When the Sky Wrote Back

By Maryam Imbisat

The book, ‘When the Sky Wrote Back’ is a book which depicts the sufferings of the Syrian people during the Arab Spring. It speaks of the brave souls who came forward and of the ones who perished while doing so. The concept of journalism and its power has been mingled with the story of star-crossed lovers. The book teaches us how love survives even when the world is ending and how the truth never dies. Taking us on a miraculous journey which speaks the truth, the truth, and only the truth, it also brings forward the many crimes committed by The Doctor.

It is a must-read for all of those trying to bring an impact in this world not just by taking up actions or leading armies, but also those who just have a flame in their hearts to do so. For all those who hope and dream, it is a must.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Rose Publishers
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890088109

Book preview

ears back:

Dear Diary,

18, February 2011,

I am Noor Ahmar of Cairo, Egypt. Revealing the truth to the world has always been my passion. At first, it was through my Twitter account that I told the other side of the story to the world. Everything changed when I got this job offer from an organization that is not much known to the world as it is new. These people, whose names I am restricted from revealing now, are crazily rich. All they want is a human being and the rest is handled by them. I know I am young, but that’s what they need! A youngster who is very eager to research and find the reality. I completed my journalism at the University of Egypt and was appointed for this job. I have no friends and no relatives. My first project is Syria’s revolutionary effort which, according to our analysis, won’t end up well. The flight is for tomorrow. Wish me luck!’

The young lady closed her diary and kept it in her bag, which was all neatly set to fly with her to Syria.

‘There is no need for this, sir’, she said the following day as she was handed a camera the next morning at the airport.

‘Complain to your boss. I was just asked to give this to you,’ the bulky man said, showing his yellow stained teeth, which were the effect of cigarettes.

‘Oh, I am sorry. So, you are not the boss?’ She asked, as she was in a total mood to initiate a conversation.

‘Salamualaikum’, the man replied, and he went back to his car.

The time for takeoff came. It was the first time she was travelling away from her home town.

‘Hello, this is Yusuf. I am here to answer any questions you might have related to our programme for Syria's A man came to sit beside her and whispered. Noor was recording the view of the sky from her camera.

‘Never trust anyone with your top-secret mission. We will inform you in advance of any arrival of our agents' or her boss’s words echoed in her ears.

‘What programme?’ she asked, looking innocently at him.

‘The one you are boarded for on this plane’, he replied, bending towards her side.

‘Who are you?’ she asked, making a fierce look.

‘Yusuf, one of the agents—’

‘Where is your ticket?’ she interrupted.

‘I have it, but first—’

‘Show me, sir’ she asked, extending her hand towards him.

‘Look’

‘This is not your seat. Will you please return to your seat, or shall I ask for some help from the staff?’?’ Noor asked, already getting up.

‘Ok. Ok. Take it easy. I am going,’ the man replied, raising his hands as though surrendering and leaving.

‘I think she is super ready’, he texted after getting seated.

Noor’s heart started beating as fast as a horse when the plane landed. New place, people, and a whole new experience.

As soon as she stepped out of the airport, something hit her. The site, as though put upon a spell on her, got her mesmerised. Even though she belonged to an Arab country herself, she could make out many differences in the surroundings and atmosphere of Syria. The people, the roads and even the sky seemed to be different.

‘Thank God I am an Arab’, Noor thought to herself and approached a taxi driver.

‘Merhaba! How may I help you?’ the old man asked in a cheerful tone.

‘I wish to go to this place’, Noor replied, showing him the address on her phone screen.

‘Ok,’ the driver replied and passed his keys to a young man standing opposite to him. The young man, barely more than 20 years of age, grasped the keys and helped the older man put Noor’s belongings at the rear of the cab.

‘Now is not the time to show off your journalist skills’, she thought to herself when she thought the boy was underage to drive.

As soon as she got seated and they drove off, she informed the boy that she would be recording everything, and if he wished to, he could be a part..

‘Sure, sure. Why not?’ the young boy replied, chuckling nervously

‘These are the streets and towns of Aleppo. I am in a taxi that is being driven by Mahmood, who is just 19 years old. Mahmood, say hi,’ she said, turning the camera from out of the window to the driving seat where Mahmood was gleaming with the joy of being recorded. He waved at the camera while looking forward and spoke, ‘Merhaba and welcome to Aleppo. The ancient city that would fail all your imaginations about heaven.’

‘Oh! You are quite a poet!’ she said, laughing and closing the camera. ‘Are these the protests the world is talking about?’ Noor asked as she witnessed small demonstrations in various streets.

