Bal Ahya'

Sabah-Syria.

I intended it to be another normal day, thus restrained from praying at the 'red zone' mosques. Opting for Jami' Hassan Habannakah, it occured to me that whilst being named in honour of one of the most outspoken ulama's in the country, it would'nt spell danger for me as it wasn't reknown for being a hotspot for violence. On arriving, i noticed a man selling pineapples in front of the mosque. Pineapples were a rarity in Syria, or at least it was the first time i saw anyone selling them. Having arrived a bit late, the mosque was already a bit tight, but i managed to get a place where i could see both the tv display and the ulama' giving the sermon. The air was tense. I sensed that it wasn't going to be such a normal day after all.

The syeikh started off with ukhwah, quoting the story of Muhajirin and Ansar as the perfect example of aqidah based relationship between Muslims. What started of as a so-so sermon, started to hike as the syeikh proceeded talking about the Palestinians, then the syuhada' seen daily on television and on radio. He quoted a verse from the Quran, which may have been the turning point of the happenings yet to come;

ولا تحسبن الذين قتلوا في سبيل الله أمواتا بل أحياء عند ربهم يرزقون

And do not ever assume that those who are slain in Allah’s cause, are dead; in fact they are alive with their Lord, receiving sustenance. [Al-Imran 3:169]

We had barely finished our Friday prayers before hearing shouts of people roaring and marching in the street. Seconds later, the whole mosque wreaked havoc. The people started shouted slogans condemning the killings in Dara'a, a few started giving out orders while some just stood rooted to their places, dumbfounded. The people were one, unified and persistent in their cause. Tear gas filled the air, and people started to divide, unleaded.Choking and eyes stinging, I had difficulty finding my shoes, and became one of the last to leave the mosque. Most of the brave martyr wannabes had already joined the greater crowd and marched to the direction of Jami' Zaid. Those that were left in the streets standing their ground were either too bewildered to do anything or were too afraid to be part of the revolution. Suddenly, a commotion broke up in the streets. Edging closer to get a better look, i saw that the pineapple-man was being held by a few plain-clothes policeman, while the nearby people wanted him to be cut loose. Pineapple-man, despite being caught for reasons i knew not of, was clinging for dear life to his pineapples. Bruised and beaten, he would simply not let go off his only source of food for his family.

A half-naked man with blood streaming down his face was being dragged away from the direction of the faraway 'battlefield'. The people were obviously afraid of the leather-jacketed police, not daring to intervene. Minutes passed and i started walking away from the mosque. Farther up the street, a woman came out and hung up some newly-washed clothes. A man tended to his roasted-chicken in a cheerful manner, just throwing an occasional nervous glance towards the scene of the demonstrations. Everything seemed to go back to normal. Suddenly, rain started to pour from the skies, and with it came frost. Right in the middle of spring. The world was crying for the people. Something was definitely wrong with the country.

p/s : Gratitude to Bro Nasirin for such an insightful motto. Stay Alive. His blog can be visited here.