As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow

by Zoulfa Katouh

Your history is embedded in this soil. No country in the world will love you as yours does.’

‘Your life is just as important as theirs,’

‘Your. Life. Is. Just. As. Important.’

Her pregnant belly cushions my head, and I feel the baby kicking against her stomach. Only fabric, layers of skin and placental fluid separate it from the terrors of this world.

Do all six-year-olds know what death is? Or is it only children of war?

‘Auntie – don’t cry – when I go to Heaven – I’ll tell God – everything,’ he chokes out.

‘We haven’t met because we never got the chance to.’

Ohhhhh-

‘This is my country. If I run away – if I don’t defend it, then who will?’

Salama, this is my home. For my entire life – my whole nineteen years – I’ve known no other. I’d be cutting out my heart by leaving.

When I leave, it won’t be easy. It’s going to shred my heart to ribbons, and all the pieces will be scattered along Syria’s shore, with the cries of my people haunting me till the day I die.

‘It doesn’t hurt for you to think about your future. We don’t have to stop living because we might die. Anyone might die at any given moment, anywhere in the world. We’re not an exception. We just see death more regularly than they do.’

No matter what happens, you remember that this world is more than the agony it contains. We can have happiness, Salama. Maybe it doesn’t come in a cookie-cutter format, but we will take the fragments and we will rebuild it.’

‘You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy here. Because if you won’t try it in Syria, then you won’t try in Germany. Getting to Europe won’t solve your problems.’

‘Promise me you’ll look for the joy.’ She smiles sadly. ‘The memories are sweeter that way.’

‘I’ll be much worse, my love,’ he said softly. ‘If you think I’m going to be anything but incredibly proud and very loudly showing you off to everyone, then think again.’

What a sweetheart, I hate that the war ripped him away from her.

‘It all comes down to one truth, Salama. This land is my home. I don’t have another one. Leaving is a death in itself.’

I died the day Mama was murdered. I die every single day that I can’t save a patient, and I died yesterday when I held a little girl’s life hostage. Maybe in Germany some piece of me can be revived.

‘There are enough people hurting you,’ he whispers. ‘Don’t be one of them.’

It hurts to see him, a dead man walking, when he has the power to influence the world.

‘No. I’m exhausted from all of this. I’m exhausted we’re suffocating and no one gives the slightest bit of a damn. I’m exhausted we’re not even an afterthought. I’m exhausted we can’t even have basic human rights. I’m exhausted, Kenan.’

‘Insh’Allah, we will come back home. We will plant new lemon trees. We’ll rebuild our cities, and we will be free.’

‘I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But if I don’t … if … please find Am. Get on that boat. Live for me and Hamza. Raise Baby Salama.’ I lean back and grab both her hands fiercely. ‘Promise me.’

‘Only if you promise you’ll do everything not to die. You will come back to me, insh’Allah.’ Her voice turns soft – too soft. ‘Salama, please. Don’t be a martyr. Fight to stay alive.’

Why are we dancing around this? I know exactly how I feel about him, and his expressions tell no lies. I know he feels the same.

Freedom was never an easy price; it’s paid with—’ ‘Blood. More than we ever thought possible,’

‘I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.’

‘Proposing on the revolution’s anniversary?’ His eyes twinkle. ‘I’ve been planning this for a week.’

Even in the mist of war and death, love prevails!

‘I’m not. I want you to know how incredible you are. How you touch people’s lives.’

Huh? This sounds like a goodbye....

‘Salama, no one’s here. There’s no Layla. I can’t see her.’

WHAT.

‘It wasn’t your fault, do you understand me? You didn’t break your promise to Hamza.’

Huh.

‘I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.’

‘But meeting you, loving you … you made me realise how life can be salvaged. That we deserve to have happiness in this long night.’

‘Thank you for being my light,’

I … I can’t bury you, Salama. I can’t.’

Theyre literal kids omg.

‘Bury me before I bury you,’

‘It was an honour and privilege working with you, Salama. May God keep you alive and well. Please don’t forget us in your prayers.’

‘Know that even in death, you’re my life.’

IN.THE.MIDST.OF.WAR.LOVE.PREVAILS!!!

Because no matter what, you have a heart so soft, it easily bruises. Because you feel.’

‘Salama, we’ll have that knafeh.’ His cheeks are wet, and I know it’s not just from the sea. His lips brush over my scarred knuckles. ‘If not in Germany, then in Heaven.’

i fear heartbroken isnt even the word to deacrube how I feel.

A Syria whose soul isn’t chained in iron, held captive by those who love to hurt her and her children.

It reminds me that as long as the lemon trees grow, hope will never die.