As fighting continues, residents maintain the semblance of normality, writes MICHAEL JANSENin Damascus
AT MID-morning on Saturday, a convoy of a dozen transporters carrying tanks drove at a steady pace along the broad boulevard of the Mezze district, past the tile-faced Iranian embassy, where the flag still flies, and the homes of many absent diplomats. The tanks appeared to be on their way to the townships of Mu’adamiya and Daraya where rebels continue to clash with troops.
A few hours later on the other side of the city, in the Christian Bab Touma quarter, Haretna, a four-star restaurant in the courtyard of a 19th century Damascene mansion, was serving lunch to half a dozen family parties and couples puffing on water pipes.
Men in T-shirts and women in low-cut dresses were quaffing beer from tankards and sipping small glasses of milky Arak while eating salads, hummus, and kebabs. A waiter dismissed the dull thud of explosions as “nothing, nothing”. Fans churned the hot air and fine droplets of water from jets embedded in the walls cooled the cloth-sheltered courtyard.
While most restaurants are closed during the daily Ramadan fast, a handful stay open and, in spite of the conflict raging at the edges of the city, continue to attract custom.
The medieval Souq al-Hamidiyeh was open for business even though there were few shoppers. Goods are abundant: bed and table linen, towels, clothing, bridal dresses and cloaks for conservative women, pyramids of Aleppo soaps and tiny bottles of perfume. A popular ice cream shop was closed, out of respect for those fasting.
Third generation carpet vendor Hussein said he had not sold anything for more than a month. “I used to have steady sales, now nothing. But we all come to work,” even from [the troubled areas of] Douma, Harasta, and Barzeh.
“This is our city, no one can take it from us.” He rejected the characterisation of the conflict as a heterodox Shia Alawite regime-Sunni rebel conflict. “Sunnis, Christians, Shias, Druze and Alawites, we are all the same.” (After learning of my walk through the souq, a friend remarked: “Opening is a kind of defiance.” The majority of merchants belong to the Sunni community, yet remain largely loyal to the government.)
Yesterday a colleague and I visited the food market at Bab Sreijeh, beginning our stroll just outside the wall of the Old City. Pedestrians dodged taxis, cars and vans delivering vegetables, eggs, and Ramadan pancakes to stalls and shops. Butchers displayed fresh sides of lamb and frozen veal from India. A barrow was piled with bananas from the Philippines.
But most produce was home grown: vegetable marrows, bell peppers, aubergines, beans and tomatoes, peaches, melons, apricots and blackberries. Imported mangoes and pineapples no longer grace the stands.
The reduction of imports means the country is preserving foreign exchange reserves, which, it is estimated, have fallen from $18 billion to about $10 billion during the 16-month rebellion.
Outside the market, we passed Damascus’ main police station, recently attacked and, rebels claimed, gutted by fire. The gate was scorched and windows inside the compound broken, but people were squeezing past the armoured scout car at the entrance and going about their business.
Lines formed at ATMs where people were cashing last month’s salaries and pensions in order to buy food for Ramadan breakfasts served at sunset.