‘Yes. I will be a part of it in the evening. The government sucks, trust me,’ Mahmood replied, looking at the large mass of crowds.

‘I see’

‘Hoping for a nice journey ahead for you!’ Mahmood exclaimed at Noor as she had given him some extra money as he geared off until he disappeared from her sights. Noor looked at the small building she would live in very soon. ‘Not bad’ she thought as she carried the weight of her belongings upstairs. Her home was on the 2nd floor with a small balcony. It was easy to cover up almost everything around her from the balcony.

The day proceeded and turned into the evening with lots of echoing of azan from everywhere. Noor offered her prayers and laid on the bed for rest. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. The busy streets of Aleppo made her get up, this time, with a hungry stomach.

What? Is that a kebab? There, in front of her building, was standing a kebab stall. Without thinking further, she stepped out of her small house, putting a stole over her head.

‘How much?’ she asked in her Egyptian accent as she took the plate from the hands of the man.

‘It’s a gift’ he replied and made a stopping sign. All sorts of pleading were gone to vain. The man didn’t take the money. Noor returned to her house and kept the tiny plate on the sofa.

‘What is wrong?’ she asked as she found the fridge empty.

A knock came on the door. A plump lady with a colourful scarf on her head smiling and holding a tray in her hands stood at the door. She appeared to be a civilian.

‘Merhaba! I am Fatima, and I live downstairs.’

‘Merhaba! Come in, come in. Why are you standing out there?’

Fatima stepped in and handed the tray to Noor.

‘Thanks. What is it? It smells amazing’ she spoke and lifted the cloth covering the dish.

‘Chicken’, Fatima replied excitedly.

‘Oh, that’s so sweet of you!’

Noor enjoyed her food by the window. The kebabs were the kebabs she had never tasted before.

The following day, she arranged her clothes in the cupboard and dusted the furniture. She left her door open that morning for some air ventilation.

She was busy recording the chirping streets of Aleppo.

19, Feb 2011,

Dear Diary,

Your undercover journalist is back. I am sitting at my study table with the lamp on. I arrived in Aleppo yesterday, that was the 18th of Feb. I met a lovely young boy named Mahmood. It was shocking to know that he had to quit his school and study only at night alone due to the high unemployment rate here in Syria. I have witnessed several large and small demonstrations in various places in Aleppo. It’s not hard to imagine what must be happening in other cities. I have a friendly neighbour. Her name is Fatima. Aleppo is far more beautiful than I had imagined. Bye, I must go.

Noor placed her diary on the study table and locked her house. As she descended downstairs with the tube light flickering, she spotted a young man not more than 25 years of age talking loudly on the phone at the very root of the building.

‘I told you I would give the money back! No! Why would you contact my parents? I am not doing anything illegal, ok? I promise. Yes, yes. Ok. Bye’

As the young man started climbing upstairs, Noor turned towards Fatima’s door and knocked. The man came and stood beside her.

‘Uhm, who are you looking for?’ He asked politely.

‘A lovely woman named Fatima I am her neighbour. Upstairs!' Noor replied, looking at his face.

‘Sweet woman? I am sorry. You must have lost your way. You can’t even find the letter's from SWEET in her. I dare tell you. Run while you still have time! Run!’ The young man said it in a scary tone, making Noor laugh.

Fatima opened the door and spoke, welcoming Noor inside: ‘When I opened the door, I didn’t know what to do. To smile or to scorn!’

‘I am Muhammad, her one and only son’ he said when they got seated at the small dining table.

‘I am Noor’

They shook hands, which was not a usual sight.

The dinner was total Syrian cuisine. Baklava, Kunafa for sweet, Kibbeh Bil Sanieh as the main dish, and a chilled cold drink glass to gulp it all down.

The dinner went pretty well with Noor laughing at Muhammad’s humorous talks and aunt Fatima’s stories about the ancient Syria.

Not many days had passed that Noor had made a different bond with Muhammad. She could never gather up enough courage to ask him about the dinner night she overheard him talking on the phone.

One day, she went out with Muhammad to see the Great Citadel of Aleppo and witness its beauty. As Muhammad held her camera, she spoke with her collar mic attached to her collar.

‘Hello everyone, I am Noor Ahmar. I am standing in front of this fortified castle of Aleppo, popularly known as the Citadel of Aleppo. As you can see in the background, there are tourists and civilians. On my way, I couldn’t record much due to the constant and every day growing demonstrations that are being held against Assad and his regime. When the evening arrives, it is said that lights are cast from within the castle. People give you things for free, especially when they know you aren’t from Syria. I will keep you updated until then; goodbye.’

