By Dolina Logan Faulk

We have all heard the political statements about Syria: Axis of Evil, State sponsor of terrorism, etc, but, beyond the rhetoric and what the guidebook and a couple of second-hand accounts had told us, we really didn’t know what to expect. All indications were that it would be a safe place to visit as a tourist -- authoritarian states tend to be because people are too afraid of the government to commit crime against visitors. The question was how would we, as Americans, be received.

One of the first questions visitors are always asked is “Where are you from?”. We always answered honestly (I mean really what is the point of saying you are from Canada? [Or, as my husband says with a wink, “who would want to be from Canada?”] We are not from Canada, and if people have a problem with the US we are happy to talk about it). Sometimes people’s eyes would widen in surprise and they would say, “You are welcome here, we don’t get many visitors from America!” Surprise or no, the reply to where are you from always elicited a “Welcome to Syria!”.

I think because tourism is such a small industry in Syria the people have still not grown weary of tourists. Nor have they developed mercenary tactics to make a buck off tourists. Instead the people really want to meet you and talk to you. I can’t begin to recount all of the positive interactions with people in Syria, there are just too many. I will say that out of all the places that we have visited thus far Syria had the most welcoming friendly people.

Our experiences in Hama really stand out in my mind. Hama is the 4th largest city in Syria (150,000 people as I recall) and while it doesn’t really have any true sites of interest on it’s own it is well located for day trips to Roman ruins, Crusader’s castles, etc. This is how we decided to stay in Hama for two nights (that and according to the guide book the best budget hotel in all of Syria is located in Hama -- for apr. $16 a night). Hama was a dusty little city and when we arrived I didn’t really think much of it.

As we were walking around the city one evening we turned down a small street near our hotel. Suddenly out of the doorway of a tiny hardware store a man appeared. “Come, come,” he said motioning for us to enter the store. We tried to deflect the invitation, but to no avail. So we entered the store (maybe a 150 square feet). There was another man sitting behind the counter and a young boy of around 14 standing nearby. The first man motioned for us to sit down, which, after another round of polite protest, we did.

Soon the tea appeared. The man who had invited us in spoke no English, neither did the boy, but the man behind the counter spoke a bit of English (he was taking a class) so we progressed in a very remedial conversation with our conversational Arabic book and his small Arabic/English dictionary. We had spoken for just a couple of minutes when the “where are you from” conversation began. We said America, everyone smiled and nodded. The man behind the counter said that the shop keeper and the boy were Syrian, but he was Iraqi. His home was in Mosel, but he had been here for a year with his family because of the security situation in Iraq (FYI: the UN estimates there are 1.5 million other Iraqis who are sheltering in Syria, there are even more in Jordan). He clearly bore no anger towards us, “I love American people, but not the soldiers. America should leave Iraq, then I go home.”

After a bit longer stumbling between the two languages the man from Mosel, said that he must leave to go pray, “Come back later”. We agreed and left.

We decided that we would go back, and in-order to follow Arab tradition we would take sweets. We found a beautiful bakery and purchased a box full of pastries for only $1.40. Then we remembered that our host said he didn’t take sugar in his tea because his heart was weak! What should we take for him?! We decided on fruit, so we headed for the fruit market. Once there we decided on strawberries. We made our selection with the vendor and asked how much. He didn’t want us to pay! “You are welcome in Syria!” After a lot of talking we finally convinced him that we should pay, but I am certain that the amount he charged was not the full price. He then gave us candy! During this time a number of children came up to me in the market asking me to take their pictures (not for money, just for fun!).

We headed back to the hardware shop to deliver our gifts, but only the boy was there. We left the gifts with him after explaining (in sign language mostly) that the pastries were for everyone, but the strawberries were for the Iraqi. We figured that would be the end of that, after all we were leaving town the next day.

The day after our tea in the hardware shop we ran into the Man from Mosel. We were preparing to leave Hama when we ran into him on the street. He thanked us profusely for the sweets, and then took his hat off of his head and placed it on my husband’s! He tried to refuse, after all it was his hat (if you think a cowboy’s hat is important to a cowboy, it is nothing compared to the head covering of a Muslim), but Abu Ahmed would not take no for an answer, even though, once again, he was on his way to pray (Muslims like Jews must keep their head covered when praying. When we told our host at the hotel of the gift he was impressed. “Oh, this is the highest honor. He has given you something of himself, from the very top of himself!”) He asked us when we were planning on leaving Hama. When we told him that afternoon he insisted that we meet him after prayer so that we could meet his daughters. How could we refuse?! He said to meet him in one hour at the hardware store. We agreed.

