‘Yasmin, is it really you?’
‘Sami! What a great surprise.’
It was his childhood love, older and without braces and a hijab covering her hair under the hoodie, but unquestionably her.
Yasmin embraced him like when they were little, like before Haydar.
‘You know each other?’ Sarah asked. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘It was a long time ago,’ Yasmin said and smiled. ‘We took English together, didn’t we?’
‘You were top of the class.’
‘Don’t know about that…’
That was all the talking they had time for because the music was turned up and the flags raised. Yasmin handed Sarah and Sami a placard each, while she herself took out her camera from time to time to take pictures. He glanced at her and thought about how keen she’d once been to abide by the rules. How she’d kept reminding him that the walls have ears.
After the demonstration Sarah had to leave, but she suggested that Sami stay with Yasmin to catch up.
‘That’s so cool you know each other,’ she said before she left.
They went to a nearby café and sat outside under the heaters. It was one of those places where men usually gathered to play cards and smoke but Yasmin didn’t mind their looks.
‘I’m so happy to see you again,’ Sami said. ‘What have you been doing all this time?’
‘Studied law, mostly. After my dad died I realized how fragile things are. There’s no time to lose.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know about your father.’
‘You don’t need to be sorry. It was more of a relief, to be honest.’
She started on a new cigarette before the first one was finished – her voice was as hoarse from chain-smoking as it was from shouting – and spoke quietly but earnestly.
‘My dad wasn’t very kind to my mother. That is sort of the reason why I chose law. We were all witnesses to his abuse but didn’t do anything.’
Sami thought of the military map and felt a strike of pain. He too had been a silent witness for far too long.
‘You know, the revolution is the first step towards equality,’ she said. ‘I was a coward before but now I see clearly.’
It sounded simple and obvious when she put it that way. Sami envied her that clear vision. For his part, he felt things around him were growing murkier and murkier. He considered telling her about Haydar, their school friend who had become a prison guard, but decided against it. If he did, he would have to tell her about his time in jail and the army, and maybe she would think of him differently when she realized he hadn’t deserted.
‘Do you want another coffee?’ Sami asked.
‘Why not?’ Yasmin answered and smiled. ‘Two is better than one.’
* * *
—
The world had changed and they had changed with it. Or had he? There were more demonstrations, and Sami watched Yasmin and Sarah standing at the head of the protests, chanting on the barricades. What had he accomplished?
‘Can’t you hear I’m talking to you? What the fuck are you doing here?’
When the voice came closer Sami realized he was the one being addressed. Standing in front of him was an old acquaintance from university, dressed in leather jacket and high winter boots. The name escaped him – he used to be late to lectures and had copied Sami’s notes.
‘I thought we were nothing but shit to you.’
He spat on the ground and stepped in closer, lowering his chin and staring Sami in the face. Sarah backed away and he failed to find the words to defend himself.
‘Come off it, he’s here now, right?’ Yasmin said.
‘How do we know you’re not an informer? That you’re not here to gather information?’
‘Good god, calm down,’ Yasmin said.
‘Shut up, I am calm. And you, you fucking traitor.’
‘Take that back,’ Sarah said and took a step forward.
‘Traitor? Sure I take it back.’
He spread his hands, palms out. Then he leaned forward and Sami could smell the alcohol on his breath; he had never known a face could express so much contempt.
‘Soldier swine fits better.’
It happened in a split second. Sami saw Sarah squeeze her eyes shut and raise her fist. It was like a switch flipped and he instantly knew what he had to do.
‘Ow, let go of me! He was coming at you. Aren’t you going to defend yourself?’ Sarah twisted free of Sami’s grasp and rubbed her wrist. The university acquaintance had already turned his back on them and was staggering off.
‘But he was right, wasn’t he?’ Sami said.
Sarah turned abruptly and walked away. He took a few steps in her direction but a new group of protestors moved in between them.
‘Don’t worry.’ Yasmin shrugged. ‘All choices are political these days, even when you don’t have a choice. I don’t blame you,’ she continued. ‘My brother’s doing his military service, and he says they’ll come after me if he doesn’t.’
He hesitated but in the end asked the question he had been thinking about.
‘Do you know how to organize a local protest?’
Yasmin lit up. ‘Do I know?’ The revolution council of Homs provided organizers with a megaphone and video camera, and other than that it was simply a matter of handing out flyers with a time and a place. ‘Supply bottles of water. Make sure you have a few people on lookout.’
The Free Syrian Army was ready to intervene if regime soldiers broke through. But they were more of a symbolic protection, since the rebels were loosely organized and would be unable to withstand a coordinated offensive.
It was easier than he had thought. During the first chilly weeks of the year, Sami spent all his waking hours organizing daily local demonstrations, with fifty to a hundred protestors at a time. He spent his days in the house, painting placards and arguing gently with his father. In the evenings they gathered, sang and filmed their meetings. Every gathering was a victory and a risk. The army was not the only danger. The regime covertly supported street gangs who attacked protestors on their behalf.
‘We need to arm ourselves,’ said Sarah one day, restlessly picking at her red nail polish. ‘Look around. We’ve been protesting for almost a year and the graveyards are getting more crowded by the day.’
Yasmin disagreed. ‘We have to be patient.’
Despite her unassuming air, she was one of the strongest voices in the group, precisely because of her thoughtfulness and ability to take a step back.