Al Abed Bana - Dear world: a Syrian girls story of war and plea for peace

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I dedicate my book to every child suffering in a war. you are not alone.

Where theres hope, theres life. It fills us with fresh courage and makes us strong again.

ANNE FRANK

I am so happy that I got to write a book, because I love books and I love to read. I am a good writer because I practice a lot, but I still needed some help writing my book. My mum and my editor, who published this book, helped me to tell my story in English. These are all my memories from the warthe happy times, the scary times, and everything I could remember. I tried not to forget anything and to tell it right. I hope you like my book. I hope it makes you want to help people.

It was a perfect June day when you came into the world, Bana. Warm, bright, and cloudless. I looked out the window of the hospital room, hands resting on my swollen belly and feeling you kick and squirm as if impatient to be here already, and I thought, There couldnt be a more perfect day for a new life to start. For a minute I forgot about the pain of labor and my fear of what was to comeinstead, I thought about how I would soon be sitting in this bed, holding you tightly in my arms, and you would see this same thick sunlight for the first time, feel its warmth on your face; the precious first moments of your beautiful life.

We had waited a long time for you. Not just your father and me but also all of your aunts and uncles and especially your grandparents, who were eager for their first grandchild. When my father arranged my marriage to Baba, our families agreed that we would delay the wedding until I could finish school. And then we wanted to have a little time to be a couple, to get to know each other before we had children. But since Ghassan and I are the oldest in both of our families and the first to be married, everyone was ready for a new little one and for us to start on the next generation. So it was that almost from the very day after our wedding, at every dinner or family visit, someoneespecially Grandma Alabedwould inevitably insist, Its time for a baby.

What they didnt know is that I was having trouble getting pregnant and had to go to many doctors for more than a year. With each month that it didnt happen, I would become more and more terrified that it never would, that I would never get to be a mother. One day, in the middle of this cycle of hope and disappointment, your baba and I were walking around the Citadel of Aleppo, one of my favorite places. The ancient stone walls always made me feel safe and peaceful. Aleppo is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the whole world, Bana. Did you know that? It comforted me to think of that and to feel connected to our history and the ancestors who walked in this very same place over the course of thousands of years.

It was crowded, always, with families and couples, and this day was no different, with many people enjoying an early spring day. That was how it was before the warso many ordinary days: your father going to work, me visiting with your grandparents and shopping for dinner, helping Grandma Alabed cook, and then taking a stroll after dinner.

Its hard to think about that now. We took it for granted that things would always be like this, with no way to know, or even comprehend, what the future held. It would not have been possible to imagine then that this place where we were walking, which had stood for centuries, would soon be all but destroyed. But all of that was in the future; that day we were happy.

You know your father can be a little quiet sometimes, but he would become animated when he talked about the future. He had just bought a crib. I thought it might be bad luck, since I still wasnt yet pregnant, but your baba is optimistic like that. He proceeds as if the future and his dreams and plans are guaranteed. Its one of the things I love most about him. In those early days of our marriage we would spend hours talking about the lives we wanted to have, which is what we were doing on our walk. Ahead of us, a little girl caught our eye. She must have been about four. She was striking, with long, thick hair and bright gray eyes. We couldnt take our eyes off her as she ran and laughedmy heart filled with such longing that I almost collapsed from the weight of it. Your father turned to me and said that this was the child he pictured for us: a daughter, a little girl with long hair who was filled with energy and laughter. A little girl who would captivate strangers. In that moment, a calm came over me. Somehow I knew I would get pregnant; I knew you would come. And that you would be a little girl whom everyone would love.

There are so few precious possessions we were able to take from Syriaa few old family photos, a copy of our wedding invitation, locks of hair from your and your brothers first haircuts, and the pregnancy test I took the day I found out I was having you. Even now, when I look down at the faded blue line, it brings back the feeling I had that daywhen I was bursting with excitement for the future. When I knew I was finally going to get to be a mother. Your mother. When everything seemed possible and the future was boundless.

Nine months later, when they put you in my arms, you locked your huge brown eyes on mine, and I felt a jolt of love so strong it was as if it were an actual current running through my body. First I prayed to Allah that you would be in good health and that you would have a good spirit. I said my favorite prayer from the Quran: I seek refuge in the Lord of daybreak, from the evil of that which he created and from the evil of darkness when it settles. And from the evil of the blowers in knots. And from the evil of an envier when he envies. I had repeated this verse out loud to you the whole time I was pregnant because Id read that you could hear my voice, and I wanted you to be born knowing God. Then I leaned over and whispered my dreams for you in your ear so that those would be the very first words you heard, so that from then on you could carry those whispers in your heart.

Your name means tree in Arabic. We chose this because it is a strong name, and we wanted a strong little girl. And you are, Banayou are strong and you are brave. And wise beyond your years. People call it being an old soul. You came into the world with a wisdom that everyone around you sensed and was drawn to. It still fills me with pride.