have you gone crazy?” Ayat shouted. “What’s come over you? What’s happening?”
Doaa pulled Ayat to the front window that looked out onto the street. “This is what is happening!” Doaa pointed. “They’re going to wipe us out!”
As the tanks neared the house, they looked even more menacing. Doaa could see the silhouettes of men dressed in black with balaclavas wrapped around their faces hiding their identities, standing aloft in the gunners’ hatches. It seemed as if they were pointing their guns directly at Doaa’s house and family.
Overcome with fear, Doaa ran to the phone to call her mother but got no response. Desperate, she pressed the redial button over and over, but the phone only rang and rang. Her father didn’t own a cell phone, and the barbershop had no phone either. So instead, Doaa continually dialed her mother, staring intently at the phone, as if by doing so she could make her pick up.
As the soldiers marched through the town, panicked thoughts began to flood Doaa’s head as Ayat’s children began to cry. Where are my parents? Are they safe? What if they don’t come home? Doaa wondered in fear. Huddled together inside the back room that was farthest from the street, Doaa and her siblings clung to each other. Doaa hated feeling helpless, but she could do nothing to protect her family from the threat outside the door.