One hour later we met him in-front of the shuttered hardware store (it was Friday after all, so of course the store was closed), but he was alone. For some reason we had thought he was going to bring his daughters to us, but instead he was going to take us to his home!

After a short walk down a dusty alley we arrived at his door. He rang the bell, and a moment later one of his beautiful daughters opened the door (with her mother and sisters close behind). He led us into his modest home that he said was two rooms (I don’t think he was counting the kitchen -- which we saw, or the bathroom -- which we didn’t see). The front door was separated from the first room by curtains. Off of the front room was a small paved courtyard, the kitchen, and the main living area.

We stood and talked for a couple of minutes while the man from Mosel introduced us to his wife and their girls. His oldest daughter is 18 while his youngest is a toddler still in diapers. His wife is only 32 -- 2 years younger than I am! It is certainly amazing how different our lives are.

After introductions had been made the Alshatis invited us into their living room. We removed our shoes (trying to only use our left hand -- since that is the dirty hand. This was easier for two lefties to remember than not using our left hand for eating, pointing, and touching!). The living room was a rectangle measuring about 200 square feet. The room was furnished in the typical Arab manner with a sectional type sofa wrapping two of the walls (so that everyone can have their backs to the walls) and a beautiful oriental rug covering the whole floor.

The oldest daughter was sent to prepare tea for us. Moments later she returned with steaming cinnamon tea in small glasses.

We continued to talk about our lives. Where we lived, what our jobs were, and of course about the trip. Beyond general conversation (the only type our language barrier would allow) we did not talk much about religion or ethnicity, so I can’t say if our hosts are Sunni or Kurds (I am no authority on the various ethnic and religious groups in Iraq) -- I don’t think they are Shiites, but I am not certain. I have been told that before the war Mosel was mixed area with Muslims including Kurds and Christians living together.

What I can say for sure is that our host's faith is very strong and guides his life. He seems to believe that all things in this life are preordained. This seems to give him a bit of peace. He is a strong, quiet, and thoughtful man who is clearly loves his family. A man that bears no animosity towards Americans even though our government’s policy (and action) is the cause of his difficulties.

As the conversation progressed, the man from Mosel began describing their home that they left the year before. One of the girls brought us a cell phone that contained a video of the house taken before the family left. It was over 14 minutes long! The grainy video (taken by one of the girls) showed a beautiful large home right on the river that was shrouded by mist. The wind blew softly as our host, dressed in white, was standing in the soft light with his back to the camera overlooking the river. You could almost imagine his thoughts, and the immense sorrow he felt about leaving his home. The video acted as both an inventory of the house and its contents and also of a potent reminder of all the family had left behind.

The modest rental apartment in Syria where we sat drinking tea and trying to communicate was no match for the family’s home and way of life in Iraq.

The man from Mosel showed us the brochure from the UN refugee relocation program. He knows he can’t stay in Syria forever (he is not allowed to work), and he doesn’t know if he will ever be able to go home to Mosel, so he is applying for relocation (most likely to Europe).

Even though the conversation was heavy with loss the visit was not a sad affair. We had a marvelous time sharing from our experiences. One of the Alshati girls is fascinated by all things Chinese and was very excited to know that we would be going to China soon. We talked about their children and laughed at their antics. While we were talking, the girls began disappearing and reappearing with gifts from their personal effects. I was bedecked with the finest of costume jewels, and the pinkest of hair bobs while my husband was offered the opportunity to change his new hat for any in our host's collection. Since we had not expected to be received in his home we had no gifts, and eventually I found myself rummaging in my bag for gifts. The best that I could do was my collection of watercolor pencils. Even though they are very nice pencils, they seemed insignificant compared to the sacrifice the girls were making for me by taking out of their own jewelry boxes.

After tea came sliced apples. The man from Mosel said that after sharing tea we were now friends, which we knew in our hearts. All too soon, it was time for us to leave for the bus station. With great regret we bid our hosts farewell with hopes that we would meet again.

The experience of having tea with our gracious hosts, while a simple act of hospitality on their part, was both humbling and amazing for my husband and me. During the course of our travels we have been privileged to see some of the world’s “greatest” sites, but nothing yet can compare with the two hours we spent with the Man from Mosel and his family.

Copyright 2008 by Dolina Logan Faulk