The Jasmine Scent of Damascus...

Damascus is one of the oldest cities of the world and a great symbol of Arab culture and civilization. Conquered by the Rashidun Caliphat forces a few years after the death of Prophet Mohammed, the city’s power and prestige reached its peak under the Umayyads, first Dynasty of the Islamic Empire, which extended its brilliant civilization from India to Spain and made of Cordoba a little Damascus in the West.

Damascus…

To a native of Fez, Damascus could easily be a second hometown. Same semi-arid climate, same Millennium history and plethora of outstanding historical sites, same bougainvillea and jasmine bushes decorated streets, same vibrant intellectual and cultural life…Same stately demeanor of places that have moulded History.

But to me, Damascus was - above all - the city that sheltered poet Nizar Qabbani’s childhood and witnessed his first steps into the magic world of poetry. Through a lifetime of writing, Qabbani conquered the Arab world with his rebellious verses and celebrated Arab womanhood with passion and voluptuousness. The stunning sensuality of his poems pushed the boundaries of what was considered appropriate in Arabic literature, and he used to claim proudly that "one should never be horrified by sensuality but by attempts to cover up its beauty". Damascus remained a powerful muse in his poetry and in his will, which he wrote in his hospital bed in London, Nizar Qabbani wrote that he wished to be buried in Damascus, which he described as the "the womb that taught me poetry, taught me creativity and granted me the alphabet of Jasmine”.

Palestinian writer Salma Khadra Jayyusi said: “To poetry lovers, the Qabbani baptism is like a tattoo on the spirit. It cannot be removed”.
I was definitely Qabbani-baptised and as we entered Damascus, his “Jasmine Scent of Damascus” verses came to my mind:


يا شـامُ ، يا شـامَةَ الدُّنيا ، ووَردَتَه
يا مَـنْ بحُسـنِكِ أوجعـتِ الأزاميلا
ودَدْتُ لو زَرَعُـوني فيـكِ مِئـذَنَـةً
أو علَّقـونـي على الأبـوابِ قِنديـلا
يا بلْدَةَ السَّـبْعَةِ الأنهـارِ .. يا بَلَـدي
ويا قميصاً بزهـرِ الخـوخِ مشـغولا


Riding through Damascus’ large tree-lined avenues was such a great experience!
Many people were lining up along the sidewalks or on the bridges overlooking our little convoy and some of them were discretely waving us and saying “Marhaba”. There were also more women in the streets and though the majority had their hair covered, or wore the traditional Syrian hejab (a black scarf pined at the level of the chin, which was also covered), some were dressed the Western-way. But they would very often stand separately from men, and except a few ones who approached us in family (daddy, mommy and kids all together!), the others stayed far.

We passed by the famous Victoria Bridge and headed towards the Martyrs Square, named in memory of the nationalist militants who were killed by French colons at the end of the French mandate. Damascus’ buildings in the modern area of the city are very similar to Cairo’s. They MIGHT have been white decades ago but never got repainted and became greyish-brownish, giving the city a dusty and out-dated touch. Their façade is often encrusted with dozens of colourful advertisements, featuring doctors and lawyers cabinets’ names, hairdressing salons or travel agencies all together :-)

We reached the Christian neighbourhood of Bab Tuma (Saint Thomas Gate), named after Thomas, one of the 12 apostles of Jesus who is believed to have lived there for some time. It is one of the oldest boroughs of Damascus, also known as one of the city’s major shopping areas and the stores reminded me again of Cairo’s main shopping street Talaat Harb, with its colourful windows and extremely kitschy clothing :-)