Ahmad arab "alasmar alanzi
Asylum and return home
In the Name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful Chapter One: “Memories” In 2014, when I was about 12 years old, I lived in the town of Mahin, in the eastern neighborhood. Those were happy days and a simple life. I didn’t have a phone—my true joy was wandering through Mahin’s vineyards with my father or my uncle. I saw life through the eyes of a young boy proud of his roots and his land. I would roam the orchards, breathe in the scent of olive leaves, and help my father water the olive saplings. That was my real happiness in life. Then I would return home to the fragrant smell of food and the warm, tender voice of my grandmother calling out, “Have you come back?” We would sit together and eat happily until around 4 PM—the time when the most famous series back then, “Al-Ard Al-Tayyiba” (The Good Land), would air. But most of the time, I didn’t have time to watch it, as I would go to attend gatherings with boys my age at the Grand Mosque of Mahin, under the supervision of Sheikh Shaker Mansour (may God preserve him and reward him for the knowledge he gave us). We would return home before the Maghrib prayer and find my mother preparing dinner. We would sit and eat simple but delicious food, made with warm and loving hands. We would go to sleep at 8 PM, wake up at dawn with the call to prayer, and head to school—I was in the sixth grade at the time. Back then… everything was beautiful. Chapter Two: “The First Displacement” The day we were forced to flee due to the war and conflict in Syria—we left our town and went to Al-Qaryatayn, escaping the sounds of gunfire, filled with fear and anxiety for our lives, leaving everything behind. I won’t go into too much detail about that period… I carry bitter memories of terror and the sounds of shelling. All I remember from that time are the scent of olive trees, the colors of pomegranates, the fragrance of figs, and the warmth of every home in my town, Mahin. After nearly six months of displacement between Al-Qaryatayn and the city of Al-Sawwana (west of Palmyra), we returned to our beloved Mahin—kind in its people and generous in its land. Our condition was poor, and our spirits were exhausted after a long absence from our dear home, which had been burned along with all the warm memories it held. Yet we thanked God in all circumstances. We were patient, rebuilt our home, and slowly… happiness began to return. “The Second Displacement” In 2015, another setback struck, and we were forced to flee again. What I remember most clearly was that night at 9 PM—leaving Mahin along the Mahin–Hawarin road with our neighbors in a tractor trailer. We were terrified. The sounds of shelling and gunfire were everywhere, smoke rising across the town, and the night was bitterly cold. A tear fell from my eye—out of sorrow and helplessness at being forced to leave again. Inside me, a voice cried out as the vehicle moved and my town slowly disappeared from sight: “This is the last time I will ever see my homeland.” My voice could barely emerge, broken by grief for the loss of our beloved town, Mahin—our warm home, its noble people, and our kind relatives. We were displaced to the Rukban camp on the Syrian-Jordanian border. Tents stretched as far as the eye could see—Syrians everywhere, waiting for relief from God, fleeing war and fear, trying to save their children. The weather was harsh, and the desert was vast and unforgiving. Chapter Three: “The Refugee Experience” We entered Jordan as refugees on February 7, 2016, and went to Azraq Camp. The conditions were harsh, yet we felt a sense of safety despite everything. There was always sorrow and resentment toward whoever had taken our homeland from us and forced us into displacement—until we found ourselves living in caravans. But God’s relief is great. He gave us patience to endure 11 years there, even as we lost hope of returning to Syria—to Mahin. At first, it was very difficult. After two years, we adapted a little. After three years, I completed my education. However, circumstances did not allow me to work with my qualifications or experience. So in 2021–2022, I left with a group of young men to the rural city of Mafraq in Jordan to work on a fruit farm. The farm was full of olive, apricot, and fig trees. That simple, kind countryside reminded me deeply of my village, Mahin. One night, I sat alone in the darkness, far away… and I cried. Then I remembered the words of God: “So those who emigrated and were expelled from their homes and were harmed in My cause and fought and were killed—I will surely remove from them their misdeeds and admit them to gardens beneath which rivers flow.” (Surah Aal-Imran, 3:195) I felt reassured and calmed. I returned to my rented place, prayed two units of prayer, and fell asleep. (A small note: The area of Subha in rural Mafraq—with its olive and fig trees and its kind, generous rural people—reminded me of Mahin. That is why I cried and felt my chest tighten.) Chapter Four: “The Day of Liberation” In November 2024, while in Azraq Camp, I woke up, drank a glass of water, and picked up my phone. I saw news saying that the “Deterrence of Aggression” battle had begun, led by Abu Mohammad, head of Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham, and that they had entered Aleppo. At first, I didn’t believe it. I checked multiple sources and said: “God willing, may it be true… may Aleppo be liberated, and the rest of the regions as well.” A day or two later, more news came—the campaign had succeeded in liberating parts of rural Hama. My heart overflowed with joy. I ran like a five-year-old child to tell my father, only to find my entire family already following the news, filled with happiness. Then, on December 7, I woke up to news I never expected—Homs had been fully liberated, including rural Homs, especially Mahin. A smile spread across my face. I cried tears of joy, thanked God, and prayed for the full liberation of Syria and justice against the criminals. Time passed like seconds… Until December 8, 2024, when the news was announced: the tyrant had fled, Syria was safe, and control had been established. I cried from overwhelming joy—at God’s power and mercy, at the sacrifices of the martyrs that were not in vain, and at the efforts of those who fought on the front lines and brought peace to us. My greatest joy was seeing the tyrant flee and become displaced—just as he had made the great Syrian people refugees. Chapter Five: “Returning Home” On February 14, 2026, by the grace and blessing of God, I was able to return to Syria—to my beloved village, Mahin. There were many visitors, a warm استقبال, overwhelming joy, and tears that would not stop. God willing, Mahin will return to what it once was—and even better. Conclusion “O Allah, make this land and all Muslim lands safe and secure, prosperous and at ease, and protect them from all harm and evil.” This was a spontaneous story filled with memories. I hope my story and memories of Mahin will remain for decades to come. I apologize for any inaccuracies—this is simply a story I compiled from my personal diary, adding some details based on my perspective. Special thanks to everyone who contributed to this platform. May God bless it in all that benefits people. — The End ______
