CROSSING TO EUROPE
126 | July• 2019
next thing she knew, her eyes were
full of tears. She ran away and came
home, while security forces stormed
the university and fired tear gas and
bullets.
As we had seen elsewhere in Syria,
the violence soon escalated. Rebels
got hold of more effective weapons,
some seized from Syrian army bas-
es, others smuggled in from Turkey,
Jordan, and Lebanon. Front lines
hardened into stalemate.
In July, rebels poured into Alep-
po, seizing control in the east, while
regime forces maintained control in
the west. Our own Kurdish militia,
the YPG, kept control of our neigh-
bourhood.
I tried covering my ears and turning
up the TV, but nothing could block out
the buzz of the helicopter gunships
and thetuk-tuk-tukof gunfire. When
the raids started, people would rush
to basement shelters, but of course
I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t leave
me, so we all sat on the fifth floor as
the building shook and the windows
rattled, everyone trying not to look
scared.
FLEEING THE CHAOS
Soon people started leaving. Those
with money and passports were able
to fly to other countries. Others sought
safety by fleeing to the countryside, or
crossing to Lebanon where they may
have had relatives.
Eventually, my parents agreed we
should leave. First we went back to
Manbij, which was under rebel con-
trol. But no one was really in charge.
Armed militants drove around town
fighting among themselves, and steal-
ing from people. Foreigners arrived
with the rebels and beat women who
didn’t cover themselves. They jailed
people who had a tattoo or wore jeans.
Meanwhile, Assad just got worse.
He brought in Afghan fighters as mer-
cenaries and got military assistance
from the Iranians. The regime began
bombing Manbij using MiG fighters
and helicopter gunships. The place
was in chaos.
My brother Shiar came to visit and
was shocked at how we were living
with the bombs and the jihadis. He
gave us money for our passage.
My parents didn’t want to leave,
and at first they stayed behind, while
my brother Mustafa went ahead to
the Turkish town of Gaziantep. Uncle
Ahmed was driving us in his car, as he
had a passport and could cross the
border. My brother Bland sat in front
with Uncle Ahmed. Nasrine and I, and
Mustafa’s wife, were squashed in back.
It was less than an hour’s drive from
Manbij to the Turkish border, where
we saw hundreds of other Syrians con-
verging on the crossing point, mostly
on foot. Uncle Ahmed slipped the
border official a wad of notes, but he
only allowed Ahmed and me through.
Bland and the others found a smug-
gler. They slipped through a fence and
met up with us across the border.
The drive to Gaziantep took about