Muhammad closed the camera.

‘How was it?’

‘Great, which channel do you work for? And why are your speeches so short? I mean look at me Noor! How bravely I shout at demonstrations’ Muhammad started bragging.

It’s so hard to believe such bragging coming from the mouth of such a handsome Arab guy! Noor thought and replied nothing.

‘‘Why are you recording all of this then?’ he continued walking along with her.

‘Because I am a human being and revealing the truth to the world is my pleasurable duty,’ she replied as she sipped the famous Aleppo tea. The tea seller sang beautiful Arabic poems on hope and light. It reminded her of her mother’s beautiful voice.

‘Hey, hello? Where are you lost?’ Muhammad asked as he waved his hand in front of her face.

‘Huh?’

‘You don’t like it here?’ Muhammad asked in a concerned tone.

‘No, it’s good in here. I just got lost in that man’s voice. It reminded me of my mom.’

‘Oh, where is she?’

‘On the other side’

‘You mean Turkiye? Or Jordan?’

‘No, she is dead,’ Noor replied, chuckling nervously

‘I am so sorry. How did it happen?’ Muhammad asked, not at all bothered that it might hurt her.

‘Some bad men killed her while she was removing the curtains and bringing out the bitter truth.’

‘If you are on that path too, record as many things as you wish. You won’t be alive for much longer then.’

‘I guess that’s the price you pay for your braveness.’ Noor replied with tears gleaming in her deep eyes. She tried her best to hold them back but in the ned, they brimmed out.

‘Where are you going?’ Muhammad asked as Noor got up from the bench and started entering the crowd in the market.

‘Do you think I am crazy? How come I am in Aleppo and not spend hours roaming these streets and markets? This is heaven. Oh gosh! I smell kebab,’ Noor exclaimed as she disappeared into the crowd.

‘Crazy one’, Muhammad thought to himself and decided to wait for her until she got back. ‘I bet she isn’t coming out from that heaven in less than a few hours.

Noor didn’t return. Wondering that she must’ve gone to her home by herself, Muhammad made his way alone to his house. When he returned, his heart was relieved when he spotted Noor in the window. The curtain exposed her silhouette with a pen in her hand.

20, Feb 2011,

Dear Diary,

I witnessed Aleppo’s natural beauty after stepping out into the small streets and markets. Even among these significant tension-giving demonstrations, the people of Aleppo have maintained their flawless works and arts. I spoke absolutely nothing to Muhammad about when we will be meeting next. How will I focus on the project my company has assigned if he is always around me?

22, Feb 2011,

Dear Diary,

The forces arrested many of Muhammad’s friends for joining the protests. I mean, seriously? One of the police officers asked one of his friend’s family to forget about him as he won’t ever make out.

07, March 2011,

Dear Diary,

Fatima aunty is scared. Her daughter isn’t getting better and her son, Muhammad, leads one of the protester’s groups. There was a protest in front of my house as the security forces arrested children for drawing anti-government graffiti on the walls in the city of Dara. Things are taking a turn for the worse.

14 March 2011,

Dear Diary,

As I keep recording all of this, there is still so much the world hasn’t seen yet and much more the world is still to see.

15 March 2011,

Dear Diary,

To have a chance to keep recording things for the future, I must be a part of the anti-government protests taking place across many cities of Syria. Wish me luck and a longer lifespan!

‘You can see the crowd and the anger in their voices. Men women, children. Everyone is on the streets. Day and night. Look’ Noor lifted the camera upwards to make it appear how far the crowd went. ‘I wonder what the situation in Assad’s cabinet must be. Anyways, that is how it goes on for now. Let’s see what Assad replies ’ she closed the camera and focused on the protesting. The one thing that the people of Syria needed was easy to understand: freedom.

16, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

I had a very strange dream last night after I returned from the protests. I miss mom.

17, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

The children that were arrested were tortured and injured in the worst way possible. There has been protests in their favor.

18, march, 2011,

Dear diary,

Muhammad is very tensed. Earlier, he had a job. Right now, he is unemployed just like so many other Syrians. Leyla is all well now. I have started getting comfortable with Muhammad’s family. I also revealed to him that the night that we first met, I heard him talking about some money he was to return and was running out of time. ‘It’s all clear now’ he spoke. But I know it got worse.

Their father died years back due to cancer. He is the only one earning while his mother sews now and then for random people. Fatima was born in Jordan but later shifted here with her widowed father. I e think Muhammad doesn’t have a job right now.. I can read it in his eyes when his mother asks him about his day and he makes up lies.

