At each meal, Hanaa did her best to portion out what little food they had as they all took tiny sips of water from one glass that they shared among the entire family, drawn from the remaining stock of bottled water that they had in the house. Disconnected from their TV programs during evening power cuts, they sat together by candlelight, taking turns reading the Quran. They often started with the Ayat al Kursi verse, which asked God to protect them through the night.
Once all their candles had been burned, they sat in the darkness, listening in huddled silence to the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and screams outside. Sometimes, they even heard the ricocheting pangs of bullets as they hit the walls of their house. Every night they went to bed hungry and wondering how long their confinement would last.
One week passed with their only contact with the outside world being when armed men in uniform and muddy boots banged and kicked at their door, demanding to be let in to search the house. This disturbing and intrusive ritual was performed as often as three times a day. Each time Shokri rose to let them in, he was cooperative and obedient in order to protect the family. Sometimes, the soldiers entered the home and pointed their guns at them, one member at a time. “We’re looking for terrorists,” they would state. That means me, Doaa thought as she realized anyone who’d taken part in a demonstration was now being classified as a terrorist by the state. She was certain that they knew that she and her sisters had been out demonstrating and were trying to scare them into confessing.
One time one soldier looked directly at Doaa and said, “You want freedom, you dogs? We’ll give you freedom.” Then he and his men began sweeping things off the shelves, toppling over books and breaking vases and other trinkets. They then moved into the kitchen and knocked over the last bottle of precious olive oil along with the remaining jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, smashing everything onto the floor. The family was left to clean up the mess and fret over how they would survive with almost all their reserves gone.
Another time during a search, the visiting soldiers took Doaa’s mobile phone and scanned through it for photos or videos that might implicate her in the demonstrations. She had been warned that taking photos of the demonstrations could associate her with them, so she had wisely refrained from documenting her involvement.
One soldier even pointed his gun at Hamudi, who was only six at the time. Trembling in fear, he clung to his mother. Hanaa was terrified that the soldiers might arrest him as they had other young boys. She shielded him in her arms and prayed the soldiers would leave them alone. When they finally left the home, Hanaa was flooded with relief. But every time the family’s house was searched, the fear that someone would be taken away was renewed.
One day, as Doaa was closing the door behind a group of soldiers who were just leaving the house after searching the property, another group suddenly pushed open the door again, demanding entry. One of the soldiers shoved his rifle into her stomach and pushed her to the floor.
“Why are you closing the door in our faces?” he barked at Doaa, keeping the gun pressed against her stomach.
Doaa lay there frozen still. “Your colleagues were already here,” she said, looking up at him. “They just finished conducting a search.”
After a few seconds, he lowered his weapon and turned his attention to Shokri. “Take me up to your roof,” he demanded. He insisted the family go up the stairs ahead of him and the other soldiers so that if rebels were upstairs waiting to ambush, the family would be shot first. Shokri led the way with the rest of the family crowding into the stairway behind him. As she glared over her mother’s shoulder at the soldiers, Doaa felt her rage swell. This was her home, her family. What right did they have to order them around and threaten them? She despised seeing her proud father forced to obey these bullies, and she bit the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from hurling insults at them. The soldiers quickly discovered that there was nothing on the roof, and Doaa breathed a sigh of relief as this second group of soldiers left the house. The family had survived yet another raid.
Each time a search was conducted, Shokri feared that the soldiers might kidnap the girls. So he made Doaa and her sisters sleep in their abayas so that they would be fully covered in case of a raid in the middle of the night, which was starting to become routine. He also gave each of his daughters a knife for protection. “Stab any man who comes too close,” he advised, and instructed them to keep the knives hidden under their abayas during searches.