More and more people began to leave Daraa, although the thought of fleeing home had never entered Doaa’s mind. She was convinced that the uprising would soon end and that they could just start over and resume normal lives. She felt that the people who fled were abandoning a cause more important than staying alive, and she couldn’t imagine ever leaving the home she loved so much.
However, as every day in Daraa became a lottery of life and death, the stresses of survival began to take their toll on the entire family. The girls suffered from insomnia and panic attacks, and they were always nervous and on edge, constantly bickering over small things. Hamudi would cry every time he heard a loud noise, and the sounds of the bombs outside made him hysterical. He clung to Hanaa’s side, following her around the house, afraid to lose sight of her.
Doaa, too, was feeling the physical effects of stress. She lost her appetite and grew extremely thin. Hanaa suspected that Doaa was anemic. She also began to get regular sties in her eyes, and one morning she awoke to discover that her entire eyelid was completely swollen.
“We have to go to the doctor now, hayati,” Hanaa said when she saw her. “Your whole eye is infected.”
But a trip to the clinic was risky—they had to cross areas of fighting to get there, and it would take at least an hour. Despite the risk, Hanaa called for an appointment that day and found a taxi that would take them. Security forces were on every corner, and only a few civilians were on the streets. When Hanaa and Doaa arrived at the clinic, they hurried inside.
The doctor, a distant relative, took one look at Doaa’s eye and said he would have to lance the sty immediately. With no money, Hanaa explained that they couldn’t afford the five hundred Syrian pounds for the operation.
“Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll do it for free. We are family, after all,” the doctor said, smiling at Doaa, “and I don’t want you to lose that pretty eye.” Doaa was too nervous about the procedure to smile back and held tight to her mother’s hand.
When Doaa saw the long needle the doctor would use to inject anesthetic in her eye and the razor he would use on the sty, she burst into tears. The doctor comforted her, instructing her to close her eyes and pretend she was sleeping. Doaa obeyed and he quickly set to work. He injected the anesthetic in the sty and covered her eye with a bandage. Afterward he gave her a prescription for antibiotics and sent Doaa and her mother on their way with instructions to return in a week.
The operation hadn’t taken more than an hour, but in that time, fighting had broken out in the streets. No taxis were to be found to take them home, and Doaa was beginning to feel dizzy after her operation. Hanaa’s sister lived a fifteen-minute walk away, so Hanaa phoned to let her know they were coming, and they set off for her house. All Doaa wanted was to sit on the sidewalk and put her head in her arms. She felt weak and helpless and to walk had to lean heavily on her mother’s shoulder while gripping her hand. As they walked, a car full of men who looked like government officials approached them and slowed down.
“Where are you going, sweetheart?” they called to Doaa, leaning out of the car. “What happened to your beautiful eye?”
Hanaa squeezed Doaa’s hand tighter and whispered, “Don’t respond, habibti. Keep looking down.”
Doaa, her mouth dry with fear and still weak from the operation and the anesthetic, did as her mother ordered.
“Hey, speak to us when we talk to you,” one of the men shouted. “It’s rude not to reply.”
Hanaa and Doaa remained silent, terrified that any acknowledgment would simply encourage the men. Doaa’s aunt’s house was now across the street as the men began to lose patience with the two women and started to get really angry.
“Hey, bitch,” one of them shouted, “I told you, answer me when I talk to you.” At this, the rest of the men began to laugh, clearly enjoying what had become a game to them.
Doaa looked around for help, but no one else was on the street. So they kept walking as the car trailed slowly behind them. They were steps away from Hanaa’s sister’s house when they heard the car door swing open behind them. The men were getting out of the car. Their game was over and they moved in closer to Doaa and her mother.
Hanaa and Doaa realized that they had to make a break for it. They ran toward the house. “Ukhti [sister]!” Hanaa cried out as she banged on the door, “Open up, someone’s trying to kidnap Doaa!”
Within seconds, Doaa’s aunt Iman opened the door and pulled them inside. “I was praying to God you would make it,” she told them as she slammed the door behind her.
Doaa was white with fear, and Hanaa worried that she might faint. Hanaa quickly guided her to the nearest chair as Iman rushed back to the window to check if the car was still there.
“You’re safe, they’re leaving,” Iman told them.