Except for my recording hours, I am at their house usually. Leyla is 17, Muhammad is 26 and Fatima’s age is unknown. Leyla goes to her school and if possible, I make her study with me. We are almost like a family now. That’s the power of Syrians. They can make you feel at home in a matter of time. I wonder what could possibly be responsible for such miseries that they are going through other than the government’s corrupt minds? Talking about my project, it’s going on very well. I have recorded videos on my camera and am constantly engaged in writing a diary entry. Goodbye, until next time.

P.S.. Is it ok to make a diary entry? What if I am caught?

19, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

So, umm, just in case you didn’t know, here in Syria, as compared to the other cities, Dara was the one with the heaviest protests and demonstrations. That was also the place where school students were arrested by the police forces for writing anti-government graffities. I heard it just now that the forces have sealed off or you can say the forces have put on a curfew in the city. I think it’s an attempt to stop the protests from spreading. Little do they know that this will only ignite more fire amongst the people of Syria.

Assad must come on the right path.

22, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

It is funny to realise how people can’t understand a thing as simple as just being on the right path. I know choosing that path is sometimes hard and rough but that’s the only way to good endings.

The prices are increasing here and everything costs double than what it used to be. The Syrian forces will do anything to suppress these people. I can feel it.

24, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

A news has just reached me and has shook the land beneath me.

It is heard that dozens of protestors have been killed today by the forces after they opened fire at the demonstrators in the city of Dara. They throw tear gas and fire at them. Unemployment, sinking economy and government’s corruption-That’s what led the people to come on the road. They want Assad to resign. I am scared as hell. My team is asking me to get back to my residence and that they would work on only the work that I have collected so far but I guess it’s not enough. I can’t go just like this. I haven’t covered anything except for a few videos of protests. And by the way, they aren’t bombing or raiding our houses, are they? That would be inhuman. Even now, many lives are lost. Bye, I am going to sleep.

‘Noor! Noor! Come here. Come back’ she heard the voice echo as she wandered in the fire that spread around her. Noor looked around but found no one. As she walked barefooted on the dirty ground that had blood spit all over, the voice stopped. ‘Noor’ another voice, this time coming from a closer area, whispered. She looked down in horror as she saw Muhammad lying on the ground with face barely recognizable. Just when she was about to bend down to touch him, the whole scene changed, and she found herself somewhere else.

In the past.

‘Noor! Noor! Come here. Come back’ the same voice as before shouted. It was evening. The sunlight shined on the woman’s beautiful face.

‘Mom?’ she thought. The thunder struck. Changed the scene and she found herself somewhere else. The same spot as before. Fire. Blood. Crumbled pieces. Muhammad dying.

‘Run. They are here’ he whispered and breathed his last.

Noor woke up with a desert dry throat.

‘Allah! What sort of dream was that?’

She got up and reached out for the water bottle.

‘Walk! I said walk!’ a man was heard shouting in the street. She looked down from her window and what she saw would terrify her for the rest of her life. A Syrian policeman walked out of a house with a young boy with his neck bent forward and hands cuffed. Noor grabbed her camera and started the recording.

‘Maybe the boy took a prominent part in the demonstrations. I don’t know. But it is what it is like nowadays. The Syrian forces shoot at anyone, pick up anyone and torture anyone they wish to. Does the president think he can win by picking up young revolutionaries and firing at the protestors? If Assad thinks so, then I can’t imagine a greater level of falling down of someone’s character’ Noor whispered and had herself well hidden. She recorded as the boy’s family came running after them.

‘Syria wants freedom’ The boy shouted as they drove him off.

25, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

If anyone is reading this, then know that things aren’t quite right in Syria. The number of deaths of protestors is increasing day by day. My heart sinks every time that I hear about it . Arab countries must speak up. It’s time they spoke up for their neighbour, for their brothers and sisters being slaughtered like animals.

26, march, 2011,

Dear Diary,

The boy isn’t back yet and I guess he is never going to.

Muhammad has got some troubles with his loan givers; thankfully Leyla is still going to school , and Fatima still thinks Muhammad has a job. My organization is happy with me for the fearless work that I am doing. I don’t miss my home. I have been receiving constant texts and calls from my friends back in Egypt.

‘I am on a vacation’ that’s what I reply. When I informed Muhammad that I have got many lovers and admirers back in Egypt and that they would do anything to marry me, do you know what he said?

‘Anyone can get lost in those eyes’

Now, tell me. what would that mean???

It was almost midnight when the knocking came. She closed her diary, switched off the lamp and went to answer the knock.

‘Coming! Yes? How may I help you?’ she asked to the 2