Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Warriors, Brothers and Revolutionaries

From peasant sons of the northern plains to rebels at the heart of the Syrian uprising: a family at war

Band of brothers (from left, standing): Mohammed Rias, 37; Ala?a, 23; Anas, 35; Khaled, 29; Quteiba, 30; (front, from left) Rida, 19; Ahmed, 25; Rafat, 21; Issam, 27. A tenth brother, Anwar, 39, runs the administration of the platoon Photograph: Kai Wiedenhoefer

Rias, 37, who is known by his siblings and cousins as Sheikh Nayimi, remembers the moment well. "I told them that the Arab Spring marked a moment for us," he says. "It was not yet time to go public, we had to then remain private. But we could sense that something was coming. Everything we had waited for might soon be upon us.

The Nayimi brothers knew their moment had arrived. "We didn't have to hide any more," Sheikh Nayimi says. Within days, he had been joined by his siblings and their elderly father, all of whom had left jobs in Aleppo or in their home village of Sarmada in the countryside near Idlib. Their transformation from peasant sons of the northern plains to revolutionaries at the heart of the war for Syria's future has been honed ever since.

Brothers of brothers shared same veins blood of fertile soil, deeply rooting mystery of fertility of  heroes’ parable. The indomitable spring, she is coming with warriors duality laurels, deep sounds  from abyss , steam of origin, cracks frost, her divine  faces to the sun, long deep lungful air into her mouth,  then frosty icy maiden open her eyes to the sky and her breasts for sunbeam, greeting her season! O what a dreamless cold sleep was! she says.  She called scent of spring wind, “ come you meanness wind, it is time for my dances, I want green shoes with tingled bird song, hangs on every trees, melt frozen people's hearts and make everyone love and happy, so wind kowtows and  brings her  green ravine shoes  made from spring air, crack branches, bells tingles on rivers clears tainted memories, people will come to me,  boisterous children play with me!  She is sure of it, everyone loves maiden warm air, her breath is sweet jasmine scented, it is called lovers symbols, she will walk down weathered wreckage strewn streets villages towns cities and people faces, at long Roman’s stony faces, waterfalls, stone pavesments, wild blossoming are embroiders her fair maiden bridal gowns, the rich golden dowry wheels wheels of main podia that is how the love maiden come to the heroes’ love nest